The Science Of Why Tamils Smile When You Say ‘Sambar !’

Nihita Shivakumar | Food and culture

Sambar: The Soul Soup of the South

If you are judging this article as some recipe for Sambar or whatever,.. NO. IT ISN’T. This article springs up as a thought-child of a person (me!) who is a south Indian by birth and has rolled herself on almost the entire subcontinent and has faced just one, single, stereotypical big question all the time … want to know what that is..? Well, Read on!

If you have ever stepped foot in the  Southern part of the Indian subcontinent, you’ve probably met Sambar.
Not like in a formal, “Hello, my name is Sambar” way—NO, Sambar doesn’t need introductions. It arrives unapologetically in front of you, steaming, aromatic, looking like it wants to hug your soul. For many Indians from the Southern part of the country, Sambar is not just food—it’s a cultural identity and  a warm memory ( and occasionally, a stereotype too).

Let me start with a confession: If you meet a Tamil person and say, “You must love Sambar!”. You will either get a smile, a polite nod, or a death stare that says, Wow, that’s the umpteenth time I’ve heard that joke. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves—first, a little history.

Origins: A Royal Kitchen Accident?

Like most people from around here, I was brought up on what people now call ‘spicy lentil stew’! It was usually a cocktail of  some lentils with a variety of veggies ( whatever you have at home.. brinjals, okra, pumpkin, drumstick, shallots, ashgourd, carrots, etc) . But, I gathered some interesting information from a distant granny of mine sometime ago. This may be part truth or part legend. The origins of Sambar  goes back to the Maratha ruler Shahuji Maharaj, who ruled Thanjavur in the late 17th century. The royal cook apparently ran out of amti (a Maharashtrian dal preparation) ingredients one day, and in a burst of culinary innovation or desperation, he decided to experiment with tamarind and pigeon peas (tuvar dal).

He named it after royalty, Sambhaji Maharaj. And thus, Sambar was born—essentially a royal kitchen blooper that was accepted and loved  wholeheartedly by the royalty and the commoners alike.

Why Is It so Popular in Southern part of India?

The logic is simple. Sambar is economically smart, nutritionally rich, and shamelessly adaptable. You cannot imagine the numerous versions of Sambar available in each state, each district and in each household. Every place has its own slightly tweaked recipe of it, as per their environment. And every recipe has its own delectable taste and identity!

The southern part of India has a climate and agricultural pattern that favors pulses, vegetables, spices ( fenugreek, coriander, curry leaves) and tamarind. A certain combination of all of these and you’ve got a dish that can be made in under an hour, tastes like heaven, and works with rice, idli, dosa, vada, upma… basically anything that sits still on a plate.😃

May I whisper 🤫that it is also a dish that feeds the masses without  bankrupting the host. In weddings, temple feasts, and railway canteens, Sambar flows like an eternal river of tangy goodness. Sometimes, I feel that the Economists should really study it as a model for “delicious socialism.”

Stereotyping it with the Tamils

Now, let me address the elephant in the room—or rather, the bubbling cauldron…the simmering question which has stumped me wherever I went..
Tamil folks, especially those living outside Tamil Nadu, have heard it all:

·        “Oh, you’re from Tamil Nadu? You must eat Sambar every day!” 💬🤔💬( as if that is the only thing on our menu)

·        “Do you guys bathe in Sambar?”💬🤔💬 (Yes, because tamarind is excellent for the skin, didn’t you know?)

·        “You drink it like coffee, right?”💬🤔💬 (No comment.)

The reality? Tamilians do not eat  Sambar every single day. I mean, seriously, look around, there are heaps of vegan, vegetarian and non vegetarian dishes around. Why would any sane person limit themselves to just one dish?  Kara kuzambu, vatha kuzhambu, mor kuzhambu, Puli Kuzhambu, Kari kuzhambu, Meen kuzhambu, Karuvad kuzhambu, Kootu, Poriyal, … and many more..ahh..am tired! But sometimes, just curd rice. Because life is exhausting!

But here’s the thing—if you stereotype your Tamil friends with Sambar, they may roll their eyes at you,  but deep down, they’re also thinking, Well… it’s not entirely wrong.😃

The best I can relate Sambar to, is that reliable friend of yours who shows up at your house uninvited, but you never really mind, because they always bring good vibes (nutrition as well).

The Comfort Food Factor

Well, let me admit that for me and many South Indians, Sambar is edible therapy.💬💬 A hot bowl of rice drenched in Sambar ( with some potato fry)  can fix a bad day faster than motivational quotes on Instagram.💬💬

When you are far away from home, and crave something warm, spicy, tangy, delicious and as comforting as a warm hug, trust me, a bowl of hot rice, topped with warm Sambar and a dollop of ghee is your go-to craving. Ask any student or software engineer living abroad, and they’ll tell you—cooking Sambar in their tiny apartment kitchen while listening to the rain outside is the closest thing teleporting them back to their childhood.

Ever smelt ‘ mitti ki khushboo’ during rains?  Well, along with that, the first waft of curry leaves hitting the hot oil while tempering the sambar is basically the fragrance of home for many of us.

Nutrition: The Tangy Multivitamin

Alright folks! Now let us talk facts before you accuse me of romanticizing a bowl of ‘lentil stew’.
Sambar is:

ü  Protein-rich – Thanks to tuvar dal (pigeon peas), which are basically protein.

ü  Full of fiber – Vegetables like drumstick, okra, brinjal, pumpkin, and carrot make sure your gut stays as healthy as the Gutman a.k.a Dr. Pal (from YouTube) urges it must be.

ü  Low in fat – Unless you decide to deep fry vadas and soak them in Sambar. ( yummy!)

ü  Vitamin-loaded – Tamarind brings in antioxidants and minerals, and the spices aren’t just for taste—they’re anti-inflammatory and aid your metabolism.

Before you judge me with taking a nutrition lesson, let’s just wind up here! You know enough about this already!

A Dish with 28 Regional Accents

Like I mentioned before, Sambar isn’t a monolith. Depending upon the unique agricultural practices in each state, each neighborhood has its own unique recipe of it.

·        Tamil Nadu: presents the classic, prominently tangy Sambar with drumstick, brinjal, and shallots. The Arachuvitta Sambar is the crown jewel—made with freshly ground coconut and spices, the signature fragrance of traditional homes.

·        Karnataka: presents a tangy-sweet version of it, by adding a bit of jaggery, because Kannadigas believe even a tangy stew deserves a little romance.

·        Andhra Pradesh: Spicier, bolder, and pure heaven. It can occasionally be lethal to sensitive tastebuds, who aren’t aware of the power of the chilli.

·        Kerala: Coconut milk sometimes makes a surprise appearance, giving it a creamy twist. Bonus: it pairs perfectly with the malayali  matta rice.

·        Telangana: Leaner on the dal,  rustic taste that focuses on fewer veggies but more punch ( extra masala and spicy).

·        Udupi Sambar: A temple-style masterpiece—mild, slightly sweet, no onions or garlic, and so balanced you’d think it went to an elite culinary finishing school.

Fascinated by the varieties?? Well, there are hundreds more. Each popular restaurant swears by their recipe too… Adyar Ananda Bhavan, Saravana Bhavan, Shri Sangeetha’s to name a few..

At this point, you may be just puzzled.. Is Sambar More than Just Food for them?

This is where it gets a bit thought-provoking:
Sambar is a unifier.

You could be in a tiny village in Kanyakumari or a bustling IT hub in Bangalore, and you’ll find people enjoying it—rich or poor, young or old. In weddings, it’s ladled out to thousands without fuss. In temples, it’s served as prasadam. In homes, it’s the fragrance binding families.

The statement used to describe India,  ‘UNITY IN DIVERSITY.’ can be used to describe Sambar as well. The vegetables are different, the spice levels vary, the consistency changes—but in the end, it’s still Sambar. It’s still warm comfort served in a bowl.

Cringe Philosophy:  If humans could take a hint from Sambar, maybe we’d all get along better—just a little spice from here, a dash of sweetness from there, all simmering in the same pot.

Closing Thoughts: The Soup that Stays

By now, I hope I convinced you about why Sambar is more than just  a dish—it is a cultural constant, a warm hug and a taste of belonging. It’s the gentle reminder that even in a fast, disconnected world, there are things that tie us together: shared meals, old recipes, and the comfort of flavors that haven’t changed in centuries.

So next time someone stereotypes a Tamil person with Sambar, maybe they should take it as a compliment. Well, I certainly started to! After all, being associated with something nutritious, comforting, versatile, and delicious isn’t exactly an insult!!

And if you’ve never tried it? Well, find the nearest South Indian restaurant, order a steaming bowl, and let it introduce itself.
Who knows—you might just end up stereotyping yourself.