Khimad, that spicy winter punch that heralds Christmas for Mumbai’s East Indian community

Before I retroactively get my parents into trouble, let me fess up that my very first sips of alcohol, as a curious 12-year-old, were rather surreptitiously procured. A tiny sip here of the cola-seeming port wine when no one was looking or a dribble there of the beer-lemonade shandy from an unattended mug were not really my initiators into the world of alcohol.

That ‘honour’ I reserve for the very unique fruit-punch-meets-hot-toddy drink called khimad. This clove-cinnamon-cardamom enhanced, orange-hued alcoholic drink made from country liquor occupies prime position in almost every East Indian celebration. And while I am not an East Indian, I am surrounded by enough of them here in my home in Mumbai to make me an honorary one.

The East Indians have nothing to do with East India, geographically speaking. They are the original, Marathi-speaking Christian inhabitants of Mumbai. Many of their ancestors worked for the erstwhile East India Company, and hence the name, reinforced also to distinguish them from Goan Catholics, who were Portuguese subjects at the time.

Known for their food- and drink-heavy celebrations, I used to make it a point to get invited to every such party. If not to gorge myself silly on yummy dishes like duck moile, mutton kuddi curry or lonvas, then to relish the spicy hit of khimad. But over the years, higher studies and job stints took me away from my home city and also from the wonders of this festive drink.

It would be years later, in a land far away, that I’d sip on a drink so similar to khimad that all the childhood nostalgia of stealing those forbidden sips would come rushing back.

As easy as it is to make — with just a handful of everyday ingredients — khimad goes down the hatch equally smoothly. Bolstered by all that spice, sugar and orange juice, the generous splash of alcohol is almost undetectable in this otherwise orange soda doppelganger, taste-wise. ‘Almost’ being the operative word.

Many an accident, unknowingly or otherwise, has been known to happen when a little too much innocuous-looking khimad has been imbibed. Khimad benders at East Indian festivities, mainly during a pre-wedding water-pouring ritual called ‘umbracha paani’, are not uncommon. The ‘offenders’ mainly being portly, middle-aged uncles showing us an updated version of the naagin dance!

Generally a winter drink, khimad is always served warm, out of traditional 45ml shot glasses called chauvnees. This is followed by the raising of a toast with a raucous “sukhala” (“to your happiness” in Marathi), while snacking on a plethora of traditional East Indian savouries and munchies like chitaps and rice wafers called papri.

But like most community-based foods and drinks in India, no two khimad recipes are alike. Our East Indian neighbours, the Gomes family, always add orange juice and peel to their khimad, while avoiding the astringent tea leaves. Other families do the very opposite. Eschewing the country liquor base — that can be made from a variety of things from tadgola (palm fruit) and black jamun (Malabar plum) to sugarcane stalks and good old coconut — many now prefer the more neutral and, ironically, easier-to-procure brandy, gin or vodka.

Celtic rituals

Khimad does have its origins in a similar sounding and tasting drink made far, far away. You’d be forgiven for assuming, like most people do, the place to be Portugal. For like Goa, Mumbai and its East Indian community-saturated suburbs too were once a part of the mighty Portuguese dominion. But strangely, khimad actually has a lot in common with the queimada from Spain’s autonomous Galician community found in the country’s north-western region. Interestingly, a place that sits just above Spain’s border with northern Portugal.

A boozy punch (literally meaning que mada or “what mead?”) made from orujo — a grape-based spirit distilled from the residue collected after clarifying wine — this Galician iteration of the drink is flavoured with coffee beans, lemon peel and cinnamon. This is then served out of a hollowed pumpkin — a portent of its real ceremonial purpose.

Originally an ancient Celtic ritual, queimada is served with a splash of brandy added right at the end of the punch’s preparation. This is then set on fire, the alcohol in the brandy conjuring up a brilliant blue flame. This is an annual occurrence on June 23, St. John’s Night, also called Witch’s Night in that part of the world.

The starring role that queimada plays in this rather eerie spookfest of a ritual is that of an antidote potion. One that’s believed will keep away the curses and spells of witches accumulated through the year. An antidote that’s especially strong when a counter-spell called the conxuro da queimada is incanted over the flaming pumpkin.

Yes, I do know how the many-worded spell is invoked. But no, I won’t be revealing it here!

The Mumbai-based writer and restaurant reviewer is passionate about food, travel and luxury, not necessarily in that order.