I needed some color to brighten up this cold, snowy day. Red, green, purple, yellow and crimson — I was craving Spring!
But for now I had to make do with yellow onions, red and green peppers, purple cabbage and crimson tomatoes. They worked their magical hues to transition into this warm concoction called Chakchouka or Shakshouka, a North African dish. I came across the recipe on the NYT website and had to give it a try.
The afternoon rooftop sojourns in my grandparents’ palatial house remain to be one of my fondest memories. The feel of the uneven cemented floor against my bare feet evoked the sensation of freedom from the mundane routine life in the city.
When my ma and grandma would retire for an afternoon nap, preceded by a scrumptious lunch, I would tiptoe to the second floor — the space that I reigned for the rest of the afternoon. I would climb the cold rust-colored flight of cement stairs to cross the narrow hallway leading to the bedroom.
A king-size bed on one corner of the room housed pillows enough to rest half a dozen heads. The batik printed bedcover had a dusty smell to it — evidence that the maid had ignored my grandmother’s orders to spread out a new one.
Four large windows flooded the room with sunlight, forming a blind-like pattern of light and shade on the bed. I would rest my head on the warm pillows and fight hard not to fall asleep. The droning ceiling fan, sounding like a distant lullaby, would add to the lull. I would gaze at the neighbor’s sprawling unkempt garden where a troop of monkeys in the mango tree would entertain me briefly.
When thirsty, I would reach out for the black earthen pitcher on the bedside table. A steel glass sat upside down on the mouth of the pitcher. The gulps of ice-cold water down my throat would finally break the spell of indolence.
My attention would then be diverted to the concrete shelf, lining the wall on one side of the room. Rusty aluminum trunks and wicker boxes of varying sizes lined the shelf. They housed my mother’s childhood memories — her dolls, books and dresses. Dolls that I often played with; books that I would eventually read and dresses that were redundant. I would ferret through ma’s belongings to get a feel of what she used to be like as a child.
But it was not the room, but the roof adjacent to it that enticed me the most. The brown door, which led to the roof, would thrust me to build a sea of memories that would last me a lifetime.
I would spread a mat on the floor and lie down studying the sky above. I would engage in a staring contest with the sun. I had clouds for allies. They would float by and obstruct the potent sun now and then, bringing relief to my eyes.
Tired, defeated and hungry from the contest, I would run to the room to get the orange resting at the bedside table. I enjoyed the occasional squirts of juice that irritated my eye while peeling the fruit. Slowly chewing on the orange slices I would extend my feet off the mat to touch the scorching floor. The floor which had been basking in the afternoon sun. I would begin counting to see how long I could bear the burn. I had to almost always stop at 20.
Bored, I would move on to a new game — I would be a schoolteacher just like my grandmother. Ma’s dolls from the wicker boxes played the role of my unruly students.
Next, I would don the role of a runner, like my mother used to be during her high-school years. The roof transformed into my running track. I would run from one end to the other, as fast as I could.
It has been 14 years since I last visited what was once my grandparents’ home. Last week when ma called to inform me that the new owners have razed it to the ground, the feel of my apartment’s cold wooden floor against my bare feet seemed unbearable.
My grandmother, like yours, was a treasure trove of recipes. Her simple alu borir jhal — potatoes and lentil dumplings coated with a spicy mustard paste — is something that holds a special place in my heart. For the past few days, I have been reminiscing about the good times I had at my grandparents’ place and cooking one of her recipes just seemed the right thing to do.
Heat mustard oil in a pot and add some kalonji seeds and a few green chillies slit into halves. Once you hear them crackle, add cubed potatoes and saute them for a while. Now add the lentil dumplings along with some water and salt and let it cook till they are soft. For the final touch add a teaspoon of mustard paste and a generous drizzle of mustard oil. Enjoy!
There is no quicker way of creating magic in an Indian kitchen than throwing in a handful of sliced garlic in a pan, which has been cradling some oil and slowly melting butter. Add in some red onion slices and crisp ginger juliennes and you have the idyllic base for most Indian curries. Ginger-garlic-onion: Call it the Indian mirepoix!
Today, I added some beautiful curly kale to this base and sautéed it until the leaves wilted, making sure the leaves didn’t lose its lively green color. A handful of cashews and raisins were mixed in as well along with salt and sugar to taste. And a couple of green chillies added the right amount of heat.
I decided to puree this concoction. A quarter cup of skim milk and two tablespoons of low fat yogurt (my substitute for cream) along with a teaspoon of brown sugar was thrown in the blender before I added in the aforementioned concoction. The final product was a creamy and decadent kale-ish curry for my Kale Paneer.
I added some butter to the pan and threw in some whole garam masalas (cardamom-cinnamon-clove), some turmeric powder and freshly ground coriander powder. The blended curry was then added and cooked for just a couple more minutes.
I sliced some store bought paneer and threw it in and there you have it — Kale Paneer, a break from the traditional Palak Paneer.
Image courtesy: Google Images
I wanted to buy cucumbers, from my local grocery store, but picked up zucchini instead. Ignorance was to blame; I had never had zucchini in India.
Six years later, zucchini have become a staple in my diet and they are gaining popularity in India too.
Pan fried zucchini koftes.
Today I was in the mood for experimenting. I decided to grate the zucchini and make veggie koftes out of it. I pan fried the koftes, which were later simmered in a tomato-yogurt-cashew-based gravy.
Ginger-garlic-onion paste forms the base of the gravy, which then achieves a spicier note with the addition of spices like cumin, coriander and garam masala. The tomato puree and yogurt help in mellowing the heat and the cashew paste imparts a creamy texture.
The kofte curry adds a myriad of flavors to this otherwise bland squash.
Zucchini Kofte Curry
Cooking for a restaurateur/chef is intimidating. Especially so when you are enlisted with the task of introducing a dish to his palate.
I met with Pushpir Bhetia — the owner of the Indian restaurant called Guru, in Somerville — in February this year for an interview, as part of my research work on Sikh immigrants in Boston.
Apart from talking about the prime issue — Sikhs being target of hate crimes in the US especially after 9/11— we talked a lot about food.
During one such conversation, we talked about fish. When you are talking about food and fish isn’t mentioned, a Bengali might quickly lose interest. Bhetia knew this. He asked me what kind of specialty fish dishes Bengalis dish out when it comes to entertaining guests.
Doi Maach, I said. Fish cooked in a yogurt-based gravy.
Pungent mustard oil is tempered with bay leaves, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and red chilies and as soon as the warm spicy flavor hits the nose the creamy ginger-garlic-onion and tomato paste is introduced. Turmeric, cumin powder, salt and sugar goes in next and the mixture is cooked till the oil separates from the gravy. Half a cup of well beaten yogurt is then added. After cooking the mixture for a couple of minutes half-cup water is introduced to the gravy and once it comes to a boil the lightly fried pieces of rui are added. The mixture is then cooked till the desired gravy consistency is achieved. A sprinkle of garam masala and the dish is ready to be enjoyed with warm fluffy white rice.
Bhetia seemed intrigued by the recipe and I promised to bring him some doi maach once my semester was over.
My semester was over by the last week of April. I got busy doing nothing.
But yesterday I decided to act on my promise. I cooked doi maach but the whole cooking process was a bit intimidating, like I said. The thought that I was cooking for a chef kept badgering me.
Once the dish was ready I packed it carefully inside a container. When I arrived at the restaurant, Bhetia was busy cooking baingan bharta.
I handed over the doi maach to him along with the recipe. I was planning to leave but he asked me to wait, as he scooped out a spoonful of rice, from the rice cooker, on a plate.
“This is going to be my lunch today,” he said, as he opened the container I brought him.
It was like a nightmare come true; my paper was being graded right in front of me!
I stood in the kitchen as I watched him eat. It took him around ten minutes to finish the six pieces of fish that I had carefully nestled in the container for him.
“So, what’s the verdict?” I asked timidly.
Pointing towards the empty, gravy stained container he said, “Need I say more?”
Rosogolla — a cottage cheese ball dipped in sugar syrup — is the quintessential Bengali sweet. Here’s to a sweet beginning!
Caution: I call it ‘Green’ Dip because of the color. The dip is actually packed with calories from the cheese and mayonnaise.
I had bought a bunch of broccoli last week, which therefore needed immediate attention. I cooked them in a microwave steam bag for three minutes and whizzed them in a blender with 3-oz of goat cheese, two tablespoons of mayonnaise and one teaspoon of yellow mustard. And this versatile dip (you can use it as a sandwich spread or as pasta sauce) was ready in five minutes.
Parfait for me: Blueberry yogurt, granola and fresh berries.
Parfait is French for ‘perfect’, and my taste buds have taken a fancy to yogurt parfaits lately.
While the word ‘breakfast’ sounds very comforting, I must admit that the thought of toiling over pots and pans, early in the morning, to dish out one is rather discomforting. When it comes to breakfast, I prefer something that doesn’t involve the use of the stovetop, microwave or oven. And yogurt parfaits adhere to my preference.
Under 300 calories: Blueberry yogurt – 140 calories; half-cup fresh berries – about 40 calories; a generous sprinkling of granola – about 100 calories.
A medley of fruits (go for seasonal [organic?] fruits); yogurt of your choice (plain or flavored) and a generous sprinkling of granola (I get mine from Whole Foods [really?] )has the potency to kick start your day in a healthy way.
With homemade parfaits you have control over the calorie intake and also partake in the “know your food” part of the “Know your Farmer, Know your Food” campaign. Buy the ingredients from your local farmers’ market and you will get to “know your farmer” too.
TASTE your Temptation!
The parfaits act like analgesics in calming down cravings in-between-meals and also does a commendable job in pleasing your sweet tooth, in the guise of a dessert.
The smooth and luscious yogurt combined with sweet berries, interlaced with bursts of tartness, and the crunchy granola won’t disappoint you!
mohabhoj 