Leafy does it: A bit of paan in Indian recipes can give the right spicy, herb-like flavour

It is surprising how many Indians haven’t tasted a plain betel leaf plucked fresh from its vine. They are so deep-rooted in our culture, used in ritual and ceremonies, mentioned in ancient texts and, of course, one of the essential ingredients, along with areca nuts, in paan.

This has led to elaborate treatment of the leaf. Sharada Dwivedi and Shalini Devi Holkar write of Lucknow connoisseurs burying leaves to wilt them to a melting soft texture. KT Achaya detailed the belief that different parts of the leaf corresponded to different deities: Lakshmi in front, Shiva at the edges, and so on, with Yama in the stalk, the inauspicious part to be trimmed off. Garcia da Orta recorded how many Indians grew one thumbnail long precisely to help in this trimming.

Yet the leaves were rarely eaten alone. We know the taste — the prickle of heat that reminds us that Piper betel is related to black pepper, Piper nigrum, followed by that distinctive herb-y bitterness. But this quickly gets lost in the other flavours of paan: explosive spices, syrupy sweetness and areca’s astringency. Even in paan flavoured ice-creams and milkshakes which avoid astringency there is usually so much gulkhand that the betel leaves get lost in all that sugary rose flavour.

There are rare Indian recipes that use paan leaves. Some communities in Tamil Nadu make Vetrilai Poondu Sadam, rice cooked with garlic and betel leaves. Morvarid Fernandez’ charming cookbook Seasoned for Family and Friends has a rasam recipe with ghee and sliced betel leaves added at the end.

But the real use of betel leaves in meals comes from Vietnam where the leaves are used to wrap spicy morsels of meat. It’s a wonderful combination, with the aromatic fresh leaves complementing the spicysweet meat. It can become tempting to start using betel leaves to package all kinds of foods.

The one problem that might prevent this is price. Because betel leaves are so valued for paan they are sold individually, reaching two rupees or even more per leaf. We are so used to buying full bunches of edible greens for a few rupees that using betel leaves like them seems extravagant.

It doesn’t help that it is seen as a difficult crop. In Infinite Variety, Madhavi Menon’s fascinating new history of love and desire in India, she writes that “no pesticides are used to farm betel; their yield is therefore rather fragile, and increasingly expensive.” She also notes a traditional taboo against women cultivating betel vines, for the same irrational fear of menstrual contamination that has poisoned the Sabarimalai issue.

The vines are also water-hungry, and this combined with decreasing demand from consumers switching to the cheaper — and far more harmful — hook of paan masala may be causing a decrease in the betel leaf supply. But this might be an opportunity. As the paan connection weakens, and if more people try growing the attractive vines at home, it might be time to discover the other culinary uses of betel leaves.