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Recipe: The Benchmark – My Best Chocolate Cake

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My children are all grown up and all of them live away from me, so every time they come to visit, I always try to think of what they will enjoy eating during their stay. One of my sons loves chocolate cake, so this particular treat is the welcome home dish that I currently have in the oven, ahead of his next arrival. It looks so beautiful that I couldn’t resist picking up the camera – and subsequently came the idea of sharing the recipe with you too.

Before I began to bake, many years ago now, we would often order from a friend of ours who used to bake from her home in Chennai too. Hers was one of the most fantastic chocolate cakes we had ever tasted, and it remains the benchmark for us all. It served as my inspiration too, when I became a baker myself.

Creating this recipe of my own was the result of many trials, exploring recipes from across cookbooks and the Internet, tweaking them based on my taste and my experience. Eventually, I formed a chocolate cake recipe that hit the spot, and became a personal benchmark. While my almond cakes are the most popular among customers (hyperlink), it’s this chocolate cake that is my own family’s favourite.

When I think about the experiments that lead toward this recipe, and indeed many others, I feel grateful for my blogger and Instagram friends and the accounts I have followed over the years who inspired me – both in terms of food and in terms of photography.

But there are many things that I have been contemplating lately about the world of food blogging and how it is changing. Now that re:store’s own online presence is over seven years old, I am able to observe and comment on the vast shifts that have taken place in this time and I wonder about what is still to come. For instance – many of the people whose work I used to look forward to no longer post, or sometimes have even disappeared altogether. Even though new bloggers have come up, some equally fantastic, there was a sense of community in the past that is less experienced today. It all feels different now, both as a creator and as someone who enjoys the content. I wonder if you feel similarly, or if you have other thoughts?

Then, there is the dominance of reels. Food photography as a genre is dwindling, and to be honest I don’t see the kind of aesthetic that I used to love exploring online and which challenged me to keep growing as a photographer too. While I respect reels as their own format, they are not for me. Even as photography loses popularity, I pick up my camera time and again because it is an artform that I am passionate about, and because in certain ways I would define myself as being old school – especially in the sense that I believe that if the going is good, keep going.

The going is good, so to speak, when it comes to photography. I am just as enthused and as inspired as ever as a photographer, and some of you may know that my explorations in this medium go beyond shooting for this blog. I also work with still life and nature themes, and I’ve been fortunate to have received gallery support for the same, and I sometimes accept commercial commissions too.

I still approach every kind of shoot with my old and faithful Nikon and the lenses I’ve used all these years, and remain perfectly happy with the outcomes. I don’t intend to go in for an upgrade because I know I don’t need to. Although I love finding new appliances for the kitchen, somehow with photography the tried and tested just works for me. I like to think that my not constantly seeking out new technology helps reduce my personal impact on landfills. None of us is perfect and none of us is going to avoid creating waste, but being mindful about our consumer choices is something that is in our hands.

And when it comes to something that is literally in my hands – my camera – I really don’t want to let go of the instrument that has brought me so much creativity and joy. I will also say that I sometimes feel disturbed when people say, “Oh your photographs are so nice – you must have a good camera”. I do, but there is so much more to this artform than just the device. Even as trends move away from it, I continue to learn and to grow within it.

So yes: the world, and not just the world of food blogging, is always changing – but we can have some constants, too. A decadent chocolate cake will almost without fail please anyone, for instance. In that sense, this is a timeless dish, and I hope you’ll enjoy my version of it.

Chocolate Cake

(Serves 5-6)

2 cups sugar
1¾ cups all-purpose flour
1 cup cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup hot water
1 tablespoon instant coffee
½ cup oil
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 170°. Prepare two 8’ cake tins by greasing, lining and dusting the pans.

Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder and salt – thus combining the dry ingredients. Add sugar.

Separately, add hot water to the coffee powder. Keep aside.

Using a hand blender, mix the eggs, vanilla extract, oil and buttermilk. You can make buttermilk at home by adding a tablespoon of white vinegar to a cup of room temperature milk, and allowing it to sit for 15 minutes before usage.

Add the dry ingredients to the wet ones and mix well.

Add the hot coffee to this mixture now. The batter will be a little runny. Avoid over beating.

Pour this batter into the two tins equally and bake for 30-35 minutes or until a skewer comes out clean. After the cakes sit for 15 minutes, turn them onto a tray and allow to cool completely. Decorate with chocolate icing.

If you’re new to all this and would like a little primer or refresher to the basics of baking, check out this citrus bundt recipe with lots of tips.

As I said earlier, this recipe is really the best one I know for the classic chocolate cake. I wonder how it will compare with ones you have made or tasted. I do hope you’ll enjoy it just as much as we do!

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Musings

Healing The Planet, And Ourselves: Thoughts For A New Year

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As each new year begins, we tend to reflect on the year that has passed and our learnings from the same. This year, as situations around the planet demand our attention, I feel like offering more than a wish for a happy 2024. We all deserve that, but in order for that to happen, we must all make changes in our lives. Myself included.

So here is my personal resolution, something that I strongly felt during the recent festive season: the endless use of plastic and the vast amount of food wastage that occurs during special occasions in the name of gifting needs to end. I want to become even more conscious about my choices in this regard, and minimize my impact.

These thoughts occurred to me for two reasons. One is that I observed the contradiction of celebrating Deepavali and other special days even as thousands of children were being killed in a war elsewhere in the world, and I contemplated these tragedies. Yes, we must celebrate, but we can no longer do so without being mindful of others, as well as our own impact. I say “can no longer do so” because we literally cannot afford to, and this is because of what is happening to the environment.

Human beings have the innate ability to adapt, and we have for millennia, but there may be a tipping point for the planet. The human species does not have much time left here, as experts keep warning us. This is because of human-made pollution and destruction of Nature and how this is making our one true home uninhabitable for us.

If I’m being honest, I sometimes have sleepless nights thinking about what we as human beings are doing to Earth. I recently learned about something called eco-anxiety, and I think it may be something I experience. It has motivated me to do things differently on an individual level. All of us have a carbon footprint. So do I, and I want to make mine lighter.

On the subject of light and lightness, I believe that the last rays of hope are still there – provided that we are respectful of Nature, and kinder to one another. This is my heartfelt wish for us all. Here’s to a healthy planet, and to healing for humankind. Happy new year!

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Musings

Portugal Diary: Discovering Olive Country

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When a very dear friend invited us to Portugal to attend a wedding, I was thrilled to learn that the incredible hosts of the young bride had proud family connections to the landscape of olive trees. On the very first evening of the celebration, a meet-and-greet was held at an olive orchard. As the long summer day grew to dusk and sunset fell over the grove criss-crossed by fairy lights, we dipped wonderful country bread into olive oil and feasted. That was my first experience of the importance of olive oil in Portugal. I was determined to learn more about it, and I got my chance when we returned to Lisbon and I encountered a lovely little store named Oli-Stori.

Do you remember my adventure in Italian coffee some time ago? In the same way that a little curiosity had sparked a beautiful long conversation, this European trip too gave me memories and knowledge to cherish. This was our second trip to Portugal, and we had been keen to do offbeat things and make a holiday of it after the wedding. Tourist guides and books mentioned only a little about olive oil, but I wanted to learn more. Back in Lisbon, it was a hotel concierge who told us about OliStori. We had an itinerary for the day ahead, but I insisted that we begin at that store. “I just want to pop in quickly and pick up a bottle,” I said. That’s exactly what would have happened if the co-owner, Isabelle Carreira, hadn’t been so sweet and gracious. We wound up spending almost the entire day in her lovely space.

As we walked up to the store, we saw that the door was only partially open. “Can we come in?” we enquired. Isabelle wasn’t ready for customers yet, but she asked us to sit down and be comfortable. She just wanted to head to the nearby bakery to buy some bread so we could enjoy a tasting. I was really taken by this – imagine leaving your entire store open to a couple of strangers! Charmed, I got excited and decided on the spot that I had to feature her on my blog.

Isabelle was born in France to Portuguese parents, and opened Oli-Stori together with her Portuguese-speaking French partner Thierry after 30 years in the restaurant business, when they realised that Lisbon did not have any shop that was specifically for olive oil. Theirs is a treasure trove of different varieties and brands sourced from all over the country. Portugal is not as famous for olive oil as Italy because they do not focus on the export market at all. However, the quality of their produce is just as spectacular.

OliStori is a smallish but beautifully done up space. I looked around cheerfully as we waited for her to open the store. The décor touches, I later learnt, tried to replicate elements from different farms that the oils are sourced from. There were horses and sheep, or a little doll, in every corner. These added to the warmth of the ambience. I took some impromptu photos as I looked around.

 

When Isabel returned with the bread, what began was part tasting, part storytelling and part educational session. She was so generous with her knowledge, and eager to share with us her wide experience.

Portugal is a small country, but has a diverse landscape, with different regions producing varying kinds of olive oil. Every oil sold in Isabelle and Thierry’s shop was sourced through their travels around the country, visiting olive farms, understanding the process of growing and what effects the weather conditions and soil types have on the produce. As she spoke, she had us sample a diverse range – it was almost like a wine tasting. And it’s true, the flavours differ!

Olive trees take 3-5 years of growth to be ready for the first harvest, and have a lifespan of up to 200 years. The fruits are sensitive to the soil and to climactic conditions. The Trás-os-Montes province in the North is especially famous. This province’s name means “behind the mountains”, and the olive trees here grow on terraced land. It is cold in winter, and hot in summer. The soil here is rich, and there doesn’t need to be much watering. These conditions are very interesting for the tree, and the olive oil here is intense and green, and has a fresh fragrance. It smells a little like tomatoes, in fact!

An olive oil I particularly enjoyed was from the brand Terras Dazibo, from the region Tras-o-Montes. It had a long flavour, starting sweet, then turning bitter behind the tongue and spicy as it goes down the throat. This extra virgin olive oil is created by a blend of different olives.

In Noura in the South, the trees are spaced far apart on the farm so that the roots can be more widespread. They don’t require much water, and produce black olives with a complex and light flavour. These black olives don’t grow in the north, where it is too cold. All kinds of geographic elements have an impact on the agriculture. In the Rio Maior region, for instance, the olives are saltier due to the river water that irrigates the crops. Verdeal olive oil is green and fresh, Cobrançosa is fruity and spicy, Picual is piquant (as per its name!), Madura is smooth,  These are but a few examples. We were spoilt for choice at OliStori!

The Portuguese government, despite having no interest in the export market, takes this produce seriously and offers a certification known as DOP (Denominação de Origem Protegida) to mark the best quality olive oils. Despite not having DOP certification, the regions of Duoro and Algarve also produce excellent ones. Duoro is better known for its porto wine, whereas Algarve is believed to focus more on about their production than on seeking certification.

If you’ve ever wondered what the differences are between virgin olive oil, extra virgin olive oil and cold-pressed olive oil… I finally learned them in Portugal, thanks to Isabelle. Extra virgin olive oil is from the very first fruit that is sent to the press, and has the lowest acidity (0%-0.8%). Virgin olive oil is pressed later, and cold-pressed olive oil is treated at a temperature under 25°C and is best for flavour fusions and guarantees the preservation of aromas. The brand Olival de Risca from the Alentejo region in the South is known for these. The additional fruit or vegetable is cut and added alongside the olives during the cold-pressing procedure. Some of these fusions include classic Mediterranean herbs, mandarin, garlic, basil, lemon and chili. Alentejo is very hot, which makes it suitable for black olives, which give oils with a complex and light taste. The trees here are spaced far apart, so the roots can be more extensive, and dry farming is the usual method so as to produce more concentrated oils.

Despite spending hours at OliStori, there was no way in which to taste every single kind of olive oil they had to offer. But I loved learning a little bit about several, and the packaging often told a story by itself. For instance, the Angelica brand features a picture of the current owner’s grandmother when she was young. I carefully selected a small number of beautiful bottles to bring back home. These can be stored for up to 20 months, provided the bottle is kept closed (I plan to refrigerate, thanks to my climate). Open bottles create oxidization, which breaks down the flavour and affects the quality of the oil.

As you probably know, olive oil is quite versatile and can be used to top fish, light foods like salads and as a dip for bread. I used some of my Portuguese stock recently in this South Indian fusion hummus recipe.

Bitter tastes, very spicy tastes, complex long tastes, short and sharp tastes, fruity tastes, herbal tastes – for the first time, I understood olive oil to be as varied as wine. There were just so many to try. I’m so grateful to Isabelle for her generosity with her knowledge, time and stock of olive oils. And those hours spent in the charming OliStori are among my loveliest recent memories of Europe. If you’re ever in Lisbon, be sure to take a little walk up a slope on the cobbled street of Rua de Madelena and send Isabel my love. Oh, and OliStori also sells balsamic vinegars – but that would need another day, another trip and another post!

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Musings

Dear Coco…

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My dear Coco,

The amount of joy you brought into our lives was immeasurable. I still remember you as the little girl who came into my home in my arms and I had to reassure you that none would do you harm. You grew into a beautiful lady and bore 11 pups, all of whom settled into beautiful and happy homes, hopefully like yours.

I have learnt so much from you. How you were a good, kind mother and so patient and loving and nurturing. You taught me patience too, and calmness. You were full of life and loved everyone who came home – no bias, no racism. You are and will always be my loving baby.

You aged gracefully and with dignity and class. The way you carried yourself. The way you spent hours hoping Mum would give you some more watermelon, which I did. I don’t think papad will be the same in this home. Or any meal, without you by my side.

My days began with a cup of tea and biscuit for you, without which you would not let me sip and enjoy a sip. We would sit together under the frangipani and listen to the parrots on the mango tree and enjoy our morning silent conversations with ourselves. You loved dosas when you were pregnant and would eat them every day. You always got fresh home cooked meals, and never dog food. You loved fruits and ate healthy, just like me. You loved the crackle of crisp papad and would follow me around like a mascot. You would sleep beside me, like your son Max now does, and until the end you tried to climb the stairs to sleep with me. He has the same zest for life as you did. Despite being a hunting breed, you were a gentle soul. My loving senior citizen lived in diapers in the last few months.

Your grace and presence is in everything. But life has to move on and you have found light….

Love,

Mum

 

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Musings

Happy New Year – Here’s To Making More Memories

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Another year turns, and once again I am filled with nostalgia about the passing of time. All the things that I believe will make the world better are things that we’ve let go of. Like teaching kids to climb trees. Reading poetry. Opening books instead of using Google immediately. Reducing cellphone usage. Going back to the basics, in short. To the small things, to the beauty of simplicity, and a certain kind of elegance that will never change.

So instead of resolutions, I made a list of unforgettable memories I will bring into this new year to remind me how life should be. Maybe you’ll taste these sweet reminiscences in the recipes to come…

Here they are, in no particular order: 25 paisa McRennett buns. Bata sandals. The radio. Parle-G biscuits. The amazement of hearing that people were taking plane journeys. Movies at Sapphire Theatre. Binaca toothpaste. Riding the bus and collecting the tickets. Climbing mango trees. Plucking the neighbour’s jasmines. Such small things. Such special feelings.

Was your childhood like this too? As we enter this new year, I want to ask you: what are you nostalgic for?

Happy new year, my friends – and here’s to making more memories! I wish you all a peaceful, safe and healthy year to come.

 

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Musings

The Salt Of The Earth – A Journey To Marakkanam

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“Do you know a cure for me?”

“Why yes,” he said, “I know a cure for everything. Salt water.”

“Salt water?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said, “in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea.”

These words from Seven Gothic Tales, the first book by the Danish writer Isak Dinesen (best known for Out Of Africa), came to mind on that mirage-filled drive to Marakkanam in the South Indian summer heat. Anyone who has ever driven from the metropolitan hub of Chennai to the quaint former French colony of Pondicherry  along Tamil Nadu’s East Coast Road has noticed Marakkanam. Even if you do not know the village’s name, it’s impossible to miss the great heaped mounds of white salt glistening under the sun, lining the highway.

Salt. That condiment so precious to humankind that it has even been a form of wealth, measured at different times as either taxes or wages. The ancient Romans had a “salarium” (“sal” – “salt”), as part of a worker’s remuneration, as people were paid partly in salt. This is where the English language gets both the word “salary” and the idiom “worth his salt”. Closer to home, the monarchs of the Chola dynasty demanded a salt tax, known as “uppayam”. The historian Ramachandran Nagaswamy has spoken of epigraphic evidence showing how the same was paid from Marakkanam, making the salt industry in this village both an ancient and continuous activity. In modern Indian history, Gandhi’s salt march on March 12 1930 was a dramatic turning point in the independence struggle. In protest of the unfairly high British salt tax, he led the march from Dandi, Gujarat, to the Arabian Sea. There, he declared that a symbolic handful of sea salt would bring the end of colonial rule.

That afternoon, unlike so many journeys on that highway, I careened off the beaten path and entered the sprawling salt pans of Marakkanam to find out more….

Salt. The most quintessential of all ingredients. So quintessential that we take it for granted. So quintessential that its absence alone can strip a dish of all taste. Saltiness is one of the five basic human tastes.

I’ve said before that curiousity is the cornerstone of every interesting kitchen. But it cannot end simply with flavours and ingredients. When I trained in the culinary science of macrobiotics at the Kushi Institute, I honed this need to know and to ask questions, because every single thing you put into a dish carries its own energies and its own properties. So what does salt contain? The scientific answer is that it is a mineral which contains sodium chloride (NaCl). In Marakkanam, I searched for a deeper answer by talking to people whose livelihoods are to harvest it.

That afternoon, I was fortunate to meet P. Nallathamby, a supervisor of a 3500 acreage of salt pans staffed by 2000 workers. I caught them during their second shift of the day: they rise early and work from 6am to 9am, then return at 1pm to continue. Both women and men work the salt pans. Mr. Nallathamby has been in this line of work for 40 years, having joined his father and brother in the same at the age of 18. But things have been difficult in the salt business for around 8 years, owing to various reasons such as rising diesel prices, increased labour costs and neglect from the central government, which leases out the pans to individuals.

The harvest season runs from January to May. In January, the salt pans are like a lake owing to recent rains. It takes about a month to dry out, then the harvest begins. Every three days, the flats are scraped, as you can see in this video, and the photographs below.

The salt is collected in small mounds along the grids of the pans, then in the huge mounds that are visible from the highway. Water from the earth or sea is added to the pans as necessary, such as between April and May. The process is entirely water-dependent, but ironically, no work can take place during times of rain. The mounds of salt wait for the daily lorries that come to purchase and take them away to be traded not just in Tamil Nadu and Pondicherry but in Kerala, Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka too. You may be surprised to know that a whopping 110 kilograms of salt is sold for just 130 rupees (approximately USD$2).

Mr. Nallathamby describes his 40 years in this line of work as uneventful. Even the great tsunami of 2004 did not have a negative effect on this coastal business. For six or seven months every year, the salt pans thrive. After all, come rain or shine, it’s an ingredient the world cannot do without.

In Marakkanam, it is rock salt (which is not to be powdered) that is harvested. As you may remember from this recent summer-friendly recipe, rock salt contains many nutrients and works well as a digestive.

The salt pans of Marakkanam are quite amazing to behold: a contrast between grains so small and a landscape so large.

Every year, from the first harvest of the season, a small salt Ganesha is shaped by hand. He is then allowed to dissolve back into the salt pans. While it was the wrong time of year to witness this, my visit to Marakkanam did end with a quick stop at the 1000 year old Bhoomeeshwarar temple, dating to the Chola dynasty. I had been told that the temple’s inscriptions had mention of the salt trade in this area even a millennium ago. The priest said he didn’t think there was anything of that kind there, but sometimes we don’t know what’s right under our noses. Like salt, I suppose – that ubiquitous condiment we often only think about if it’s missing.

I’m not sure if salt was mentioned on them, but what struck me about the inscriptions all over the temple’s inner compound was this: how much the wear and tear of centuries on stone had made it look as though salt was on them. In between the chiselled spaces. In the air… and everywhere.

I had wondered about salt since childhood, that staple of every meal. My mother had taught me that in the precise quantity, it cooks vegetables faster. For years, on every long weekend drive to Pondicherry, I had watched the white salt mounds pass by and wondered about them too. Now, armed with my camera and my curiousity, I had discovered more. That indispensible ingredient comes from somewhere: the labour of people like Mr. Nallathamby and his staff. From those huge mounds that can be seen on the highway to the small pinch that is baked into our daily bread, how much we take for granted.

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Musings

A Tale Of Two Cups

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Call it a tale of two cities, or a tale of two cups! Like many who love travelling, I form bonds with now-familiar niches all over the world. And between two such niches, I found a particular connection. A connection that smells like heaven and tastes like perfection… Coffee.

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Musings

Almond Rose, For Always

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I will always remember this: how I looked at the surgeon’s hands to see if they contain the same things mine do – the love and faith that I put into my own work.

My brother Ketan was my biggest fan, and each time I saw him, he would either be asking me to bake him something or telling someone else about my culinary adventures.  He would often make requests that expanded my own repertoire: almond-orange, for instance, or pistachio-saffron. When we were teenagers, he had been a champion athletic rower, and brought back my very first – and much desired – pair of jeans from a tournament abroad. That is but one cherished memory of what he means to me. My brother always helped make dreams little and large come true for me. His support was steadfast through my life, and I endeavoured to bring sweetness into the last days of his.

The surgeon’s hands could do some things to ease my brother’s illness. I am grateful that mine could too. The last thing he ate was a little nibble of his most favourite of my creations, my almond rose cake. I fed it to him myself, and my heartfelt hope is that every bit of the love it contained nourished him and gave him deep peace…

Thank you, dear friends and well-wishers, for all your loving prayers for my family.

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Musings

Muesli & The Madras Floods

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This time, last year, the city I live in was devastated by the worst floods it had seen in over a hundred years. An unusually heavy northeast monsoon unleashed its might on Madras, also known as Chennai, as well as the coastal regions of Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh and Pondicherry. Hundreds of thousands of people were displaced, at least 500 lives were lost, and damages ran into billions of rupees.

While my city was being submerged, I was away in Massachusetts at the Kushi Institute, deeply engaged in the study of Macrobiotics. One morning, I received a phone call from my husband back home, who told me that the seasonal weather was something much more this year. Water was fast rising in our home, and he was calling from our terrace. Most homes in India have flat rooftops, where laundry is dried, potted plants may be grown, and parties are held under the moonlight. These terraces saved many people in the South Indian floods.

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