
Last Updated: July 12, 2026
Quick Answer: Alappuzha homestay in December
The smell hits you first. Mustard seeds crackling in coconut oil. That sharp, nutty sound from the kitchen, drifting through the jackfruit trees at dawn. December in Alappuzha is cool — the air holds a slight chill off the lake, and the kitchen stove is the heart of the house. I’m Jackson Louis, and I’ve lived on this island my whole life. That smell means food is coming.
Honestly, most people come here for the backwaters. The houseboat cruises, the emerald paddy fields, the silence. But by the second day, they’re asking about the food. They want to know what that curry was, how the fish gets so tender, why the rice tastes different. I tell them it’s the water, the coconut, the patience. December is when the lake is calm and the vegetables are sweet — the monsoon rains have washed everything clean, and the earth gives its best.
December is special for produce. The local markets in Alappuzha town overflow with fresh pearl spot fish, called karimeen here. Small, silvery, caught that morning from the lake. The homestay kitchen uses what’s in season — pumpkins, long beans, raw bananas, and the tiny green chillies that make your eyes water. The food is home-style Kerala, which means it’s not fancy. It’s honest.
You’ll eat off a banana leaf if you want. Rice in the centre, small mounds of thoran (stir-fried vegetables), a spoonful of sambar, fish curry with tamarind, and pickles that bite back. No one rushes here. The meals come when they’re ready, and you eat looking out at the water. Some guests disagree, and that’s fair — they want faster service. But that’s not how island life works. The food takes time because the coconut has to be grated fresh, the fish cleaned by hand, the spices ground on the stone.
Most people skip this, but the rice we use is Matta rice — red, earthy, a bit chewy. It holds the curry better than white rice. In December, the evening meal often includes a light moru kachiyathu, a buttermilk curry with ginger and green chillies. It warms you from the inside when the lake breeze turns cold after sunset.
Let me walk you through a lunch. You sit on the veranda, wooden floor under your feet, ceiling fan humming above. A steel plate or banana leaf is set down. The cook — I won’t name who, but it’s someone who’s been doing this for decades — brings out each dish one by one.
First, a ladle of sambar. Lentils, drumsticks, pumpkin, a hint of asafoetida. Next, a dry thoran: finely chopped cabbage or beans, scraped coconut, turmeric. Then the fish — karimeen pollichathu, wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed with a paste of chillies, ginger, and coconut. It arrives steaming, the leaf charred at the edges. The smell of smoke and spice.
There’s always a pachadi — a yogurt-based side with cucumber or pineapple, mild and sweet. And a small bowl of rasam, thin and peppery, to drink at the end. I’m probably biased, but the rasam in December is the best. The tomatoes are in season, and the tamarind is sharp but not sour.
| Dish | What’s in it |
|---|---|
| Karimeen Pollichathu | Pearl spot fish, green chillies, ginger, coconut, banana leaf wrap |
| Moru Kachiyathu | Buttermilk, ginger, green chillies, turmeric, curry leaves |
| Cabbage Thoran | Cabbage, grated coconut, mustard seeds, dried red chillies |
| Rasam | Tomato, tamarind, black pepper, cumin, garlic |
Morning comes early here. The birds start before the sun. I wake to the sound of a vallam boat’s diesel engine in the distance, carrying vegetables from the mainland. Breakfast is simple but filling. Appam — those lacy, bowl-shaped rice pancakes — with egg curry or vegetable stew. The stew is coconut milk-based, with carrots, beans, and potatoes. It’s mild, creamy, perfect for December’s cool mornings.
Sometimes there’s puttu. Steamed rice flour cylinders, layered with grated coconut, served with kadala curry (black chickpeas in a spicy gravy). You eat it with your hands, crumbling the puttu into the curry. The steam rises off the plate, and the lake mist is still hanging over the paddy fields. That’s a morning I never get tired of.
The tea is strong, boiled with ginger and cardamom. Milk from the local dairy. No fancy blends. Just the way we drink it.
We’re a 6-minute boat ride from the landing point. The boat leaves from a spot near the town jetty. I’ll send you the exact location when you book. No road access — that’s the charm.
Yes, completely. The water is calm in December. No monsoon storms. The lake stays flat, and the boat ride is smooth. We have life jackets on the boat if you feel unsure.
Light cotton clothes for the day — it can get warm by noon. A light jacket or shawl for evenings. The lake breeze is steady. Mosquito repellent is a good idea. We have nets over the beds, but it helps.
We have basic WiFi, but it’s not very fast. The signal comes from the mainland tower. December crowds can slow it down. I tell guests: leave your work. The food and the water are better than any screen.
Look, here’s the thing about December at Evaan’s Casa. The food isn’t just fuel. It’s a way of slowing down. When you’re sitting on the veranda, the lake darkening to grey, the kitchen light glowing warm, and you’re eating fish curry with your fingers — you understand why people come back. The mustard seeds crackling in the morning, the steam off the puttu, the tamarind sharp on your tongue. That’s the comfort. That’s the island.
I’ll be here. The boat will be waiting. The rice will be cooking. Come when you’re ready.
Evaans Casa — Homestay near Backwaters
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