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Recipe: The Spice-It-Up Soup – Vegan Whole Corn & Lemongrass Soup

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Indians don’t have soups per se in our traditional cuisines, as far as I know. Instead, we have broths such as the thin South Indian rasam and the thick, sweet Gujarati raab. The rasam subsequently became known as mulligatawny soup in the West, but here it is eaten as a side dish, not an appetizer. In fact, that reminds me of how our staple dals are repackaged abroad and even in high-end restaurants here as “lentil soup”! In India, we have no such category as “soup”, but it goes to show how it’s all a matter of perspective. The soup, by any name, is really a universal dish, made with different, seasonal ingredients in cultures around the world.

For many of my generation, we were introduced to soups at clubs and restaurants. My own first memory of any soup was not Western at all, but Chinese (or rather, Indo-Chinese). While growing up, my friends and I would head to a restaurant called Nanking whenever we had something to celebrate. All of our birthdays would find us there, straight from classes in our school uniforms and pigtails, delighted to be spending our pocket money on a shared meal. The meal would invariably begin with an order of the delicious sweet corn soup for everyone at the table

The Nanking sweet corn soup was thickened with cornflour, loaded with MSG and had no more than a couple of kernels of corn floating in the white liquid but regardless it was always a special treat. It tasted fantastic to us, and till today reminds me of some of our fondest times growing up. When I think of it, I’m reminded of how much my kids say they miss their school canteen’s food! Perhaps the meals we share with our friends as we grow up simply create such vivid impressions on us that we associate them with the dishes themselves. What I would give to go back to Nanking, which has since closed down, and enjoy those memories all over again!

Nostalgia for Nanking drove me to the kitchen, to whip up my own version of sweet corn soup, or rather, a vegan whole corn and lemongrass soup. This recipe avoids the cornflour and the MSG and has some of those re:store twists in the form of aromatic lemongrass and spicy green chilli.

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I enjoy the flavour of lemongrass and I think it livens up this soup very much. If you prefer not to use it, some good substitutes are coriander or a hint of mint. Corn has a strong flavour in itself, and my version of the soup is generous with it, so it needs to be balanced well. If you’re a fan of corn , you may also enjoy this makkai khichdi recipe that I shared recently. I use green chilli here for its spiciness, but you can try it with jalapeños too (they are also fast becoming a favourite of mine, and may find themselves in future recipes I’ll share).

Another way in which I’ve tried to recreate this nostalgic dish is with coconut milk. This not only gives it that distinctively South Indian essence, but also evokes many South East Asian delicacies. All in all, this corn and lemongrass soup is a satisfying, filling meal-in-a-bowl that reminds me of my teenage years and of some of my travels, thanks to the blend of flavours.

Speaking of traveling, I just returned from beautiful Colombia, where I heard about the 9-day fast observed by Catholics known as the ‘novena’. It reminded me so much of the 9-day Navaratri followed by Hindus and the 9-day Paryushan followed by the Jains, and got me thinking once again about how we are all so deeply connected. I wish we understood this instead of thinking along the lines of “This is mine, this is yours, my land, my country”, and other such divisions. The oneness and wholeness of humanity is a concept that cannot be lost; whether it be our festivals, our food or our sense of family, ultimately we are all the same and the more I travel, the more this concept is solidified.

Another thought that’s been on my mind a great deal is the famous Native American proverb that goes as follows: “When the last tree has been cut down, the last fish caught, the last river poisoned, only then will we realize that one cannot eat money.” It resonates so much right now. We should all be more aware of what we are doing and thinking. We should look not only at what we are creating, but also at what we are destroying in the process. These are some reflections that I’ve been having as we enter 2020. But first – how about a bowl of warm, crunchy, savoury soup?

 

Vegan Whole Corn & Lemongrass Soup

(Yield: 6-8 cups)

2 cobs of corn

½ teaspoon grated ginger

2-3 lemongrass stems

2 tablespoons olive oil/ butter

2 cups vegetable stock

2 tablespoons spring onion

1 green chilli/jalapeño

1 cup coconut milk

Salt to taste

 

Garnish:

2 tablespoons peanuts

Finely chopped spring onion

Finely chopped coriander leaves

Red chili flakes

1 teaspoon olive oil

 

Grate the corn from the cobs and keep aside.

In a blender, process the lemongrass, ginger and green chilli using 2 tablespoons of water, until coarse.

In a separate pan, add the olive oil and sauté the onions for a few minutes until they are tender. Now, add the grated corn along with its juices. I like to bite into pieces of corn, so in addition to the grated kernels I kept aside a ½ cup of whole kernels, which I add at this point as well. You may do so if you enjoy the texture of corn like I do. Once the mixture turns soft and tender, add the warm vegetable stock and then add the strained juices from the blender.

Gently simmer until the flavours all become one. Add salt to taste. Finally, add the coconut milk. Once heated, remove the pan from the flame.

For the garnish, warm the olive oil gently and stir the remaining ingredients in it.

Spoon the soup into bowls and add the garnish, topping with a spoonful just before serving.

What I do quite frequently nowadays is to make a large quantity of the soup during the day, and whoever wants some just warms up a portion for themselves at any time, just as I do when I find myself hungry for dinner by 6pm or 7pm. I’ve found that it keeps well for up to a couple of days.

In these photos, you may notice the beautiful bowls I’ve used to serve my soup in. I’m always looking for props for my photo and utensils for my kitchen, and when I discovered that blackened earthenware is made in Colombia, I just had to pick some up. I wish I could have carried an entire dinner set back with me from across the continents, but perhaps having to bring these treasures item by item will just mean more visits to that amazing place…

You may also be wondering whether starting the year off on a soup, when so many of us would have set health-related resolutions, was intentional. Actually, it was not. I feel we should eat mindfully all year round, and that we should see nutritious dishes as being a natural part of our diets, not an obligation. This beautiful vegan whole corn and lemongrass soup is exactly the kind of dish that fits into such a repertoire. It’s loaded with healthy ingredients, from corn to nuts and more, and tastes so very delicious. I’d love to know what you think of it if you give this recipe a try!

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Recipes

Recipe: A Story From The School Lunchbox – Spinach Rice

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When my daughter was in school, I would send her off every day with a lunchbox that contained as much variety as possible. Whether it was noodles, pizza or something else, I always made her something delicious – but with a healthy twist. Her best friend, a girl from Andhra Pradesh, brought her mother’s spinach rice in her own lunchbox every day. And the girls would exchange lunchboxes. My daughter loved that traditional spinach rice, and her best friend couldn’t get enough of my cooking experiments! When I discovered what was going on, I simply started packing extra of whatever I sent her, so both girls could eat more of our homemade meals.

Recently, this friend visited us, and the girls sat with me and reminisced about the good old days of their childhoods. Soon, they got to talking about the lunchbox swaps, and my daughter was nostalgic, saying how much she missed that spinach rice. As it is made of affordable and readily available ingredients, some variation of spinach rice is a staple in households all over the country. “Spinach” is an entire category of leafy greens. In South India, there are so many kinds available that certain dishes are matched according to the tastes of each. For instance, in Tamil Nadu, the thick small leaves of paruppu keerai (literally “dhal spinach”) go with dhal, the smaller leaves of siri keerai (“little spinach”) taste good with garlic, and are usually stir-fried with the same, and so on. What is known as dill rice in the West is also a kind of spinach rice here.

Spinach, as the cartoon character Popeye popularised, is great for developing a strong and healthy body. It is a muscle-builder, and packed with vitamins, calcium, antioxidants and other nourishing elements. It’s also collagen-rich, which means your skin and hair benefit from it. It is typically the kind of leafy green that kids resist eating, as some kinds are bitter, which is why I was so happy to find out about my daughter’s lunchbox exchanges long ago!

In my previous post, I mentioned a nifty slicer I picked up on my travels, and while these modern conveniences are much enjoyed, I still trust and hold on to our time-honoured appliances. For instance, I have the traditional Tamil aruvamanai, a hooked grater meant to be used while seated on the floor. The lovely thing about such devices is that they are durable in a way that modern devices, especially plastic ones, just aren’t. While this is mostly part of the décor, I’m not averse to using it when I want to. What better way to recreate a nostalgic dish than by using an antique appliance? I pulled out the old aruvamanai and sliced the spinach leaves for this recipe with it…

 

Spinach Rice

(Yield: 4-5 cups)

Ingredients
1 tomato
1 onion
2 cups spinach leaves
¾ cups raw rice
2 tablespoon mung dal
1 tooth garlic
1 green chilli
¼ teaspoon turmeric
¼ teaspoon cumin seeds
¼ teaspoon mustard seeds
1 tablespoon oil
Salt to taste

In a pressure cooker, add the spinach leaves, mung dal, onion, tomato, turmeric, chili, garlic, salt and 3 cups of water. Allow to cook for 2 whistles. In case you do not want to use a pressure cooker, you may cook the same ingredients covered with a lid on a medium flame, until well-cooked and soft to the touch.

Meanwhile, wash and soak the rice in water.

In a pan, add oil, then the cumin seeds and mustard seeds. Once they splutter, add the washed raw rice.

Now, open the cooled pressure cooker. Add the washed and soaked rice to the spinach and allow them all to cook for two more whistles. The spinach rice is now ready.

Serve hot – or in a lunchbox, for your growing children, who may surprise you with their tastes!

The Telugu cuisine of Andhra Pradesh and Telangana is known for being spicy, and the spinach rice recipe above, generously shared by my daughter’s friend’s mother, is no different. My daughter says that it tastes just like she remembered it from school. It’s in the original style, of course, but I must take credit for the most special ingredient – her mother’s love!

 

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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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Recipes

Recipe: Summer Sweetness – Rose Sherbet

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My childhood summers were almost always spent in Vijayawada, where my maternal grandparents lived. If you’ve followed my blog for some time, you may remember when I mentioned their huge fridge or the vetiver-scented curtains in their rooms. So many precious memories were made there as we grew up. Maybe one reason why the scent and flavour of roses are such a vital element in the re:store kitchen is because they always evoke for me one very special taste from those long-ago days:  rose sherbet.

This is my aunt’s recipe, and she made it almost ceremonially every summer in Vijayawada. Or so it felt to me, at least, because the luscious colours and fragrance – and that wonderful, cool taste at the end of it all – were so grand. The household had a very traditional kitchen, despite the ultra-modern fridge, and there was no dining table. In one corner was a puja area, where the gods were always served first, which is why our custom is to never taste food as it is being cooked. Followed by the offering to the gods, the kids would be served. Leaves would be laid on the floor in rows, and my siblings, cousins and I would sit down cross-legged and eat. Banana leaves are popular in South India, but we also used sal or banyan leaves, known as patravali (and locally as istrakku). Leaves are not only a traditional form of crockery, they are also environmentally-friendly. They are biodegradable and are a single-use item, thus requiring no water wastage during cleaning.

Sitting on the floor expectantly, the leaf before me, I would glance up and look at the amazing array of glass bottles on the shelves. My aunt collected these in every colour and shape, and this beautiful mismatched display was used to store her luscious rose sherbet. We would each be treated to a single glass of it after lunch, so I always looked forward to the end of the meal. The sherbet would be mixed with either water or milk. The latter was a healthy concession (because this is a sugary beverage), as well as a way to get us kids excited about drinking milk.

Sherbet is a drink brought to India from the Middle East, as its name indicates, coming from the Turkish “şerbet”, Persian “sharbat” and Arabic “sharba”. Naturally cooling, it is a concentrate made of either flowers or fruits, which is diluted. It is sometimes spiced but always sweetened.

I had the good fortune of having my aunt visit recently. She is in her 80s now and as we reminisced about the good times, we ended up making a fresh batch of rose sherbet in my home. Now it’s my shelves that are lined with those gleaming pink bottles.

The roses we used are the pretty local ones known as “paneer roja”, which may be familiar to you as damask rose or country rose. They grow well in the tough weather conditions of Chennai, and they are so fragrant. Prepare for your entire kitchen to smell like heaven as you make this recipe. And why not? You deserve it. On those long summer days, like the ones we’ve started to have in Chennai now, it’s the perfect cheat day beverage. So cooling and so decadent!

 

Rose Sherbet

(Yield: Approximately 2 litres)

Ingredients

2 litres water

150 grams rose petals

1½  kilograms sugar

1 teaspoon citric acid

1 teaspoon rose extract

2 pinches of raspberry colour

Pick and clean the rose petals. Place them in a vessel, cover with a lid, and let them soak in water overnight.

The following morning, crush the petals well using your hands or a hand blender. The water will now change colour.

Squeeze the petals using your hands and strain and pour the rose water into a big steel pot and place it over a medium flame. Discard the petals. Add the sugar and stir constantly. Be careful not to allow the sugar to crystallise – this is a precise art.

Boil and stir until the water turns sticky when touched between your fingers. Then, turn off the flame and add the citric acid. Make sure you stir the pot well and the citric acid blends completely. Cover the pot with a net and allow to cool.

After a few hours, add some rose extract and the raspberry red colour to the sherbet. The latter is optional, but look at how delightful the drink looks when you do it! Kids will especially get a thrill from that rich colour.

Strain the sherbet, then use a funnel to pour the syrup into glass bottles. Store in a cool place. This beverage does not require refrigeration.

To serve, add 2 tablespoons of the syrup into a glass. Pour cold water until it fills the glass and mix lightly.

In my home, the favourite finishing touch is always a topping of ice cubes and a squeeze of lemon. Rose sherbet is so very refreshing, as well as so lovely to look at. You’ll have to do what my aunt did when we were kids and restrict yourself – just one sugary-sweet glass a day!

 

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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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Recipes

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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