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There are elaborate ways of making a Victoria sponge cake, but after various experiments, I came to realise that an easier method makes for a very satisfying dessert indeed. While it has a fancy name (it is called this because it was the favourite dessert of the British Queen Victoria), in truth the Victoria sponge cake is itself actually one of the simpler variations of the sponge cake. It consists of two layers, between which cream and berries are sandwiched. It’s a lighter cake, ideal for the summer, and I’m delighted to share the recipe with you.

It certainly wasn’t only Queen Victoria’s favourite. I think my mother enjoyed baking it too, as much as I enjoyed eating it, and it was often the special treat when we came home on some days, like birthdays. I can’t help but repeat myself, as I have so many times over the years, but my mom was my first teacher in the realm of the kitchen and my inspiration in all my culinary adventures – whether that’s cooking, exploring cuisines, food studies, eating mindfully or crafting this blog. She has been gone for a few years now, and nowadays I think often about how we as children both little and grown-up take our moms for granted. All those times when they call and we say, “Sorry, I don’t have time” – and all the regrets, later on… If your mother is still in your life, do try and spend more time with her. Take it from me, as someone who misses hers a lot.

Missing my mom also means reminiscing about all the food she made for us over the years, and returning to those experiences in my own kitchen. This Victoria sponge cake is obviously one such experience for me, for the scent in particular brings her to mind vividly. My mother’s handwritten cookbook contained a recipe for Victoria sponge cake. To me, the cookbook even smelled of this cake, so I have a strong association between it and my memories both of my childhood and of my mother herself.

Perhaps my kids will also associate certain dishes and their aromas with me. On Sundays, when they’re visiting, they invariably ask me what I plan to bake for them that day. During the week, they will claim to be on diets and refuse the many goodies that pop into my oven on a daily basis, especially as I’m always baking for customers. But come Sunday, come the demands for baked deliciousness. This Sunday, I’ve already anticipated this request. Guess what I’ll be preparing for them?

I said earlier that one of the key components of a Victoria sponge cake is the use of berries. Seasonal ones are ideal. For mine, I have used a strawberry jam that a dear friend makes at home every year from fruit grown in her backyard. It’s the only strawberry jam we consume. It really is the best there is, and we are lucky to have it.

Simple Victoria Sponge Cake

(Serves: 6-8)

150 grams self-raising flour

150 grams unsalted butter

150 grams powdered sugar

3 eggs

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

2-3 tablespoons strawberry jam

½ cup butter cream

 

Preheat the oven to 170°. Prepare two 8-inch tins by greasing the edges and dusting with flour. Set aside.

In a bowl, add the butter and sugar. Beat until light and fluffy. Next, add the eggs one at a time, making sure to beat well each time. Add the vanilla extract and beat again.

Sieve the flour and add it to the mixture. Fold the mixture and divide the batter into the two tins equally. Each of these will be one layer of the Victoria sponge cake.

Bake for 25 minutes or until the cake layers turns golden. Then, remove them from the oven and allow to cool.

To assemble the Victoria sponge cake, apply strawberry jam generously on top of one layer. Over this, apply butter cream generously as well. Now, gently place the other layer on top of the first. Sprinkle some powdered sugar over the top.

Your Victoria sponge cake is now ready to be eaten. Slice and enjoy the delicious flavours of berries, cream and cake coming together. The cake can be stored in the fridge and enjoyed over a few days – or shared immediately with the whole family, the way I love to do.

As I mentioned a few posts ago, we have a new addition to our family: a daughter-in-law, as one of my sons is getting married. There is newness all around me right now: a new year, with new changes and new surprises. There is a lot of mutual love and acceptance, but there is also a great deal of learning – both on a personal level as well as in the form of new experiences. This is true for every one of us at this time, as the family expands and we adjust to that expansion, even if joyfully. This coconut chutney, which has a twist, comes from my daughter-in-law’s culture in Coorg, South India. It is a delicious take on a classic, and we love it so much that it has now become the only kind of coconut chutney that we make at home.

I have shared a wide range of chutneys on this blog: from peanut chutney to plum chutney, and much in between. Despite also sharing a variety of coconut posts over the years, the two had not come together so far. So I’m thrilled to share this less-than-typical, and very tasty, coconut chutney. The method is exceptionally simple, and if you already have a standard coconut chutney in your own repertoire, you will find this an easy upgrade.

I would love to share more recipes from Coorg as I myself begin learning more over the coming years. I hope you’ll enjoy doing so alongside me, too.

As I said earlier, the learnings are myriad. Becoming a mother-in-law is a whole new chapter of my life. I am sure it won’t always be easy, but I look forward to a lot of togetherness. I hope to apply all the lessons I have learned over the decades about open-mindedness, warmth and sincerity. When I think of my kids and how I have accepted their loveliness and their quirks both, and how they have also been welcomed by so many, I know that we can all find it in our hearts to grow together. I wish also that we can be caring and thoughtful towards each other in the world at large, and instil harmony everywhere.

It’s about accepting differences, of course, but it’s also about celebrating them. I can think of no better way to do this than through food. So without further ado, here is a Coorg-inspired coconut chutney to usher in bright times for us all!

Coorg-Inspired Coconut Chutney

(Yield: 1 cup)

½ cup grated coconut

Marble-sized tamarind pulp (soaked)

2 green chillies

A small piece of ginger

2 tablespoons water

Sugar to taste

Salt to taste

In a blender, add all the above ingredients and blend to a smooth texture. If you require the consistency to be thinner, add more water.

That’s it. Now that your chutney is ready, serve with dosa or idly. Stay tuned for upcoming posts on preparing the batter for these, as well as a special and fun way to enhance your dosa experience!

We talk about memories all the time on this blog, and the deep link between food and nostalgic experiences. The recipe that I am sharing today is more about my kids’ memories than my own. When they were little, this spinach and corn bake was the only kind of Continental or baked food that they truly enjoyed at dinner. Their choosiness worked just fine for me, because I was very happy about the fact that they loved a spinach-laden meal that also contained a good protein quotient, thanks to the paneer. It’s a nutritious, filling and delicious dish – and as I’ve indicated, child-friendly, too.

Looking back, I can see a reason, taste aside, as to why they found it so appealing. It was that I usually used individually baked bowls, which made the dish seem quite fancy. They always got a thrill out of having it be served in this style. My kids would often request this spinach and corn bake when they had their friends visit, and I could see how it was the presentation that really enhanced the experience for all of them. This is a good point to keep in mind when preparing it for entertaining, for all ages.

Now – about the vegetables used, which are the secret to our satisfaction as parents! I tried to replace corn with broccoli many times, but my kids simply refused to accept this back then. With my experience in mind, I would say: if you are preparing this recipe for children, consider introducing the extra healthy vegetables, or even the ones they aren’t fond of, early on (rather than as a substitute later, which they will recognize as being just that). I now bake more variations, but still like to retain the spinach as a base. You can also replace the paneer with tofu, chicken or bacon.

You may wish to make a lighter version of this by using wheat flour rather than maida in the white sauce. While I’ve grated some cheese on top, you can avoid this to further lighten the dish. If you’re using it, another method is to add some to the white sauce when it’s ready, rather than to grate on top.

Spinach & Corn Bake

(Serves: 2-4)

50 grams butter

50 grams flour

3 cups milk

Salt to taste

A pinch of pepper

125 grams paneer

1 cup spinach

1 stalk rosemary

½ cup whole corn

Cheese (optional)

Make a roux of the butter and flour. You will get about 2.5 cups. A roux typically uses equal parts of fat and flour, and then a liquid is added (in this case, the milk). To do this, melt the butter in a pan and add the flour. Keep stirring so that the mixture does not stick to the bottom. Stir until golden. It will be a thick emulsion at this stage.

Now, add the milk and the rosemary and continue stirring, making sure it’s a smooth and thick sauce.

Blanch the spinach and squeeze it well. A quick tip: when you squeeze the water out of the spinach, while making this or any other dish, add that used water to a dough or a dhal. It doesn’t need to be wasted.

In a baking dish, add the paneer, spinach and corn. Pour 1.5 cups of the roux over this and mix gently so that all the vegetables are coated well. You can store the remaining roux in the fridge for later, to be used as a sauce.

Either add the cheese to the sauce before you set it aside, or else grate some on top of the dish now. Bake for 20 minutes or until it’s golden.

I like pairing this with a toastie, but a simple toast also works well.

My adult kids still enjoy this dish, and I recently met one of my son’s childhood friends who was reminiscing about it too. I share this recipe here for them and their partners, and I hope they’ll have fun baking and eating it together, perhaps with their young families. I think you will too!

Growing up in India, baked beans and eggs were one of the few non-traditional breakfasts that we ate at home. While eggs were easy to come by, and provided a necessary source of protein for us as kids (we were otherwise vegetarian), cans of baked beans were not as readily available. Whenever our parents managed to find them in stock while purchasing our groceries, my siblings and I would know that there would be a very special breakfast the following day, and would eagerly anticipate it. All three of us craved those delicious canned beans. There would never be any for our parents as we would finish them off between us, often fighting over them too! Memories of those childhood mornings inspired me to create homemade, Indian-style masala baked beans – served, of course, on my beloved sourdough toast.

My brother was a rower at a national and then a professional level, and I looked at him in awe for this and many reasons. His diet was naturally that of an athlete’s, and when those precious cans came our way he would make a claim on how he deserved the biggest share for this reason. There would be arguments over the baked beans at the breakfast table, but in the end, we all got a good portion. His was quite a large one, of course. Watching my brother wolf down six whole eggs and a bowl full of baked beans is still a sight I can conjure up before me!

Fast forward to the present day and canned baked beans are everywhere at any supermarket. They were off my menu at home for a long time as I tend to avoid food that is overly processed or contains too many preservatives. At one point, I even tried to soak the beans and make them myself, but never got around to doing it regularly. More recently, I’ve found that when I stay at hotels and head down to the buffets in the morning, the baked beans that are always a part of the spread often look so bland compared to the other items.

However, I’ve found a beautiful middle ground between my childhood memories of coveting baked beans to how they seemed to have lost their charm for me as an adult. That is by spicing them up a bit, making an Indian-style version that suits our palates. Using these masala baked beans as a topping for sourdough toast, which I bake regularly as you may know, turned out to be a great idea.

While my morning protein intake in terms of legumes had long been replaced by homemade moong sprouts, which are non-sweet and healthy, it was fun to bring this nostalgic dish back to my dining table. While pondering my own history with the dish, I also wondered when baked beans had come to India, and whether the British brought them here. To my surprise, I learned that the dish was originally Native American, transforming over time due to colonization, and later on through mass production in the 20th century. Would you know when they first came to India? Do you also have childhood memories of occasional days when an elusive can had been attained?

Masala Baked Beans On Toast

(Yield: 1 slice)

 

1 slice sourdough

1½ cups baked beans

½ cup finely chopped onions

1 tablespoon olive oil or butter

Salt to taste

1 teaspoon chilli powder

½ cup chopped tomatoes

¼ cup finely chopped coriander leaves

 

Heat the oil in a pan. Add the onions and sauté. Then, add the tomatoes and all the masalas (spices and condiments) one by one. Allow the mixture to bubble up.

Toast the sourdough bread slice and spread the masala baked beans over it. Be generous. Then, simply enjoy!

In case you missed it, my previous recipe was also a toast – a rather more exotic cherry tomato and Greek yoghurt toast to be precise! I hope you’ll check that out too. There will probably be a few more interesting toast toppings coming up on this blog soon, so I hope you’re in the mood for some fun breakfasts!

 

Paneer makhani is a staple in North Indian cuisine, and is loved by people across the country, but not many know that it is a far cry from the original preparation that it is based on. From my understanding, the authentic Mughlai dish did not use tomatoes, which were not available or at least not widely cultivated in India till the last couple of centuries. Tomatoes are a major part of the recipe as it is widely made today. Another element is that the cooks who invented the dish did not use fat such as oil, butter or ghee. Instead, they splashed yoghurt, which would release natural fat. This is what the meats and the gravies of the Mughlai kitchen would be cooked in. Having a sense of the evolution of paneer makhani – a curry using paneer, or Indian cottage cheese – has made me quite happy to share the version that is made in my own kitchen.

While my version caters to my family’s likes and dislikes, it is really focused on one member in particular. Everyone who knows us knows how much my son Prasan loves his paneer makhani. If I talk about this love in detail, he will be furious with me for putting it out in public, so I’ll try not to divulge too much. Suffice to say: he has adored it since childhood. When he visits our relatives, like my aunt or my sister, they usually ring me up and ask me exactly how to make it in the way he prefers. They know that he will only be satisfied with their meal if there’s a serving of his favourite dish. If they’re unable to prepare it that day, they organise for it to be at the table anyway. So this recipe is for them also – next time, they can just find it right here on this blog, as can you.

When we get together as an extended family, a good paneer makhani is a mainstay at most meals. I’ve noticed this to be true at all sorts of gatherings and feasts across communities in India as well. It is also a dish that pleases people of all ages. Children seem to appreciate it as much as the elderly. Whether it was one of my kids when they were little or my mother-in-law as a senior citizen today, I’m never surprised to see anyone at all reach out for another helping.

Paneer Makhani

(Yield: Approximately 2 servings)

 

50 grams onion

180 grams tomato (roughly chopped)

2 cardamom pods

½ teaspoon cumin

2 cloves

1 piece cinnamon stick

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon garlic-ginger paste

4-5 pieces broken cashewnut

1 tablespoon oil (to sauté)

 

1 teaspoon Kashmiri chilli powder

Salt to taste

½ teaspoon turmeric

¼ teaspoon dhaniya-jeera (coriander-cumin) powder

 

1 tablespoon ghee

½ teaspoon sugar

¼ teaspoon garam masala

100 grams paneer

½ teaspoon kasoori methi (dried fenugreek leaves)

Add the oil to a kadai. Allow to heat, then add the cumin seeds. Immediately after, add the onions, cloves, cinnamon, cardamom, cashew nuts, garlic-ginger paste and the bay leaf. Sauté for about 1 minute. Then, add the roughly chopped tomatoes.

Now, add the salt, turmeric, chilli powder and dhaniya-jeera powder. Stir, cover and allow to cook until the tomatoes are tender.

Allow to cool and blend well. Strain and set aside.

Heat a kadai, and add the ghee. Once it has melted, add the blended purée that had been set aside. If required, add a little water to make the gravy in the consistency you prefer. Other options are to add butter or 2 tablespoons of fresh cream. I have added neither. I sometimes do, but rarely, as Prasan and the rest of us prefer it with less of the same. If you choose to, remember to add the milk or cream finally, else it will split.

Now, add the sugar and allow the gravy to cook well. Finally, add the paneer pieces. I occasionally sneak in some green peas, but my kids don’t like them in this dish. But they do go well with paneer in general, so you may want to try them out. Garnish with a sprinkle of kasoori methi. The gravy can be used as a base for other dishes, such as chicken or vegetable curries, and I’d love to know how you decide to use it.

Serve with flatbread, such as naan or rotis, or rice. Now that I have the hang of sourdough naan, that’s what I tend to serve my Prasan-style paneer makhani with.

There you have it: one of the top dishes at my dining table, made with love every single time. On that note… I’ve mentioned my son quite a number of times in this post, which means I may just have to head to the kitchen and whip up a fresh bowl of paneer makhani. You see, it’s become a bit of a running joke that whenever he is annoyed or upset, a little bit of his beloved gravy will calm him down! Having said this, I’d better get to making it right away, I suspect!

If you’ve been using my recipes for awhile, you may already be quite experienced with kheer, having tried out sitaphal kheer, rose-coconut kheer and even kheer poori. So this orange kheer should be a nice, fresh twist on a milky Indian dessert that I hope you’ve been loving.

When I first heard of orange kheer and then tasted it for myself, I was a bit surprised. I had always assumed that citrus would separate the milk and ruin the dish, so when my mother-in-law brought it out for her meal once in the early days of my marriage, I was incredulous at first, and then very impressed. The trick is to have two distinct cooling periods, thus ensuring that the milk has already set before the orange is introduced and combined. When you make it this way, you can quite confidently add quite a lot of orange, which I do – fruit segments, fruit juice and even a fruit cup.

The fruit cups – using hollowed-out orange peels to serve the dessert – were my innovation on my mother-in-law’s recipe. I suggested this idea to her after first eating her orange kheer. We found that it further enhances the experience as this style of serving makes it all the more fragrant. Of course, you also save on clean-up time afterwards. Neither do you waste water doing the dishes, making it a creative and eco-friendly choice as well.

I recently made this orange kheer after several years, much to my mother-in-law’s delight. She asked for a second helping, and she reminded me that it had been my father-in-law’s favourite. A flood of memories came back to her, and she appreciated the sentimental value of the dish very much. Watching her delight made me think yet again of how food truly is emotional, and has such a nostalgic quality. This isn’t something that we food bloggers say just for fun – when something beautiful like this is evoked in a person as they eat, the evidence is clearly seen.

My late father-in-law was diabetic, so we ensured that the sugar quantity in this dessert was always low, so that he could enjoy more of it. I generally avoid using too much artificial sweetening or sugar in my cooking anyway, so this low-sugar version fit nicely into my overall culinary approach, and I retained the recipe. The natural sweetness of the fruit also comes through. Oranges are currently in season, and I used the Nagpur variety which is especially flavourful at this time.

It’s so fitting that a sweet dessert like this inspires such sweet memories. I hope you’ll enjoy it just as much as my family does.

 

Orange Kheer

(Yield: 4-5 servings)

 

1 litre milk

Segments of 2 oranges

Juice of 1 orange

12 cup sugar

3 oranges (for cups)

Boil the milk on a medium-low flame, for roughly an hour, until it has reduced to 13. Stir frequently, making sure it does not stick to the bottom. The milk will be thick.

Once it has reduced, add the sugar and stir well. Take off the flame, cover and set aside to cool. Then, refrigerate for 2 hours.

Once it has cooled, remove from the fridge and add the orange segments and orange juice. The juice is optional, but elevates the overall flavour quite a bit. If you have some orange blossom extract on hand, go ahead and add a few drops too. Stir and put back into the refrigerator until cooled again.

When you are ready to serve this dish, you can either do so with your regular bowls, or else try my method of using the orange peel. To create the orange peel cups, cut each orange into half. Scoop out the flesh, being careful not to damage the peel. Set the segments aside for later. Pour the cooled kheer inside. Garnish if you’d like to (toasted pistachio can be a nice touch) and enjoy!

This is a cheerful dessert, as orange simply has that quality of boosting the mood. The aroma and the taste come together beautifully. I wouldn’t be surprised if, like my mother-in-law did today, you’ll be reaching out for a second helping too.

The festive season has begun here in India, and I hope that those of you who are celebrating are having a wonderful time. Feasting is such a big part of our festivals, and this month I’ll be sharing some delicious recipes to add to your repertoire of sweets and snacks to share with friends and family. At the top of this list is a dish of sentimental value: puran poli. This sweet, healthy flatbread always evokes my mother for me. Perhaps that is true of all sweet foods, if not all dishes, from my childhood. But she really was exceptional at preparing puran poli, and so it holds a special place in my heart.

Puran poli was the favourite of all five of us at home (my parents, my siblings and I). For my siblings and father, it was to them what her dhokla was to me – the one dish that they only wanted made by her, even if they would prepare or buy other items. I suppose in my case I lucked out because I learned how to make puran poli from her, rather than only have her make it for me. Now, whenever I roll out the dough to make this sweet treat, memories of my mother flood back. I recall her hands as she prepared it, the way she would measure out ingredients and little nuances about her movements. Whether she was teaching me, letting me work alongside her or just letting me watch, all those moments come together and fill me with nostalgia as I make this.

She prepared it for special occasions and birthdays, and it was always a part of our festive meals. On such days, the lunch table would be laden with rich, heavy food of all varieties. We would partake of the feast while surrounded by happy people, and a nice long afternoon siesta would follow. One of the reasons why this sweet, which always featured in these feasts, was such a star on the menu is that something about it made her indulge us more. Even though there would always be healthy greens in the spread, she would say with a smile when she saw us reach for her famous puran poli, “It’s okay if you don’t eat your vegetables today”. So we would look forward to this dish all the more.

To me, these are not just memories to fondly look back on, but they show the way forward too. I feel strongly that beautiful moments at home must be created. They don’t just happen. When we put time and thought into creating experiences that celebrate the love within a family, while honouring tradition and heritage, we ensure that the next generation has something precious to look back on too. Festive occasions offer the perfect opportunity for this, which is why I have such a firm rule that my children come home for Diwali and Raksha Bandhan no matter where they are in the world. Every year, as a family, we renew our bonds and form new memories together. I know that some day, when they are older and reminiscing, they will feel joy – and remember us with love, just as I do my dear mother.

I often ask myself these questions: what will my children recall; what will their memories of me be? The desire to bring joy to them always, not just now but well into the future, is what motivates me to make our time together as meaningful as possible. Food as a daily expression of love enables this, and festivities make this expression all the more vivid and enjoyable. Family, food and feelings are interconnected. When we have healthy relationships, we eat better (as we share mealtimes, and are stressed less overall). When we eat nourishingly, we have healthier relationships (as our bodies and minds are performing optimally, and fatigue or illness don’t impede our ability to spend time together). Do you notice that you binge eat when you feel downcast? Do you notice that you enjoy food more when you’re with a close friend? These are clues about the nature of this interconnection.

This puran poli, thanks to the wonderful memories it brings back, strengthens my connection to my late mother. It is also meaningful to my children for the same reason. Decades ago, when I was away from home and expecting my second child, my eldest missed his grandmother – my mother – so deeply that I had to ask my friend Chandrika Behn to make puran poli just for him. She prepared it just like my mother would, and I didn’t mind my kid gorging on the treat often as it’s stuffed with protein-rich dal. Even now, when one of us visits her, this elderly aunty rolls out a batch of puran polis just for us. Such is the power of a beautifully-rendered dish. It becomes a way to treasure a relationship – between grandmother and grandchild, between friends, between parent and child, between siblings, between partners, and so on…

Puran Poli

(Yield: 10)

 

Stuffing ingredients

½ cup toor dal

1 cup water

½ cup jaggery

1 tablespoon almond powder

½ teaspoon cardamom

Ghee for topping

 

Dough ingredients

¾ cup whole wheat flour

A pinch of salt

½ cup water (based on your requirement)

1 teaspoon oil

 

Make a dough with the ingredients. Ensure it is soft and smooth. Make small balls, cover and set aside.

In a pressure cooker, cook the dal in water until it is soft and tender.

Open the cooker and add the jaggery. Keep stirring the mixture of dal and jaggery constantly on a low flame. Make sure the dal does not stick to the bottom of the pan/cooker.

Once the mixture has thickened, which will take approximately 12-15 minutes, turn off the flame and add the cardamom powder and almond powder.

You will know the stuffing is ready when you make a spatula stand upright inside the thickened dal and it doesn’t fall.

Allow to cool. Divide this into portions of 10 balls. Your stuffing is now ready to roll.

Assemble each puran poli. Roll out one small dough ball into a small disc. Place the ball of stuffing in the centre, gather the rolled out roti together and flatten. Dip the stuffed disc into dry flour for easy rolling out once again.

Now, place the rolled-out stuffed disc onto a hot griddle and allow to cook. Flip and cook on the other side. Remove onto a plate and pour ghee over the puran poli. Repeat for the remaining balls of dough and stuffing, until you’ve prepared them all. Enjoy them hot and fresh.

Each puran poli will be small – palm-sized. As far as sweets go, this is quite healthy, not only because of the portion size but also because the jaggery and almonds used in it are nutritious. Traditionally, it is made with chopped almonds, but my mother always used powdered almonds. This changes the texture of the stuffing, making it softer, and I’ve retained this twist too.

These are lovely little treats that invariably feel festive to me, and increase the joy of this season. I hope they will do the same for you. Wishing you and yours a wonderful time of celebration!

When I shared this recipe for a dhokla made of green moong a couple of years ago, I had mentioned that Gujaratis are so famous for this item of food that it’s what we are stereotypically called. “Hey, dhokla!” – there is hardly a Gujarati who hasn’t heard this phrase, just as there is hardly a Gujarati who doesn’t, as stereotyped, love this dish. Dhoklas are a kind of savoury cake, spongy in texture. There are numerous varieties of dhoklas, and the khaman dhokla (yellow in colour, and made with channa dal) is the most popular one, and the one you may be acquainted with from restaurants. But the one that Gujaratis mostly consume at home is the white dhokla, which I am sharing the recipe for today.

There are two kinds of white dhoklas: a version that is more tedious to prepare, which entails washing rice, drying it in the sun and then powdering it. My mother would make these traditional rice flour dhoklas often, but for a quick go-to it was always the rava dhokla. The rava dhokla is the other version of white dhokla, and the recipe that I’ll share today. It tastes quite similar to the rice flour dhokla, and has a quick and easy process. It makes for a light dinner, or as a tasty snack when you have company, and is often had with garlic chutney or a sweet mango pickle.

As you may know from some of my photography, I love antique kitchen objects. They are not only subjects or props to me, but are functional too. I have an old dhokla maker, one that feels like it has always been with me. I cannot remember when it entered my kitchen. Similar to an idly cooker, except flat, it has a set of plates stacked on top of each other. The dhoklas are steamed on these, then cut and served.

To be honest, I don’t use my dhokla maker very often because I don’t make dhoklas at home frequently, even though we all enjoy this dish very much. I think this is because, for me, the perfect dhokla was always my mother’s. Even when she became really old and would rarely cook, and I would send her all her meals, I would ask her to prepare just dhoklas for me. With great love, she and I had a recurrent jesting conversation in which I would make fun of her – “What’s this, why are you sitting around? Time to start training for a marathon! Or how about getting started on the cooking, and make me some dhoklas?” I would say, and she would laugh, or offer one of her famous smiles – to be followed shortly by a mouthwatering beautiful treat. My sister’s dhoklas are a close second, but as for me, I am still learning – and as always, eager to share what I know.

That reminds me also of how, not so long ago when we were all still zipping up and down the country and around the world with ease, I would pack dhoklas for short flights of under three or four hours. They travel well as they don’t need accompaniments, and the best part is that they don’t have a strong smell. The whole plane doesn’t find out that you’re eating dhoklas when you open your lunchbox. So I’d fly off to Mumbai, eating my own dhoklas in the air, and when I arrived, my sister would be ready to serve me a fresh batch of her own.  I guess it’s true what they say: no matter where we are, Gujaratis can’t get enough of a good dhokla.

White Dhokla

(Yield: Serves 2)

 

1 cup rava

½ cup yoghurt

1 cup + ½ cup water

Salt to taste

1 tablespoon oil

½ teaspoon ENO fruit salt

½ teaspoon green chili-ginger paste

 

Tempering:

2-3 tablespoons oil

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

A few curry leaves

 

In a bowl, add rava, yoghurt, 1 cup of water, salt, green chili-ginger paste and oil. Mix well. You will get a thick batter. Set this aside for at least half an hour.

Now, the batter would have thickened further. It needs to be of the consistency of idly batter, so add the remaining half cup of water if required.

Add the ENO fruit salt and gently mix the batter. At this point, it will be frothing.

Prepare the dhokla cooker / plates by greasing them. Then, pour the batter into the plates and steam for about 20-25 minutes with the lid on.

Remove the plates from the cooker once the batter has cooked. Allow to cool.

Finally, temper the dhokla. For this, heat the oil and add the mustard seeds and cumin seeds. Allow them to splutter, then add the curry leaves. Immediately, pour this hot mixture over the dhokla.

Cut and serve plain or with accompaniments of your choice. Once again, I would recommend trying out one or all of the three dips in my recent Indian condiments series. The raw mango thovayal, the lasun ki chutney or the ginger chutney will beautifully elevate the soft, spongy dhokla. I hope you’ll enjoy this delicious white dhokla – and that it will make you clearly understand why we Gujaratis love it so much! If you do, don’t forget to try out the green moong dhokla variant too. Let me know which one you prefer!

Rounding off this series of grain-based, khichdi-like dishes is the simplest, most quotidian version of all: a frequent-use Gujarati-style khichdi. If you’d like to catch up first, we began the series with the work-intensive and tummy-filling seven-grain khichdo and then went on to the versatile breakfast/dinner meal of bajra ghensh). Today, we come to an extremely basic dish, one that is sheer comfort food. What I’ve come to see over the years is that meals that one takes for granted in one’s own home are sometimes novelties in another’s. This is why I often share unassumingly familiar recipes alongside original and unusual ones. This classic khichdi is one among the former category.

Like many staples that are good for our health, khichdi is the kind of dish that kids turn their noses up at. At least, my siblings and I just hated it were growing up. So our mother would negotiate a lot of deals to work around our aversion. In those days, all our food was homemade, so this would take some extra effort on her part. If there was going to be khichdi for dinner, she’d serve something exotic that she learnt at her Continental cuisine or baking classes for lunch. We also cottoned on to the strategy: if there was a special snack in the evening without it being an occasion or a holiday, we knew she was going to put a bowl of khichdi on the table for dinner!

As adults though, it’s a different story. Our palates change and we begin to enjoy food that is good for us, feeling the difference in our bodies when we consume it. In fact, this subcontinental staple (which is eaten in similar forms like pongal in South India) is so relished that it even caught the fancy of the British during the colonial era. They enjoyed a version with fish, a dish they called “kedgeree”, and popularised it in England for a time. It was an import similar to mulligatawny soup, which came from the Tamil dish called molaga-thanni. Some form of khichdi is believed to have been eaten in this part of the world since ancient times, but the recipe reached its pinnacle in the kitchens of the Mughal empire, where its richly spiced and garnished versions are recorded as having been among the favourites dishes of various rulers.

For us at home though, khichdi is neither fancy nor fishy. Every single Gujarati household consumes this khichdi as a comfort food, as well as a frequent meal. During festive seasons or after important occasions like weddings, when the feasting is in full flow, someone or the other will finally say, “Bas (‘enough’), make khichdi today.” That is shorthand for being done with heavy meals, and wanting something that will make the gut smile.

In fact, when I say it is comfort food, I mean that quite literally. It’s the dish that is most commonly made in a home that has just undergone a bereavement, when the family just needs something basic to meet their nutritional needs as they tend to the necessary rituals. Most likely because of its association with grieving, khichdi is never served during celebrations. After them, certainly, as I mentioned above. But never as part of a special event. Neither is it served while entertaining guests. It is very much something that is all about family and simplicity. As we rarely get to encounter another family’s khichdi, I can only guess that the variations between recipes must be innumerable.

So no, khichdi is not special. That’s the best thing about it. It’s a brass tacks dish that gives the body the basics, and uses ingredients that are likely to be in the kitchen at all times. It is comprised mostly of moong dal and rice, with a bit of salt, turmeric and ghee. If it is served with accompaniments, crispy pappads and a bit of kadhi are usually enough. Some potato curry or other vegetable may round out the meal more, if desired. I’ve mentioned kadhi, a type of gravy, a couple of times recently. I’ll be sure to share the recipe for that soon.

Another recipe I will share soon will be for theplas that use leftover khichdi. As I’ve said before: cuisines across all communities in India are innovative when it comes to leftovers. We see poverty everywhere in our country and respect food, acknowledging it as a blessing from God. This in turn becomes a part of our religions too, which discourage food wastage.

Simple Khichdi

(Yield: 2 persons)

 

75 grams rice

25 grams split mung beans

3 cups water to soak

2 cups water to cook

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

2 tablespoons ghee

 

Wash and soak the rice and dal together for approximately ½ an hour to an hour. I have used split mung beans, but you can try this with other variants including pigeon pea/toor dal. Doing so will change the khichdi somewhat. Toor dal grains will separate like rice does, whereas split mung beans will create a thicker concoction.

Once soaked, discard the soaking water. Place the rice and dal in a pressure cooker along with the cooking water. Use a medium flame. Allow to cook for approximately 20 minutes or 3 whistles, or until the grains are tender and soft to touch.

Allow the pressure to decrease, then open the cooker.

In a small pan, add ghee. Once it is hot, add the cumin seeds. Let them fry until they change colour. Add this cumin-filled ghee to the khichdi. Stir gently and serve hot.

This grain series concludes with this simple and flavoursome recipe. I hope you’ve enjoyed trying out the gamut, from the work-intensive, “holiday special” seven-grain khichdo to the nourishing breakfast that is bajra ghensh, to this basic khichdi that is the ultimate go-to dish. Traditional Gujarati cuisine is something I’ve delved into many times on this blog, and I hope you’ll have a delicious time exploring a wide range of meals, snacks and desserts that I’ve shared here over the years.

After making the nutritious (and labourious) seven-grain khichdo to share with you last week, I felt inspired to do a short series of similar dishes. This series will showcase the versatility of the staple grains we consume, and the many ways they help make up the traditional Gujarati menu. So here is part two of this series: bajra ghensh, which uses the goodness of broken pearl millet. Pearl millet has been cultivated in India for thousands of years, and is a vital part of both the authentic Gujarati and authentic Tamil cuisines that I grew up surrounded by. As you may know, I truly believe in the revival of higher quantities of millet usage in our diets, especially as a preferred alternative to white rice, and have written many times about their value to us.

I’ve been spending more time with my sister recently, and as always this means exploring her cooking style and picking up new techniques to include in my own. As she sometimes does, she said to me the other day, “Come, I’ll teach you a new recipe.” Working alongside her in her kitchen, I was very surprised to discover that it wasn’t a new recipe to me at all, but only a different interpretation of one I knew well, and made for a different meal of the day. My sister prepares bajra ghensh as dinner, whereas for over three decades my mother-in-law and I have been eating it for breakfast.

What did I tell you about the versatility of millets? In this highly adaptable bajra ghensh, we see an example of how dishes themselves become versatile too depending on the choices of the cook and the habits of the one consuming the same. The method of preparing it, as either breakfast or dinner, is still less the same, but storage and serving determine the type of meal it becomes. It’s a very simple dish with three base ingredients and a generous helping of dry fruits and nuts.

Bajra ghensh wasn’t something we ate while we were growing up, and just as my sister was introduced to it after getting married, I too first encountered it thanks to my mother-in-law. I remember how when I first moved in, my mother-in-law would make it as a porridge or cereal to be had in the mornings, and I loved it from the start. Soon, I was frequently whipping up a big pot of it for both her and I and we would share it for breakfast. We both enjoyed it so much that we would have the same dish for two or three mornings in a row, without needing variety. This was the only way I’d ever eaten it, until my sister served it for dinner the other day.

As delicious as that was, to my mind this is still a breakfast dish, and so my recipe and my photographs here reflect this perspective. It’s a very healthy post-workout meal, and it’s an ideal replacement for supermarket cereals, which make tall claims about nutrition values but are usually full of processed ingredients and sugar. On the other hand, this is comparable only to the simplicity and goodness of whole oats. It is also gluten-free, for those who are making a dietary switch, but it is not dairy-free.

Traditionally, just like the seven-grain khichdo, bajra ghensh was also a winter dish. Pearl millet is warming and high in iron, and the Macrobiotic principle of darker grains being considered winter-friendly applies here. They are harder to digest, whereas in summer lighter grains like jowar and amaranth that are light on the stomach and easiest to digest are better, as per the time-honoured logic of seasonal culinary usages. As I said earlier, since I usually have bajra ghensh in the mornings, I’ve noticed that on days when I have done so, I tend to not become hungry again till at least lunch time or even later. A dish like this cancels out your snack cravings, which automatically increases its already high healthiness quotient.

Finding out that this works well both as a filling breakfast and as a heavy dinner, as well as making the connections with Indian seasonal logic and Macrobiotics, also made me ponder how my mother-in-law and I prepare this at night and store it in the fridge. Since this is a traditional recipe, this meant that in earlier times it could only have been made in winters, when the climate as well as the type of vessels used would allow it to be stored overnight. Only certain probiotic foods would be kept to be on eaten the following day (including homemade yoghurt). There could be no such thing as leftovers, and if there were there were resourceful ways to ensure that these were consumed quickly too. Particularly for Jains, wastage goes against religious philosophy and practice, so quantities are an important part of cooking methods. In the absence of refrigeration, and often with access issues or resource concerns to consider as well, creating perfect portions that satisfy the entire family without any excess is a special skill, and one that cooks across the centuries had to cultivate. It is only in our modern age that we can rely on certain conveniences.

So what happens is this: because of its thick consistency, this bajra ghensh sets when you keep it in the fridge. In the morning, take a chunk, add a bit of milk and have it as a cereal. Or else, prepare it in the evening and eat it hot, right off the stove and with no milk added for breakfast, just like a khichdo.

Bajra Ghensh

(Yield: 2 persons)

 

½ cup broken bajra (pearl millet)

1½ – 2 cups water

½ cup thick yoghurt

Salt to taste

20 grams kharek (dried dates)

10 grams dried coconut slices

10 grams cashew nuts

 

Clean, rinse and soak the broken bajra for 2-3 hours.

Once soaked, cook the bajra along with the 1½ cups of water in a pressure cooker until the grain is soft and tender. Open the pressure cooker lid when ready.

Place a kadai on a medium flame and pour the bajra into it. Now, add the yoghurt and stir continuously. Next, add the salt. Finally, add the dried nuts, dates and coconut and mix well.

This is the point at which you have a choice: today’s main meal, or tomorrow’s breakfast?

Let’s say you decide to have it for breakfast. Just pour the concoction into a container and set it aside for some time. As the bajra ghensh cools, it will solidify. Once it is at room temperature, refrigerate.

You don’t have to do anything the next morning but scoop out a portion into a bowl, add a little milk or buttermilk (which I prefer for the tang) and enjoy!

Do you have a recipe in your own repertoire that you’ve been making and having a certain way for ages, which you later found in an alternate rendition somewhere else? It’s always fascinating to me how the very same dish is prepared or consumed in different ways, depending not even on the community but just on the family or the person who does the cooking. I hope you’ll enjoy this bajra ghensh, and be sure to let me know which meal you had it for!