Most masala in this country is blended in a factory, poured into a tin with a mountain on it, and sold as if a region made it. The region did not. A woman did, or her mother did, and then a middleman took the name off.
Pounding Stone exists to put the name back. We work with kitchens in Kodagu — Coorg — where the granite stone still sits under the eaves and spices are roasted by ear. We pay the maker. We print her village. We tell the story in her words, not in ours.
We began with three things the district actually cooks with: a dark chicken masala from Akkavva of Chettalli, kachampuli boiled by Subbi of Kutta in the monsoon, and bird-eye chilli grown behind Poovamma's house in Madikeri. That is the whole first pantry. We will add makers from other states the same way — one woman, one stone, one tin — and never a generic blend.
Online is the main market. The hills cannot feed a shop by walk-in alone, and the rest of the country should not have to go to Madikeri to taste this food. We ship pan-India.
Offline, a table is coming: Pounding Stone Kitchen in Bengaluru. Same tins on the pass, a pantry counter to take them home. It is not open yet. Until then, the shop is the tins, shipped pan-India.
We are not a museum and we are not a charity. We are a shop that refuses anonymous spice. If the tin does not carry a woman's name, it is not ours.