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“We've been trying to recreate Mum's Coorg pandhi curry."
"Is that so?" said Mynah. "How was that supposed to work without the kachampuli?"
"The what?"
"Kachampuli," she repeated.
"What is kachampuli supposed to be?" Dad asked, sounding out the syllables carefully.
Mynah let out a shriek of laughter. "Are you telling me you've been trying to make Coorg pandhi curry all this time, and neither of you knows about kachampuli? Which is only the most essential ingredient?"
"But surely the pandhi is the most essential ingredient," Anna protested, gesturing in the direction of the pork rind sitting on the counter. "Otherwise it would be called kachampuli curry."
Mynah ignored that and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "Kachampuli, my sweet ignorant ones, is what gives the pandhi curry its distinct flavor. It's a little vinegar, and it's made from a limey sort of fruit they grow in Coorg." She marched to one of the cupboards, rooted around in the back, and retrieved a dusty bottle with a sealed cap. Inside gleamed a thick, dark liquid. "Behold," she said dramatically, "kachampuli.”
― Sangu Mandanna, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“The mysterious kachampuli wasn't a magical elixir. There were still a few hiccups- a dash too much salt here, an overcooked and chewy chunk of pork there- and it took a few more attempts and a few more days to make it perfect.
It rained the day they got it right. Anna could hear the thrum of it against the glass of the window as she speared a piece of meat on a fork and promptly burst into tears because it tasted just like every time her mother had made it. It tasted like rain on the air and frogs hopping across the grass and coffee beans in a jar and the green, green leaves of the forest rustling in the night and the sound of her mother humming a song. It tasted like a future in which the rain and the coffee beans and her mother weren't out of reach after all.”
― Sangu Mandanna, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love