Photo courtesy: Rameshng — Wikimedia Commons
Whenever I felt “something” coming on, that tummy rumble or slight fever, I nipped into a Rameswaram restaurant and ordered a stainless steel cup of resam.
Planting my feet on the sandy floor as I sat on a wooden bench, the waiter gawked as I drank down the fiery liquid. The brew always did the trick. The fever vanished. The fear of dysentery subsided.
That magic combination of spices worked so well, that years later, when my daughters got sick, they’d be thankful when I made rasam. It was way better than a hot Vegemite drink or a course of pills.
Update: Just this week during a bout of sickness, my daughter asked me if I wanted her to make resam; another generation converted.