‘Would you like some urrak from the South?’

-Brian Mendonça

When I heard these words at a family lunch in May I initially gave it a wide berth. Fortified by nuggets like barbeque chicken, beef patties, prawn rissois and cheese puffs,  I could only creep into the first armchair and await my beer.

After all it was May 6^th - the day of the Milagres feast or the feast of Our Lady of Miracles, at Mapusa.  We were in our ancestral home at Gaunsavaddo - an old Goan house which echoed with the voices of three generations. You felt that, for this one time, the family both here and in the hereafter had congregated to partake in the repast.

The great house was spread into various theatres of energy: from the entrada, the balcao where people sat, past the altar, to the hall on the left, through the bedrooms which seemed to still hold our dear ones in sleep, to the huge and bustling dining area with its enormous table, on to the usable deep well to the right with the tortoise, the kitchen to the left, and the backyard strewn with trees where the boys were busking the barbeque.

And then those words again. ‘Would you like some urrak from the South?’ By this time my mind was swimming a bit with the tepid beer which I had downed with a flourish. I said yes to Milroy – for that was his name.  He exuded an irrepressible charm, fixing the drinks, making everyone feel comfortable. A young bespectacled college lad, he was appearing for his final year exams at a college in Cuncolim. He had personally sourced the urrak from Morpila in Canacona, deep in the South of Goa. Come June the urrak season in Goa would be over.

I pulled up a chair at the dining table and watched him as he made the concoction. He took a small glass about 5 inches in height and placed his hand around it so that his little finger was snugly around it at the base. As he started to pour the urrak into the glass he said pointing to his little finger, ‘This is 20 ml.’ The next finger upward would measure 40 ml and if you filled the glass to the middle finger it measured 60 ml. Ingenious, I thought.

He poured 40 ml. for me and then proceeded to top the glass with Limca. ‘Ginger-lime is better,’ he said. He took a few grains of rock salt and chucked it in. Then he took a green chilli, sliced of its bottom and stirred the urrak and lemon vigorously. ‘The seeds from the chilli drain to the bottom of the glass,’ Milroy explained. ‘Sip it slowly.’

Amid the sound of singing and the guitar, gents and ladies called for more of the heady brew. Milroy was at his station laughing all the while. ‘We should know what urrak is,’ he offered.

By the time I was invited to say the grace before meals I was in high spirits.

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Published in Gomantak Times Weekender, Goa on Sunday, 12 May 2019. Pix courtesy deskgram.net  You can also make a concoction with orange juice if Limca is too sweet.