Valliammai

When the climbers' pots arrive still warm with fresh sap, they pass into Valliammai's hands. She tends the wide iron pans over a wood fire that, in the season, almost never goes out.

For hours she stirs and watches, judging by colour and scent alone when the bubbling sap has surrendered into dark, glossy karupatti. There is no thermometer in her shed — only a lifetime of knowing the exact shade of brown that means it is ready.

She learned the craft beside her mother-in-law, who learned it beside hers. The recipe is nothing but sap, fire and time, yet getting it right is a skill that takes decades to earn.

Valliammai is quietly proud that her karupatti carries more iron and minerals than any refined sugar ever could. "This is not a substitute for sweetness," she says, wiping smoke from her eyes. "This is what sweetness was always supposed to be."