Tag

recipe

Browsing

Standing at that quaint tea shop in Kolkata that early November morning, I realised that the city had been awake for hours. We were on a guided tour, and as we found ourselves there for our first cup of the day, I noticed how around us were people who had taken a pause during their work. All of us – locals and tourists, at leisure or on the job – were treating ourselves to a small terracotta or glass cup of warm chai. In just five minutes, I saw not only a classic street-style chai-making procedure, but faces from everywhere – each of them enjoying a rejuvenating sip of this quintessential beverage.

I couldn’t resist picking up my camera. I was so pleased that these men, for whom this particular stall is a routine, were happy not just to be photographed but also to chat! They say a cup of tea brings people together – and for a few minutes on a morning in Kolkata, that’s exactly what happened.

 

 

It was this man’s mashk – a goat-skin bag – that caught my eye. He sells water from it, at ₹10 a serving. He proudly told us that the neighbourhood we were in is colloquially known as Bheeshti Para, an homage to the traditional occupation of the water-carrier (known as “bheeshti”). He also shared that the etymology of “bheeshti” comes from the Persian word “bihisht”, which means “paradise”). How poetic – the water-bearer from paradise, bringing succour to the thirsty.

 

 

We also met this money-lender whose family is from Afghanistan – one of the many communities who settled in Kolkata, who have carried the trade on for generations. In fact, Afghani money-lenders were popularised in Rabindranath Tagore’s short story “Kabuliwala” (literally, “the man from Kabul”), which was also made into a number of films.

Kolkata is home to many such communities of foreign origin, who have enriched it. For instance, it is the only South Asian city with a Chinatown, thanks to several generations of people originally from China who have made it their home. There are also Anglo-Indians, Parsis and numerous other uniquely Indian cultures. And there I was, a Tamil Nadu-raised Gujarati, sipping from my terracotta cup too.

 

 

It’s always a pleasure for me to watch another culinary expert at work. Look at the precision of this chai-maker’s tea-pouring technique!

 

 

The street was abuzz with life that morning, as the fogginess gave way to bright sunlight. A recycling truck was passing by. Right next door to the tea stall was a food stall selling breakfast: pooris, pickles and savouries. Somewhere nearby, I am sure that the famed Bengali milk sweets were being made and sold too.

And how amazing is it that one morning I was drinking Bengali tea at a street-side stall in Kolkata, and the next morning I was back here in Coffeeland aka Chennai, a land famous for its filter coffee? I love my coffee anywhere in the world, but the moody monsoonal rain and my recent trip inspired me to recreate that hot, spiced tea here at home.

 

 

Masala Chai Powder

(Yield – approximately 100 grams)

Ingredients
¾ cup black pepper

½ cup cloves

3 tablespoons peeled cardamom

½ cup cinnamon sticks

1 tablespoon ginger powder

1 tablespoon pipramul powder

 

Tea is so quintessentially Indian that it’s easy to forget that it was actually introduced to India by the British. Originally from China, the tea shrub was found to grow well in hilly regions like Darjeeling and Assam, and closer to my home, in the Nilgiris. In fact, the word “chai” is from the Mandarin word “cha”.

I grew up watching masala chai powder batches being made for a year at a time during the hot summers.  This is what is now known as a Macrobiotic approach, making use of the logic of the seasons, in this case the heat. I have found that sun-drying makes the flavours bloom. But masala chai was originally had in the winters, as the herbs and spices had a warming effect – even roasting in the winter sun was sufficient, provided there was no rain.

If you’re trying this method on a warm day, roast all the ingredients except the ginger and pipramul powders in the sun. If you’re in a rainy or wintry season like I am right now, simply roast the ingredients (except the ginger and pipramul powders) on an iron pan for less than five minutes.

If you’re a fan of spices, the other ingredients will all be familiar to you, but if you’re wondering, pipramul is also known as Indian long pepper or ganthoda, and is a rhizoid similar to ginger. It aids digestion and helps with any kind of gastric trouble.

Once the ingredients have cooled, blend them into a powder. Add the ginger and pipramul powders and mix thoroughly. Store in an air-tight container.

If kept dry, you can use this powder for months at a time. It’s used only for chai and added into the boiling process of tea making, as is the Indian way.

My few minutes at that chai stall in Kolkata that morning made me ponder what a privilege it is to have tea at home, and not on the go while on the job. Tea is said to be a contemplative beverage, and is such a wonderful companion to both conversations with others and moments of musing alone. I’m contemplating the people I met that morning as I savour this cuppa. What’s on your mind today?

Once upon a time, before I decided to turn completely vegetarian again, I used to enjoy the very occasional meat dish. And more often than not, the particular dish that would kickstart my cravings was the chili bowl I discovered in L.A. some decades ago while pregnant. A rich, spicy stew with Tex-Mex origins, it’s a quintessential part of the cuisine of the southern American border regions – and something which reminded me of Indian food whenever I was homesick or longing for comfort food while travelling in the States.

Chili is a meal-in-a-bowl, although you can eat it with tortillas, rice, nachos, fries or other accompaniments if you like. Did you know that the Nahuatl (indigenous Mexican) word chīlli is what gives the chilli pepper its English name too? The dish too takes its name from this most vital ingredient. If you’re interested in a history of the dish, do read this comprehensive article with various legends and records.

Chilli fruits – yes, fruits! – were cultivated in ancient Mexico, and were introduced to the rest of the world through European colonists and traders. Then, based on different climactic conditions, certain places grew famous for particular cultivars: e.g. bhut jolokia (or “ghost peppers”) in India and Malawian kambuzi. In fact, the chilli powder I use to make my chili (yup, the spelling of the two words is close but not exact!) is a ground Hungarian spice known as paprika, made of sweet bell peppers and occasionally cayenne peppers. Each cultivar varies in pungency and intensity, and chillies are eaten in red, green, dried or capsicum/pepper variants. I also use capsicums in this dish.

The festive season has found me inundated with cupcake orders. Despite seeing so many in my kitchen every day now, I haven’t grown tired of stealing one now and again – all under the claim of checking the sugar level of course! Between some recent travel abroad and the sugar buzz around me now, I’ve missed the flavours and smells of Indian spices. Inspired equally by the memory of those long-ago chili bowls and my ongoing delving into the super-foods and smart-foods in our own Indian fields and forests, I decided to make a vegan millet-based chili. I tried and tested this recipe a few times before perfecting it. Fusion food can sometimes be a blunder, and sometimes be a wonder. I’d love to know what you think of this!

 

Vegan Chili Bowl

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon oil

1 teaspoon cumin

¾ cup carrots (chopped)

½ cup rajma/kidney beans (soaked)

½ cup onions (finely chopped)

½ cup capsicum (finely chopped)

½ cup green beans (finely chopped)

2 medium size tomatoes blended into a puree (approximately 1 cup)

3 pods garlic (grated)

1 piece ginger (grated)

¾ cup kodo millet

½ cup corn niblets and/or peas

Salt

Paprika

1 tablespoon lemon juice

4 cups of hot water

Chili may be Tex-Mex in origin, but the ingredients of my Vegan Chili Bowl are all easily available and highly affordable in India and elsewhere.

Take a pot and add oil to it. Once it is hot, add the cumin, followed by the grated garlic, ginger and onions. Sauté till golden brown.

Boil the green beans, peas and carrots and strain these. Keep the water aside.

Kidney beans take longer to cook so pressure cook or par-boil them before adding them to the pot. You may substitute the kidney beans for a lentil of your choice. Please note cooking time will differ based on which ingredient you use.

Add all the cooked vegetables to the onions along with the tomato puree, corn, capsicum (I used green capsicum, but you can use yellow or red too), millets, paprika and salt.

Now, add the strained water (approximately one cup) and the cooking water to the above ingredients. Cover with a lid and lower the flame. Allow this to cook for 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally. I have used kodo millets, known in Tamil as varagu, which like all local millets has an extensive range of health benefits when eaten regularly. You can just as well substitute this with broken rice or wheat if you have them on hand, if you prefer. However, the cooking time will depend on the grain you’ve used.

Also remember that you can add all sorts of leftover vegetables to this chili – don’t feel restricted by the list I’ve suggested. They will only enhance the flavour and health quotient.

Once the grains are cooked well and tender, add the lemon juice and stir. Then, transfer the hot chili to small bowls and serve with some freshly chopped coriander leaves, fine slices of spring onions and other garnishings like roasted garlic or a handful of nuts. Chili is best eaten warm and fresh.

I love collecting beautiful crockery, and considering that this is a meal-in-a-bowl, I always take a little extra moment to choose the bowl itself well. When I made this the other day, I chose this pretty one with concentric blue circles on the bottom. It’s always a compliment to the cook when something is relished to the very last spoonful, and a nice design on the tableware is revealed.

As more people explore healthy or ethical dining options like turning vegan, our kitchen repertoires should also expand beyond serving and eating obvious items. This Vegan Chili Bowl is just the kind of unexpected dish that will make a vegan guest feel welcomed by your thoughtfulness. They are sure to enjoy it far more than picking at an ordinary salad or an unimaginative dressed-down version of the main course. The best part is that as it is a meal-in-a-bowl, you can be assured that they will be fully satisfied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaggery & Whole Wheat Squares

Yield: 10-15 pieces
Prep time: 20 minutes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I was a little girl, the month of Aadi in Chennai meant music being blared from temple speakers and a general atmosphere of colour and sound on the streets. Just like with the funeral processions full of flowers and drumming, I thought all of it was pure celebration. Now, as an adult, I appreciate the nuances, but there is still something about this month that catches my eye – and more accurately, my sense of smell. For temples small and large through the city make ritual offerings to the Goddess, which are then distributed to all. The scent of freshly made koozh (pronounced koo-lu), a millet-based porridge, fills the air along with devotional songs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rose-Coconut Kheer

(Yield: 8-10 cups)

½ cup basmati

4 cups whole milk

¾ cups sugar

1 cup freshly squeezed coconut milk

2 tablespoon coconut shavings

½ teaspoon cardamom powder

2 tablespoons rose water


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does summer look and feel like in your city? Here in Chennai, temperatures have been crossing 40 °C (104 °F) – and we’re bracing for May, usually the hottest month of the year! The streets are at their sunniest and most scorching, but pleasantly lined by flowering trees and stalls selling fruit. A few weeks ago, on a short road trip, water mirages accompanied me all along the highway. As for what the season feels like: sweat, thirst and the longing for a cool breeze and a chilled beverage are our primary sensations at present. Come visit, I say – just not today!

Fortunately, there’s a method to the madness of every season. Traditional wisdom and the science of macrobiotics make the best culinary use of fruits, vegetables and grains that thrive at different times of the year. Here in the subcontinent, if there is one kind of produce that is ubiquitous with the sweltering, sultry days of summer, it’s the mango.

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

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

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

And sometimes, everything begins with a single ingredient.

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

What is the most descriptive collective noun for coconuts? A cluster? A clump? A crowd? None of them quite sufficed for the copious numbers I found myself with! With five thriving trees in my garden, dangerously dropping their heavy drupes at any given moment, I responded to this abundance in the best way I know how: by bringing them into my kitchen.

So I hired a nimble man to climb up the trees to cut most of the coconuts down, and then we segregated them into tender ones, which yielded nutritious coconut water, and ripe ones with flesh that could be shaved. One of my coconut trees is also the site of an experiment of mine. I have a little basket on a lovely pulley system which takes pieces of papaya up to a nice altitude for the parrots that often flit about. It took a while to convince them that this odd contraption was actually a friendly gesture, but as with people and animals both – at the end of the day, appetite always wins!

restore shaved coconut

The shaved coconuts found themselves in many of my recipes: from coconut rose cupcakes (which you can order here if you’re in Chennai) to sweet-savoury kachoris (which you can make in your own kitchen, with my recipe here) and more. And in the late afternoons, those pristine white shavings of coconut were perfect for a local lentil dish: sundal.