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Recipe: Spice & All Things Nice – Ginger & Jaggery Christmas Cookies

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As a child, I was fascinated by the gingerbread man. Who was this entity that was half-story and half-food? Christmas in Chennai was not like Christmas in the West while I was growing up, and so there weren’t too many of these “traditional” motifs around me. Instead, the rituals of friends, neighbours and the convent school I attended are what are most memorable to me. Still, when I enjoyed a perfect Christmas visit with my friends Sujatha and Michael in Delhi two years ago, something tickled the memory of that fascination with the gingerbread man.  Sitting out on the lawns of their beautiful house, enjoying the crisp winter weather, we shared a plate of homemade ginger snaps. A festive classic, made to perfection. This year, thanks to a bounty of presents with just the right ingredients, I’m celebrating the season with these ginger and jaggery cookies.

This recipe contains gifts from many friends. The method of course, belongs to Sujatha and Michael. The cloves are from Asha, the Sri Lankan ginger and sugar syrup that also partly inspired this recipe is from Anna (this had been introduced to me by Ramani), and the cinnamon (also from the island) from Sharanya. So in many ways, this recipe fits the Christmas spirit of giving and camaraderie perfectly. And of course: the love, inspiration and encouragement from friends, family and fellow bloggers are what make me want to share it!

I love to make blends and powders at home, as you may have noticed from earlier posts. They give my baked goods a fresh, authentic flavour. So I ground the cloves and cinnamon especially for this batch of cookies, and used the ginger powder I had prepared in the summer, as I do every year. Ginger powder is used often, and in versatile ways, in my kitchen – you’ll find it in everything from a flu remedy to a sacred dessert.

I always like to bring familiar ingredients even into fusion or foreign dishes, which is why the jaggery and the ginger feature so prominently in this recipe. Both are intrinsic parts of local Tamil cuisine, and not only taste delicious but are quite good for you too. Aged jaggery, like wine, is said to be the best. It is rich in iron and other minerals, and is a healthy sweetener. Ginger is great for digestion (always a good thing during a holiday feast!), clears congestion and has such a divine aroma!

You’ll find these ginger-jaggery cookies have a chewy centre, and the jaggery gives them an unusual flavour, just like how the sweetness of honey differs from that of sugar. While the taste will certainly differ, if you’re unable to find good jaggery to make these cookies, you can substitute it with brown sugar.

 

Ginger & Jaggery Christmas Cookies

(Yield – 12-15 cookies)

Ingredients
325 grams maida
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground ginger
115 grams powdered jaggery
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon clove powder
200 grams butter
50 ml molasses
½ teaspoon vanilla essence
1 egg

Pre-heat the oven to 160°C/320°F. Line an oven tray with foil and keep aside.

Mix all the dry ingredients, except the jaggery, in a bowl and set aside.

Now, beat the butter and the jaggery together until the mixture turns creamy, then add the egg. Beat some more. Add the molasses and vanilla essence and blend well.

Fold all the dry ingredients into the mixture and knead, using your hands. The dough will feel sticky at this point. Once all the ingredients have been incorporated and blended well, refrigerate the dough for an hour.

After it has chilled, remove the dough from the fridge and make balls, gently using your hands again. Place them on the lined tray, ensuring they’re arranged well apart so that they don’t overlap while baking. Sprinkle with some sugar crystals.

Bake for about 12-15 minutes or until golden on the sides and bottom.

When the cookies have baked, decorate as you desire. As you can see in the photos above and below, I decided to draw delicate designs using white icing – a homage to my culture. In many places in India, intricate rice diagrams are drawn by hand on the front porch in the mornings and before special occasions. They are known as ‘rangoli’ in North India and ‘kolam’ in Tamil Nadu.

Some say a kolam is a prayer in the form of a painting, inviting the goddess and her auspiciousness into the home. Others say it is a practical thing: keeping insects away by feeding them outside the door itself. Either way, without doubt, it is a beautiful thing. I hope you’ll enjoy these photos of chewy, spicy, sweet homemade Christmas cookies – with a quintessentially South Indian sentiment. And I hope the scent of ginger fills your own kitchen soon, and that your life remains as sweet as jaggery – through the festive season and well beyond.

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Recipe: Simply Luscious – Sitaphal Kheer

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We would clamber up the sitaphal tree, pluck one right off the branches, and in our greedy delight not even check whether the fruit was ripe enough to eat before we tore it open with our hands and devoured the sweet white pulp. Then, we would spit out the shiny black seeds and collect them, for they were perfect for playing pallanguzhi, a traditional Tamil mancala game! Whenever I think of sitaphal, I think of these moments from my childhood. They were filled with joy, and I taste it again each time I taste the fruit.

 

Recently, I visited our organic farm a few hours’ drive from Chennai – and the sight of the abundant green harvest of the sitaphal trees brought back those childhood memories.

I will tell you more about our organic farm soon, where we grow paddy, varieties of gourd, numerous other vegetables, fruits – and a thoughtful selection of gorgeous native flowers that are fading from public memory. Hardly anyone wears or sells them anymore, but I take heart from the fact that there is one lady who sits by the Kapaleeshwarar Temple in Mylapore, with a colourful array of blossoms for purchase. Among them are the shenbagha and the manoranjitha. When I was a little girl, the teachers would wear beautiful manoranjitha flowers in their hair, and the classroom would be filled with their fragrance. And I would often think to myself: one day, when I am grown, I will have a house of my own with a tree that bears those flowers.

With the sweetness of all these memories in mind, and with the fruit in season in the serene landscape I dreamed of as a child, I remembered and craved a recipe that I had introduced into our family repertoire. When I got married and moved into my new home, I had enjoyed learning certain dishes from my mother-in-law that I found unusual. Among these was a fresh orange kheer. If you remember from this rose-coconut recipe, kheer is a kind of Indian pudding, with milk as the primary ingredient.

My mother-in-law’s citrusy dessert inspired my own variation. Perhaps I had wanted to bring the sitaphal I had plucked and gorged on in my childhood into my matrimonial home. And that’s how this sitaphal kheer was created. Even decades on, it remains a favourite of mine.

Sitaphal (Custard Apple) Kheer

(Yield – 8-10 cups)

Ingredients
1 ½ litres whole milk
2 large custard apples
1 ½ tablespoons corn flour or custard powder
½ cup sugar

You may know the sitaphal as the custard apple. I cannot recall seeing sitaphal sold abroad, which made me think it must be an indigenous Indian fruit, but it seems it’s actually native to the West Indies and Central America. Nonetheless, it thrives on our farm, and is popular throughout India. I wonder why it is not as well-known elsewhere as the mango. If you ask me, sitaphal is under-rated, and deserves renown.

One of the English names of sitaphal is sugar apple, attesting to its sweetness. Another is sweetsop. That tells you a lot about the taste of this fruit, if you haven’t had it. While it is not at all cloying, and in fact is quite subtle given its names, it is slightly higher in calories than other fruits too. Which means that I won’t sugar-coat it (pun intended): this recipe is a treat, and a bit of an indulgence! Still, sitaphal is also rich in potassium and magnesium, which protect the heart from disease, and Vitamin A and C. Fruit of any kind can never be truly bad for us, and sitaphal is no different.

Open up the soft, patterned green skin of this beautiful fruit, and begin to remove the seeds patiently using a spoon and clean hands. Keep the pulp in the refrigerator, covered.

In the meantime, boil the milk until it reduces partially. Vegans, you may want to try either coconut or almond milk. Keep stirring it on a low flame, making certain it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pot.

Put the corn flour or custard powder into a small cup, and add 2-3 tablespoons of milk at room temperature. Stir this mixture well, until it is smooth. Now, gently add this mixture to the milk in the pot. You have to be careful now to stir continuously, so that it doesn’t stick to the bottom, which it is very likely to.

I like my kheer not too thick, but you may like yours thicker. In which case, simply add an additional 1 teaspoon of the corn flour or custard powder. Or reduce the quantity, to thin it further. Adjust according to the consistency of your preference.

Add the sugar. The taste of the sitaphal is so gentle and distinctive that I find the addition of cardamom, nuts or saffron – classic elements of most kheer recipes – takes away from this flavour. But you can always add these if you wish.

Once the milk thickens to the consistency you prefer (this will take approximately 15-20 minutes), turn off the flame and cover the pot with a lid. Allow this to cool, then refrigerate for a few hours.

Add the seeded sitaphal pulp into the refrigerated mixture and blend well. Serve this chilled dessert in small bowls.

Just as I substituted my mother-in-law’s fresh oranges for sitaphal, the lovely thing about this recipe is that you can use any fruit of your choice, based on your own tastes and seasonal availability. It is a luscious dessert, and it’s equally perfect for summers (when it has a cooling effect) and for the year-end festivities (when it’s also in season). I’d love to know what you think of it – and what variations you’ll spin up in your kitchen.

 

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Recipe: Festive Feasting – Sweet Ghugras

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I want to begin with a word of thanks to all my readers around the world. Many of you have stayed with this blog for a whole year! I hope you’ve loved peeking into my kitchen, and I’m so glad to have you here as re:store grows. As the festive season is in full swing here in India, I thought this would be the perfect time to share my mother’s recipe for sweet ghugras, which was promised many posts ago when I gave you my mother-in-law’s recipe for pea-pomegranate kachoris.

Whether you know them as samosas, kachoris or ghugras, these fried stuffed pastries are a timeless favourite. It’s the fillings that make the difference, and the one I’m sharing today fills my heart with so many beautiful memories of childhood. It was one of the food items that my mother reserved exclusively for Diwali. In the same way that most people make modaks only on Ganesha Chathurti, she made these sweet, nutty ghugras only on Diwali.

Let me paint you a picture of just what these ghugras evoke in me. It’s amazing to recall now just how consistent the scene was: coming home from school year after year the day or so before Diwali to my mother standing in the kitchen, preparing the sweets. The anticipation, and the enjoyment. How does it feel like it was the exact same sight every year, even though both she and I grew older? The scents of that kitchen, the sheer delight of it all!

In those days, all the sweets and savouries were made at home. Each family would make 3 or 4 variants, depending on their status. The preparations began a couple of days before Diwali, and the treats would last for a week – and therefore, in a sense, the celebrations too. It was customary to visit one another’s homes, where we would eat versions of the same sweets. Back home, those who cooked in the families – usually our moms and aunts – would trade notes. Did that person’s cardamom twist suit the sweet? Was her own ghee-rich version of a treat the tastier one?

I grew up in a middle-class home where everything was rationed. Two sweets per child, and the rest for guests – but first, if you remember from my jaggery-whole wheat prasad recipe, to God. Those two sweets each were so relished, and to this day I believe that fulfilment and gluttony are two different things when it comes to dining.

The day after Diwali is the Gujarati New Year, and these two festivities are indelibly linked in my mind. Growing up in Chennai, the latter was not a public holiday, so school remained open. I remember the mix of restlessness and excitement I’d feel through classes all day, waiting for 3pm when our parents would come to pick us up. For that one day of the year, we did not have to take the school bus home – and just having our parents come to collect us to take us for our New Year prayers was such a thrill!

There is a beautiful old haveli, a traditional mansion, in Chennai’s Kilpauk neighbourhood that I still go to every year, and this was where we would drive to – still in our school uniforms, so happy to be celebrating this special day with our extended family and community. Dedicated to Lord Srinathji, the haveli observes an annakut darshan – an unlimited offering – made to the deity on New Year. In the spirit of abundance, it is forbidden to count the number of food items given as prashad. In order to achieve this, the cooking tasks are divided amongst several people. Each person makes a different kind of sweet or savoury, and the total collection is presented to the deity at once. It was always such a wonderful experience, a time when so many families came together and enjoyed ourselves – praying, playing and eating together, keeping our traditions alive through simply being joyous.

Diwali is in fact only one day in a string of special occasions. For us Gujaratis, the season began with Dhanteras (in which goddess Lakshmi is worshipped for prosperity), followed by Kali Chaudas (where a fried vada, a lentil doughnut, is thrown over one’s shoulder at a crossroads; my modern version of this custom is to serve thayir vada, curd-soaked vada, at home on this day), then Diwali (the festival of lights, which invariably falls on a new moon – on this day I make a broken wheat and jaggery dish for good luck). Diwali is followed by the Gujarati New Year (on which I make specialties like kesari or lapsi), and subsequently by Bhaibeej (the day when brothers visit their sisters’ homes to feast, the reverse of which happens on a day in August known as Raksha Bandhan). As you can see, feasting is an integral part of our festivals!

And to your own feasts, this year and for all time, I hope you’ll add this heirloom recipe of mine…

Sweet Ghugras

(Yield – 15-20 pieces)

Ingredients:

Filling

½ cup white raw almonds (with skin)

½ cup shelled pistachio

½ cup powdered sugar

2 tablespoons ghee

1 – 2 pinches of saffron

½ teaspoon cardamom powder

 

Pastry

See here.

 

If you tried your hand at my sweet-savoury pea-pomegranate kachori recipe, you’ve already had practice at making the pastry for these ghugras too. The ingredients and technique can be found by clicking through to that post.

Here, let me share the recipe only for the filling of the sweet ghugras. It is the filling that makes each samosa, ghugra or kachori different.

Roast the nuts until they turn into a light golden colour (you may replace the pistachio with cashew nuts if you wish). Allow to cool. Once cool, blend them to a coarse powder.

Now, add the powdered sugar and ghee. The ghee binds all the flavours together. Next, add the cardamom and saffron. Using your hands, gently blend the ingredients together.

The filling is as simple as that. Most Gujarati households will have a similar recipe for sweet ghugras. Many will use mava (known in Tamil as palkova), which is a sugary milk reduction. The mava version was my brother’s  favourite, and my mother made it for him for over five decades of Diwali celebrations – even the one in the hospital. But if you don’t like extreme sweetness in your desserts, you will prefer this nutty variation I’ve shared.

If you made the pea-pomegranate kachori recipe given earlier, making, rolling out and delicately folding the dough into a pretty shape should be very easy for you.

If this is your first attempt, do watch the video below to see how to stuff and fold the pastry casings. You will be able to make between 15-20 ghugras using this recipe, depending on the size. I like mine small and dainty, so that you’re both satisfied in a bite and have a slight craving for one more.

Once the pastries have been filled with the sweet, nutty stuffing, they must be fried.

I prefer the traditional method of deep-frying them in ghee over a low flame, but you can use oil if you wish. After a couple of minutes, increase the flame for about 15 seconds then lower it again for a minute. Continue alternating high and low flames. The ghugras will take 12-14 minutes to turn to a light golden colour. And then they are ready to serve.

These sweet ghugras have travelled a long way with me, from childhood. Isn’t it funny how we take our mothers’ food for granted? I’m so glad I made the effort to absorb her culinary wisdom. Now, during special occasions, my kitchen smells just like hers did when I was growing up – and I am filled with all the love she raised us with.

Heartfelt festive wishes from re:store to you and your family!

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Recipe: Sweet Simplicity: Jaggery-Whole Wheat Squares

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India contains a diverse mix of religions, both brought from abroad and homegrown. Among the latter category is Jainism, which has been practised for thousands of years. Some of my family members belong to this religion, and as the most sacred Jain festival, a time of fasting known as Paryushana, fell this year between August 19 and August 26, I was reminded of a particular temple we used to visit when we were kids… and a specific delicacy that was served there.

As I mentioned in my previous blog post, food is ritually offered to gods in many Eastern religions. At the Mahudi or Madhupuri temple just outside Ahmedabad, the deity Ghantakarna Mahavir Dev loves a ghee-rich dessert known to Gujarati Jains as sukhudi. Gujarati Vaishnavites like myself know it as gol papdi, and offer it to the baby Lord Krishna. By whichever name you call it, it’s a very simple dish both in its preparation and in the ingredients used. It could have become a staple as a religious offering because of both reasons: any family would have been able to afford to make and serve it to God.

Jaggery is made of cane sugar or date palm. A sweetener that is believed to aid digestion, it is generally a healthier alternative to refined sugar. It has a cooling effect in the summer, and a warming effect in the winter. It’s a vital ingredient in Gujarati cuisine, and a pinch is used in so many dishes (even those which you wouldn’t classify as sweet) to add to the flavour. And it’s a sacred ingredient, of course – the gods certainly seem to enjoy it!

At this temple, this whole wheat and jaggery sweet is made in individual earthenware vessels. After it is offered to the deity, it is served piping hot to those who come to the temple. It is absolutely forbidden to either waste even a little or to take it outside of the temple compound. If you know you’ll be unable to finish your portion, you must give it to pilgrims rather than throw it away. And it is considered extremely bad luck to take sukhudi out of the temple – a theory which my grandmother once tested to her great surprise!

The story was recounted to me by my aunt Sam, whom I visited a couple of weeks ago. Many years ago, when Sam was still a teenager, some of the family had gone to Mahudi. When they returned, the parents and elders were chatting downstairs, while the kids played on the third floor. Sam had been sitting atop of a pile of mattresses that had been set by a window. Down below, her mother (my grandmother) was telling the others that she didn’t believe in the superstition about taking sukhudi out of the temple. Just as she firmly insisted, “Sam just brought some back for me, and nothing happened – I do not believe in such tales!” – a loud thud was heard.

Sam had fallen out of the window! Miraculously, for a fall from the third floor, she was absolutely unscathed. Her mother winced and bit back her words, and made a promise to offer sukhudi at the Mahudi temple as an appeasement. The incident ended any further attempt in my family to take sukhudi out of the Mahudi temple. Perhaps it was a coincidence, and perhaps all our beliefs are created with our own minds (I am reading Yuval Noah Harari’s amazing Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind and it’s making me ponder such ideas deeply). Still, none of us has tempted fate since.

Whether you want to see these whole wheat jaggery squares as a religious offering or a treat for your sweet tooth is up to you. One thing is for certain: I hope they taste utterly divine.

Jaggery & Whole Wheat Squares

Yield: 10-15 pieces
Prep time: 20 minutes

1 cup whole wheat flour
½ cup clarified butter (ghee)
¾ cup jaggery
½ teaspoon ginger powder
2 tablespoons slivered almonds

Call them whole wheat jaggery squares, call them sukhudi or call them gol papdi – these sweets are very easy to make once you have the ingredients on hand.

Grease a steel plate with some ghee and keep it aside. In a kadhai, or a wok-shaped pan, add ghee and allow it to melt. In a few seconds, add the whole wheat flour. With a spatula, stir and sauté until the mixture turns golden brown. This will take approximately 10-15 minutes on a medium to low flame. Remove from the stove and add the jaggery and ginger powder. As always, season to your taste – I even add cardamom, desiccated coconut, cinnamon or masala chai powder when I make this dish. Ginger in particular is something that is traditionally added during winters for its warming effect.

A word about jaggery: it varies in sweetness around the world, so you must gauge the correct amount to use when you make this dish. I had used a particularly sweet batch when I made this after talking to my aunt, and found it too cloying, then made it again to my taste. However, if you add too little jaggery, the mixture will not bind. As with any recipe, sometimes it takes more than one try to get it right.

Mix well until the jaggery melts and the ginger powder or flavours of your choice are distributed evenly. While still hot, pour the mixture onto the greased plate and spread evenly. Flatten it with a cup so it evens out, and add the almond slivers on top quickly, before it begins to cool.

Then, cut into even squares and allow them to cool before transferring them to an air tight container.

These whole wheat and jaggery squares are so simple to make – all you really have to do is stir it well for it to cook properly. That’s probably why they were such a staple in my childhood, something my mom could whip up quickly and store for several days’ worth of after-school snacks. As they don’t spoil easily, gol papdi was also something we took with us when we travelled. Memories, love and a sense of security – they are contained in every bite of a cherished dish, aren’t they?

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Recipe: Lavender Shrikhand – A Little Lavender & A Lot Of Love

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Being born and brought up in Chennai into a traditional Gujarati home has given me a more expansive way of thinking, which is what opens one’s mind to explore. There are times when I think in Tamil while I’m cooking Gujarati food! Even as the world becomes a smaller place, I love keeping local culinary customs alive – but every once in a while, my imagination will take me on an adventure in the kitchen. So it was while making shrikhand one day, a sweetened Gujarati dish made of hung curd. I’d played with various Indian flavours for shrikhand before, including mango and an almond-saffron blend. But I had just met with a friend, Siddharth Murthy, who has an organic lavender farm outside Melbourne in Australia, and he had gifted me one of my favourite foreign ingredients. Next to rose, lavender is the scent I enjoy adding most to my cakes. I wondered: how would my family like to end a meal on lavender shrikhand?

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Recipe: Rose-Coconut Kheer, As Sweet As Memories

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When I was a girl, the full moon known as Sharad Purnima, marking the end of the monsoon, was a special occasion among a group of close family friends, who would enjoy the evening by the beach. The parents would chat as the kids played in the sand on Marina Beach, which was then pristine and beautiful! These outings were special as they created a special bond within the Gujarati community in Chennai.

So my earliest memories of kheer are to do with these nights, when my mother always carried her dudh-poha (beaten rice) variation, soaked soft in milk. Dudh-poha kheer is a customary Sharad Purnima dessert. There was such simplicity in that dish, yet how fantastic it tasted! Even now, it takes me back to those nights. I distinctly remember the almost silver sands and the beautiful moon reflecting upon the sea, and how we kids ran about and were warned not to go into the sea to wet our feet, for the waters were choppy and full moons always cause higher tides. We marvelled at the waves from a distance, all the while waiting to be called to have our cup of kheer. I remember the excitement of waiting the entire week for this outing as my mother called the other aunties to make the plan.

Kheer is basically an Indian rice pudding, with variations across the subcontinent. In South India, it is known as payasam, and is made using a number of different recipes with ingredients as wide-ranging as jaggery, vermicelli, sago, coconut, carrot, ghee and jackfruit. A Hyderabadi version even uses bottle gourd. A sweetened, spiced North Indian version rich with nuts, enhanced with rose water, is known as rabri.

Significantly, the old and infallible combination of milk and rice has traditionally been used as a ritual offering in Hindu customs. The practice is that food both cooked and uncooked is served to the Gods, thereby rendering it holy. It is then distributed to all present as blessed food, and is known as prasad or prasadam.

Kheer is so simple, yet profound, which is why it is so popular both as a prasad and as a regular treat: rice contains life within itself, while cow milk is considered sacred. Sugar, of course, is what turns many a dish into a dessert.

My mother’s kheer was sheer simplicity, but also sheer perfection: poha, milk and sugar with a pinch of cardamom. The one I will pass on to my children, and which I am so delighted to share with you, is almost as simple – but with that signature re:store touch.

Rose-Coconut Kheer

(Yield: 8-10 cups)

½ cup basmati

4 cups whole milk

¾ cups sugar

1 cup freshly squeezed coconut milk

2 tablespoon coconut shavings

½ teaspoon cardamom powder

2 tablespoons rose water


Basmati rice is the long-grained aromatic variety commonly used in biryanis and pulaos. Soak the basmati in water for half an hour. This will help the grain cook faster.

In a heavy-bottomed pan, add the milk. Once it is warm, add the soaked rice. On a low flame, allow the rice to cook thoroughly, stirring frequently to ensure it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan. This will take approximately 45 minutes.

Now add the sugar, then allow it to cook a little more. Let the rice mixture cool slightly, then very gently hand blend it. Cover the saucepan and allow the mixture to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate.

When the kheer has cooled and thickened, add the coconut milk to your desired consistency. Add the shaven coconut, rose water and half the cardamom powder and stir so that the flavours are well-blended. Rose water is a signature ingredient in many of my cakes at re:store, because the scent reminds me of one of my favourite flowers. Known in South India as the paneer roja, the damask rose inspires many of my innovations in the kitchen. The Mughals brought roses to India, as seen in the Shalimar gardens. They were distilled as much for their fragrance as for their usage in culinary delights like syrups and sweetmeats.

Cover and refrigerate until serving. When you are ready to serve this dessert, you may wish to add more coconut milk. Don’t forget to sprinkle the remaining cardamom powder to decorate.

Nostalgia is what makes our food special. Each family recipe is special only to them because it is intertwined with memories. Memories and love: the two main ingredients of any recipe. Today, my best dishes are those that my mother taught me and some that I learnt from my mother-in-law. Some day I will pass these on, too – along with my own innovations. I have made several promises to visit my children when they have their own families to go cook for them. It’s funny how when I cook, my children relish the dishes and claim they are “finger-licking good”. But when our cook makes the same dishes, they are simply edible or enjoyable. So much of taste is through what is evoked emotionally. So whenever you try a new recipe in your kitchen, remember that it is going to become a mnemonic too. Fill it with love.

As I write this, the month of Ramadan is coming to a close. All over the world, sweets are an integral part of the iftar customs when the day’s fast is broken at dusk. In India, iftar meals are almost always accompanied by kheer. At sundown, after the fast-breaking prayers, people step out to enjoy the breeze and socialise, visiting sweetmeat shops to enjoy their favourite Ramadan delights. Street food also becomes very exciting at this time, and the air is thick with the smells of delicious treats and an ambience of love and celebration. I love the idea that kheer is being enjoyed all over the country today – and perhaps in your home too, wherever you are in the world. Don’t forget to drop a line if you enjoy this recipe!

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Recipe: The Done-To-Death Chia Pudding… With A Difference

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The dessert du jour is the chia seed pudding – fuss-free, and usually requiring very few ingredients. If you’re like me, you’d have gotten introduced to chia seeds because of your curiosity over the current craze of having them in puddings. The first time I tasted them, they took me back to childhood visits to Bombay and the city’s famous bright-coloured, super-sweet dessert drink known as falooda. They tasted just like the takhmaria (sweet basil) seeds I loved catching between my teeth as I slurped it down… And that’s when I had an inspiration about a very Indian twist on the done-to-death chia seed pudding.

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Recipe: Lucy’s Lemon Poppy Cake

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Do you ever have that feeling, returning from travels or even just from a demanding day, that you simply must bake something that makes you feel good?

It’s a feeling I have often – which means that the emotion that follows, as I gently remove my creation of the day from the oven, is also one that I frequently get to enjoy. Many things inspire the baking itself. A craving, for instance. Or a memory. Sometimes, the creativity comes from cookbooks. A recent one I picked up is Love, Manuela. I lost myself for hours in the pretty pastels and luscious desserts that filled the pages of the book. Another favourite is Under The Walnut Tree by Fanny & Anna Bergenström, which features ingredients and recipes from around the world.

And sometimes, everything begins with a single ingredient.

When my friend Lucy visited recently, she brought me a beautiful batch of Meyer lemons, garden-grown and gorgeous. I know the tree from which she plucked them, from her home near a cove in Wareham, close to Boston. I love Lucy’s garden, unmanicured and filled with a wild charm. It was where her son’s wedding was held, with a Star Trek theme, and I vividly recall the funky geometric necklace I wore as per the dress code! Lucy came to visit in India bearing good tidings, kind comfort… and sweet, gently-raised lemons.

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