We're Back! (maybe, perhaps, under certain conditions...)

Well, as expected, cooking did not even come close to a priority during our first year in graduate school. Between coursework, research jobs, and cats - oh yeah, we adopted two cats from the Oakland shelter in January - there wasn't a whole lot of room for culinary creativity or exploration. We fell back on tried-and-true recipes, easy pasta dishes, salads, ramen, and eating out. Great ingredients generally, but the overall cooking experience certainly has lacked the intellectual engagement that we could afford pre-graduate school.

But! The summer holds great potential. With no coursework monopolizing our evenings, the abundance of California produce, and apparently a reader who actively uses this blog to feed himself, we're going to try to resume the hobby that is culinary exploration. Bear with us, we're a little rusty.

At some point last year, we developed a tradition of having our friend DNA (kid you not! those are his real initials!) over to dinner on Friday nights. A very casual, family sort of thing: we'd cook whatever we were going to cook anyway and play boardgames, or watch a movie, or talk till the wee hours in the morning over several bottles of wine. Last night, DNA brought a hometown friend of his over, a friendly first year grad student at UCSF. Do made cocktails and we all hung out in the kitchen while DNA and I cooked dinner.

Dinner turned out Fantastic, much to my surprise. I was throwing together a simple summer pasta dish purely in an attempt to use up a bunch of our CSA veggies before they went bad. I was concerned that it would end up tasting too... "green." I've had pizzas and stir fries turn out that way, where the dish doesn't quite come together, and the veggies acquire this bland uniform flavor that permates the whole dish. To preempt this, I threw in ~1.5 lbs of Elgin sausage that I brought back from Texas last month. For those of you not from Texas, Elgin is a po-dunk town outside Austin that produces sausage which is legendary, pilgrimage-worthy. I'm actually a bit concerned that the dish will be less spectacular without that secret ingredient. Another trick that I tried was to create a "sauce" by stirring in ricotta cheese. I'd never done this before but it worked! It added a slightly creamy coating to the pasta, making it a true "dish" and not just a bowl were pasta and veggies happened to find themselves in combination. I will definitely use that trick again. The pasta turned out really, really successful, worthy of being immemorialized on an index card in my recipe box. For those of you who know us, this is how flavorful it was: Do didn't even ask to add hot sauce or red pepper flakes.

The other success story was DNA's spinach side dish. I know very little about it, other than it comes from an Indian cookbook, he's been making it for ages, and it was divine. Also very flavorful (can you tell that that's my biggest concern with veggie-centric dishes?), and the combination with diced mozarella provides a delightful texture contrast. I would have had seconds if we hadn't scarfed it all down on the first go.

Anyways, both dishes are recommended. And maybe next time we'll start pulling out the camera.


DNA's Indian Spinach with Cheese (serves 4 as a side)
1 lb chopped spinach
1 small onion, chopped
1/2 tsp tumeric
1 tsp chopped ginger
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cayenne
1 cup water
0.5 lb chopped mozarella
1 tsp veg oil
1/2 tsp cumin, toasted

Put mozarella in fridge. In a heavy saucepan, mix spinach, onion, ginger, salt, tumeric, cumin, cayenne, 1/2 c water. Bring to boil, reduce heat, and cook 5min or until soft. Stir in remaining water, bring to a simmer. Simmer 20-30 min till liquid is absorbed. Stir in mozarella seconds before serving, so as to preserve the differences in temperatures.

Summer Squash and Sausage pasta (serves 6 as a main)
1.5 lb Elgin sausage (or any super flavorful spicy sausage), crumbled
1/2 red onion, chopped
3/4 lb - 1 lb carrotts, chopped into matchsticks
4 summer squash (~1 lb), chopped into matchsticks
1 Gypsy pepper (or another medium spice pepper), chopped into matchsticks
3 tomatoes, chopped into bite-size pieces.
1/2 c ricotta cheese
1 lb pasta

Cook pasta per box's instructions. Set aside.
In a heavy saucepan, cook the sausage in batches. Pour off the fat in between batches, but don't throw it out. Set cooked sausage aside in a large bowl, add the tomatoes to the bowl. Use a little of the sausage fat to saute the carrots, summer squash, and gypsy pepper, add these veggies to the large bowl. Add the ricotta cheese and the pasta, stir to combine and salt&pepper to taste.

Redemption in the Side Dishes

So I have a dirty secret. Last week, I made a meal out of a box.

I don't think you realize quite how serious this is: I have just lost all my moral high ground. Do's the one who waxes poetical about his childhood memories of Hamburger Helper, Do's the one who wouldn't let me throw out the Riceroni packages that had been left behind in our kitchen by the previous tenants. It's my role to be all snooty and expostulate on the value of daily family dinners from scratch, knowing what's in your food, that there's more to dinner than caloric intake.

Yeah, well. Part of being partners is being a bad influence. Do has become a sexy gourmet chef who makes dinners from scratch every other day... and I cooked out of a box last week.

Last weekend, I dragged Do back to that wonderful Indian grocery store in Rockville to restock on those addictive Kaju Kati Indian sweets. Do took advantage of my vulnerable state (I did pounce on 3 boxes of Indian sweets) and selected 4 boxed Indian dinners. Well, one thing led to another, it was a long week, I was feeling both uninspired and lazy... and... well.

He loved it. I loved it. We had seconds. And it took only an hour, mostly because I insisted on rescuing some dying veggies from the fridge and transforming them into side dishes. Boxed spice mixes may be the secret to eating Indian food on a weeknight. Well. I'm not quite ready to admit the error of my ways yet. But this could be the secret to surviving graduate school.

To accompany our boxed dinner, a South Indian chicken-coconut curry, I threw together some super quick sautéed spinach and some spiced rice. I'm including the recipes below because both were ridiculously simple but memorable, probably because of the spices. The spinach was smokey and spicy... not hot spicy but interesting spicy. I thought that the mustard seeds had moved beyond "roasted" and into "slightly charred," Do enthusiastically finished it off in its entirety: no leftovers.

The rice dish we had discovered before, and our opinion was confirmed: it's really impressive for a "supporting actor" role. It's not sexy, it won't make your guests' jaws drop, but it's solidly good and will keep you coming back for more. The spicing is subtle but unmistakable, and the bouillon cube gives the rice a heartier flavor. Less feminine, romantic Jane Austin and more Lara Croft.

Both recipes used mustard seeds, but we're still trying to distinguish what particular flavor mustard seeds deliver. Maybe the fact that we couldn't pick mustard seeds out of the flavor composition is a sign that both dishes were correctly spiced. Cool. Or it could mean that mustard seeds don't taste like much. Less cool. Hm. Clearly further experimentation is required. Aw, shucks.

Sautéed Spinach in Mustard Oil (inspired by Julie Sahni)
Serves 2 as a side, but is extremely amenable to proportional division

1 lb fresh spinach
1 Tbs mustard oil
1 tsp black mustard seeds
1 dry chili pods
1 garlic clove
Lemon juice and salt, to taste

1. Cut the stems off the spinach and wash the leaves.
2. Heat the oil in a skillet over high (but not smoking). Add mustard seeds. Keep the pot lid handy, as the seeds may fly all over as they pop. After 5 seconds, add the chili pod and fry until it turns several shades darker. add garlic and fry for 10 seconds. (I'm asking you to be quick is to prevent the mustard seeds from burning. This will be more or less of a concern depending on how high you have the heat.)
3. Pile the spinach leaves on top and cook, turning them often and quickly, until they look wilted and moist. Continue cooking until most of the moisture evaporates and the spinach leaves are glazed (3-4 min).
   

Gently Spiced Rice with Peas (Madhur Jaffrey)
Serves 2

1 Tbs vegetable oil (I used walnut oil this time, worked great)
1 tsp whole black mustard seeds
1 cup long-grain rice
1.5 cups chicken or veggie broth (we use bouillon cubes for simplicity)
1 tsp salt
1 cup (or more!) peas, fresh or frozen

Over a medium flame, heat oil in a pot with a tight fitting lid. When hot, add the mustard seeds and wait until they begin to darken (10-20 seconds). Stir in the rice, and the peas. Stir for one minute. Add broth and salt and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce flame to very, very low. Leave to cook for 25 to 30 minutes.

(n.b. Jaffrey suggests adding the peas in the last 5 min of cooking if they are frozen, I didn't find that this extra juggling was necessary).

Field Trip to the Indian Grocery: Boxed Dinner and Sweets!

Have I mentioned that neither D nor I have ever put on a Seder? It's always been at his family's, or a giant dorm event or, if you go far enough back, it was simply a date on the calendar. This leaves us in the slightly intimidating position of figuring it out on our own (gasp!), with some help from the internet, cookbooks, and vague memories. This is what our breakfast table looked like Saturday morning:

You see Gil Marks' "World of Jewish Cooking" open to a page on Sephardic Roast Lamb and Ashkenaz Sweet-and-Sour Meatballs, recipe clippings from last month's Gourmet article on Passover (including Matzah ball soup), and a shopping list. You also see our not-so-nutritious (sorry Mom!) breakfast of tea and Indian sweets. After taking this picture, I realized that I have not yet shared our glorious trip to the Indian grocery store last week. So I'm putting Passover blogging on the back burner, and moving over to our Indian food finds!

In search of mustard oil to fuel his dal kick, my Dad scoped out Indian grocery stores when he was here a few weeks ago. He found a wonderful one right off Rockville Pike (12213 Nebel St., Rockville MD), owned by a lovely entrepreneurial family that has just opened a Halal meat store next door. From what we could gather, the Dad runs the grocery and the daughter serves as the butcher. I took D there for kicks and tourism last weekend and we indulged in a lot of goodies, including samosas and stuffed buns, a boxed Tandoori Chicken spice mix, and three boxes of Indian sweets. And had a lot of fun chitchatting with the gentleman behind the counter... a misleading phrase, because he promptly left the counter and followed us around the store to describe all the products and insisted on carrying our selections for us. A slightly overwhelming but charming display of pride in his own establishment.

It's not exactly clear to me what is in these Indian sweets. The silver foil covered ones in the red box contain "Kaju, Sugar, and Desi Ghee" and the Nutritional Information is reported in grams. Extremely not helpful. A quick google search for "Kaju" reveals "Kaju Katli is an Indian sweet made from cashews, sugar, cardamom powder, and ghee. Typically cut into Rhombus pieces and covered with edible silver foil Varakh."

Um, and it's addictive. For reals. The pieces are so cute and little and tiny and not overwhelming that, before D knows what is what, I've scarfed down half a layer in a sitting. (D inserts: "HALF a Layer! More like half the box!") They go especially well with tea the morning before Passover. Or eaten in bed while reading Jane Austin. Or a mid-afternoon snack.... :) We opened this box on Disasterous Dinner night (Thursday), and the photo to the left was taken on Saturday morning. This cannot be good for my arteries (I should take a photo of the ghee in my fridge sometime. It looks like jarred cholesterol), but oh man. Oh man. I'll take some of these over corn syrup-laden candy bars or mediocre American chocolate any day of the week. And, though the powers that be certainly won't agree with me, Kaju Katli is kosher for Passover! Did YOU see any yeast or flour products on that ingredient list? I think not!

[Passes the talking stick to D.]

Well, while Neen was busy eying up all of the sweets, I went shopping around for some boxed food. I know, I know, boxed food is the sign of the ultimate fall into depravity. It is one step forward and half a step back and to the right from Ramen, but when faced in the inexorable complexity of Indian food I tend to freeze. So, being a well trained Foodie, when I can't produce myself, I cheat. Besides, boxed exotic food doesn't really count as boxed food at all, right...

Well, based on the huge selection of box preparations that existed at this store, I am clearly not the only person out there who is buying boxed foods. They had a huge array of different kinds of chicken and curry dishes. I was actually very impressed with the selection. Of course, as soon as I saw a chicken dish that had that spicy red look that I associate with tandoori - well, I had to have it. Of course, it wasn't tandoori (and only a heathen as ignorant as myself would be thinking of tandoori when faced with a box of Dum Ka Chicken Masala).

The deal maker in this case was that the box contained just the spice mix I needed to marinate the meat. I purchased the chicken, cilantro, hot peppers, onions, and yogurt for cooking. They had a very simple recipe, straightforward except for having to deep-fry the onion (which I just wasn't prepared to do). The chicken had to marinate for two hours, or so the box said. I let it marinate for an hour and the flavor seemed full and balanced to me, but I won't claim to be an expert on how the dish was supposed to taste. I will claim, however, that it was delicious. Extremely spicy, but delicious. The chicken wasn't as tender as it should have been (I think this is a fault in my preparation), but the flavor was a nice balance of smoke, strong Indian spices, a little richness from yogurt, and a lot of heat.

Of course, once Neen had picked out two boxes of sweets, it seemed only fair that I should get to pick one too. The box I picked was packed full of what looked like Indian donuts. On the bottom you could see the thick layer of golden viscous fluid. I am going to pretend that it was honey and not a sweetened oil (or industrial syrup). The donuts themselves were all very good. The flavors were varied, but the texture was predominantly a thick cake-y texture, completely saturated with that viscous "honey". I loved them all. Well, not quite all. I don't really enjoy the flavor of coconut in my sweets. So there are three oblong shaped sweets that I am avoiding for the time being. I may get around to them before they go bad, or I may try to pawn them off on Neen...

[Neen grabs the talking stick back]

Okay, so D told you my secret: I did get two boxes of sweets. To SHARE. Of course. I would never, ever, hoard them or keep them to myself. Right. My second choice was the "Mixed Sweets" box (on the right), which contains a mix of disturbingly pastel-colored goodies. Most have a crumbly, grainy texture like Halva (which I far prefer to D's syrupy donuts) but without any of Halva's sesame flavor. They are sweet (very) and nutty (a little) and maybe coconut-y. Really, the coolest part was the texture: crumbly, grainy, but it dissolves in your mouth... mmm. So cool! And so not something I know how to make myself!

Okay, back to Passover deprivation...er, celebration. :)

Chutney: King of the Canned Tomatoes

This Chutney is a fighter.

For one, it's got enough garlic to kill a horse.

For two, I have personally witnessed this chutney submit itself to two months in a Swiss refrigerator, two months in a transatlantic storage container, and then several months in a freezer in the Dominican Republic (where the electricity isn't so dependable), and by the end it was so addictive that I would sneak into the kitchen and eat it by the spoonful in between meals.

I first made this chutney in 2003 as part of a grand Indian feast for my Dad's birthday, two months before my family moved from Switzerland to the Dominican Republic and I went off to college in the U.S. As a preserve, it can keep for many (many!) months refrigerated, and it is so potent that you need only a spoonful at a time. That said, I was pretty impressed that it not only survived but got better after completing a non-refrigerated transatlantic move. I have a hearty respect for this chutney.

Its taste blows my mind away. There's a perfect balance of sweet and sour and garlicky, concentrated. It's assertive, but doesn't usurp your ability to taste other foods like hot sauce does (a point of domestic contention, admittedly. Ask Do about his hot sauce passion/obsession sometime). The texture is definitely jam-like. And, now that I'm trying to eat seasonally more often, I appreciate that it uses canned tomatoes instead of fresh (though you can use fresh if you decide to make chutney this summer). I made a batch on Sunday and have been slipping a spoonful into my lunches all week... along with some peppermint gum so that I don't overwhelm my poor coworkers with my garlicky breath.

Who knows, if we don't finish it all by mid-June, we may submit it to our cross-country move to California. If it's anything like the last batch, the dramatic change of scenery will only make it better. :) But that's if we can resist the temptation to dip into our supply twice a day!

Despite the lack of jars in the photos (the one jar we own is currently being used, so the chutney is being temporarily stored in a very undignified Tupperware), this is a great way to keep tomatoes for MONTHS. So we're sending this over to Rosie and Pixie's Putting Up event. If you'd like to participate, send them posts on your favorite homemade jams or preserves by May 21st.

Madhur Jaffrey's Sweet Tomato Chutney.

28 oz. can whole tomatoes (M.J. claims that 2 lbs of fresh tomatoes could work if you peel them.)
1 whole head of garlic, peeled
A piece of fresh ginger, about 2" long, 1" thick, 1" wide, peeled and coarsely chopped.
1 1/2 cups wine vinegar
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 1/2 tsp salt
1/8 - 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
2 Tbs golden raisins
2 Tbs blanched slivered almonds.

1. Put the garlic, ginger, and 1/2 cup of the vinegar into the blender and blend at high speed until smooth. In a heavy bottomed pot with nonmetallic finish, place the tomatoes and their juices, the rest of the vinegar, the sugar, salt, and cayenne pepper. Bring to a boil. Add puree from blender. Lower heat and simmer gently, uncovered, for about 1.5 - 2 hours or until the chutney becomes thick. (A film should cling to a spoon dipped in it). Stir occasionally at first, and more frequently later as it thickens. You may need to lower the heat as the liquid diminishes. You should end up with about 2.5 cups of chutney, and it should be at least as thick as chutney after it cools.
2. Add the almonds and raisins. Simmer, stirring, another 5 minutes. Turn heat off and allow to cool. Bottle. Keep refrigerated. It keeps for months.

5 Dals, or What Neen's Dad did While She Was at Work Last Week

[From our favorite guest blogger: Neen's Dad] When Neen and D visited us in Austin, Texas, last month, I whisked them off to one of the several Indian grocery stores I had discovered in North Austin, the most rapidly growing section of town, close to the major high tech companies. Immigrants from India make up 3% of town’s immigrant population, active in services as well as in high tech, and sufficiently affluent to support not only hometown-style groceries but also regular screenings of the most recent Bollywood spectaculars, at Cinemark’s Tinseltown South.

Gandhi Enterprises is next to the allied “Curry in Hurry,” and it features everything Indian, both culinary and cultural. Ranks of DVDs and VHS cassettes occupy an impressive space near the cashier. The store is not large, but the variety of Indian food products is dazzling. Imagine a whole aisle of chutneys and relishes, and another whole aisle of prepackaged Indian meals for the housewife without the time to cook all day long. But what most attracted my amateur eye were the stacked packages of all kinds of dal, whole or split, in many colors – black, yellow, orange, green and more.

Dal are varieties of dried beans and peas. As Madhur Jaffrey explains in her “Invitation to Indian Cooking” (1973, recently reprinted in hardback by HarperCollins),

“In some form or other they are eaten daily in almost every Indian home, frequently providing the poor with their only source of protein. While people in England and America speak of making their living as earning their ‘bread and butter,’ Indians who earn a bare wage complain that they make just enough for their ‘dal roti’ (‘roti’ is bread).”

You are unlikely to load up on dal at your local Indian restaurant, since you’ll be picking and choosing among the principal dishes, but there might be a dal or two on the menu. But consider them for your own kitchen: the peas or beans become an tasty medium for Indian spicing and can play neatly against the meat, breads, and chutneys. And Neen tells me that they make fine carry-along lunches the next day.

Jaffrey lists nine common types of dal (mung/moong dal, urad dal, chana dal, arhar or toovar dal, rajma (red kidney bean), mansoor dal, kala chana, chhola or kabli chana (chickpeas/garbanzos), and lobhia (whole black-eyed peas). She kindly notes to her 1973 audience that she is including “recipes for the dals available in your supermarkets (lentils, frozen black-eyed peas, canned chickpeas) and for dishes made with ground chickpea flour. . . and ground urad dal.”

We split our Austin purchases of dal, so when Neen’s mom and I arrived for a week’s visit, I had a good idea of the possible opportunities and challenges awaiting an amateur cook with time to spare.

Some lessons learned over the course of the great dal cook-in:

- - It is indeed prudent to pick through the dry dal, spreading it a quarter of a cup or less at a time on a clean plate to assure yourself that there are no stones or sticks in the mixture. The dals from our brand-name suppliers were admirably clean, but at one point I did detect and remove a jagged little stone that could have cost someone a chipped tooth.

-- Since dals are dried, one must rehydrate them. There are different approaches to this, and the split dals will respond much more quickly than the whole ones. The recipe for mung beans called for them to simmer for 5 hours; for the “dry cook” dals in her book on vegetables and grains, Julie Sahni simply soaks split dal under two inches of water for two hours. Take the time delay into consideration. And make sure that you are preparing the full measure of dal specified in the recipe. It can be awkward to try to rectify a recipe by adding uncooked, unsoaked dal late in the process.

- - Once you are comfortable with the basic concepts (such as the inevitable flavor base of ginger, garlic and hot pepper to taste), you can treat the dal as a canvas for self-expression. The last dal below was largely my own invention, but nothing says that the equivalent might not have been produced somehow, somewhere on the subcontinent.

Kali Dal – Black Beans Cooked in a Punjabi Style

“The black beans used here are not the Central American black beans [i.e., black turtle beans] but a slightly more viscous, ancient Indian variety known in much of north India as whole urad dal with skin (and in the state of Punjab, where this recipe is from as sabut ma).” -- Madhur Jaffrey, “Climbing the Mango Trees, A Memoir of a Childhood in India” (2005, NY: Alfred A. Knopf)

2 cups whole urad dal with skin
5 good-sized garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
One 4-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper for a mild recipe; may
be increased to taste
¼ cup peanut or olive oil
¾ cup puréed tomatoes (also called strained tomatoes or passata)
1 ½ teaspoons salt
6 tablespoons heavy cream
2 tablespoons unsalted butter (optional)

1. Pick over the beans and wash them in several changes of water. Drain the beans and soak them in 5 cups of water overnight. (Or, alternatively, put the washed beans and the same amount of water in a pan and bring it to a boil. Bo il for 2 minutes. Cover it and turn off the heat. Set aside for 1 hour.)
2. Drain the beans again. Put them in a pan, add 5 cups fresh water, and bring to a boil. Turn the heat to low so that the beans simmer very gently, cover partially, and cook 1 ½ to 2 hours or until the beans are tender. Stir every now and then.Meanwhile, put the garlic, ginger, cayenne and ¼ cup water in a blender. Blend until you have a smooth purée. Set a small (6-inch) preferably non-stick frying pan with the oil in it over medium heat. When it is hot, add the paste from the blender. Stir and fry for 3 to 4 minutes. When the beans are tender, pour this mixture into the pan with the beans. Add the tomato purée, salt, and cream. Stir the beans and bring to a gentle simmer. Cover partially and simmer gently, stirring now and then, for 15 minutes. Stir in the butter, if desired, and serve.
   

Moong Dal

(“This is North India’s most popular dal, and it is eaten with equal relish by toothless toddlers, husky farmers, and effete urban snobs. The simple recipe given below can be used for the white urad dal, the salmon-colored masoor dal, and the large arhar or toovar dal as well.” - Jaffrey, “Invitation to Indian Cooking”)

1 ½ cups moong dal (hulled and split)
2 garlic cloves, peeled
2 slices peeled fresh ginger, 1 inch square and 1/8 inch thick
1 teaspoon chopped Chinese parsley (coriander greens or cilantro)
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
¼-1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
1 ½ teaspoons salt
1 ½ teaspoons lemon juice
3 tablespoons vegetable oil or usli ghee (clarified butter – see comment, below)
a pinch ground asafetida or tiny lump asafetida (a resin used fo r spicing)
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
Lemon or lime wedges

1. Clean and wash dal thoroughly. Put dal in heavy-bottomed 3 to 4 quart pot, add 5 cups of water, and bring to a boil. Remove the froth and scum that collects at the top. Now add the garlic, ginger, parsley, turmeric and cayenne pepper. Cover, leaving the lid very slightly ajar, lower heat, and simmer gently for about 1 ½ hours. Stir occasionally. [Note: Julie Sahni’s version calls for 5 hours of cooking – which was about twice as long as necessary, in our experience.] When dal is cooked , add the salt and lemon juice (it should be thicker than pea soup, but thinner than cooked cereal).
2. In a 4 to 6 inch skillet or small pot, heat the vegetable oil or ghee over a medium-high flame. When it is hot, add the asafetida and cumin seeds. As soon as the a safetida sizzles and expands and the cumin seeds turn dark (this will take only a few seconds), pour the oil and spices over the dal and serve. (Some people put the dal in a serving dish and then pour the oil and spices over it.)
   

Serving variation: You may chop two or three onions in thin rounds and sautée them until golden, then add asafetida and cumin seeds for the final moments. Serve this mixture on top of the moong dal or beside it.

Hot Chana Dal with Potatoes

(from Jaffrey’s “Invitation to Indian Cooking”)

½ cup chana dal (round, yellow grain, split; from the chickpea family), cleaned and washed [Note: we all agreed that this quantity could be doubled or tripled for this recipe]
1 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons vegetable oil [Note: you can purchase mustard oil at your local Indian store, but do so quickly; Mr Sani at Dani Imports in Rockville, Maryland, tells us that because of shortages, the Indian government has forbidden the export of this uniquely Indian cooking substance]
¼ teaspoon black mustard seeds
¼ teaspoon whole cumin seeds

10 fenugreek seeds
2 fresh green chilies (as an alternative, use 1/8 – ¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper)
1 medium-sized onion, peeled and chopped
a piece of fresh ginger, about ¾ inch square, peeled and grated
4 new potatoes, boiled and diced into ½-inch cubes
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons lemon juice or 3 tablespoons tamarind paste [Note: the tamarind gives it a special tang; tamarind paste in jars or dried tamarind ready for rehydration can be found at your Indian grocery]

1. Put the dal to boil with 3 cups of water and ½ teaspoon of the salt. Cover, lower heat, and simmer gently for 1 hour. Drain and set aside.
2. In a 10-inch skillet, heat the oil over a medium-high flame. When it is hot, put in the mustard, cumin and fenugreek seeds. In a few seconds, as soon as the cumin and fenugreek seeds darken and the mustard seeds begin to pop, add the green chilies. Turn them over once (this will take another second), then put in the chopped onion and grated ginger. Stir and fry the onions for 4 to 5 minutes. Now put in all the remaining ingredients – that is, the boiled dal and the diced potatoes, ½ teaspoon salt , the pepper, cayenne if you are using it, and lemon juice or tamarind paste. Mix well and cook over medium flame for 5 minutes, stirring frequently but gently.

   

“Dry Cooked” Sookhi Dal

(from Julie Sahni’s Indian Cooking with Vegetables and Grains)

1 cup split yellow mung beans (moong dal)
5 Tbs usli ghee (clarified butter, a staple of Indian cooking, available in Indian groceries either as an import from the subcontinent or as “Desi ghee,” produced in North America) [Note: I love cooking with butter, but I shivered with dread when I took the jar out of the fridge and saw the waxy pale yellow substance; delicious as it is, ghee has got to be 100 percent cholesterol]
1 tsp cumin seeds
3/4 cup finely minced onion
1 Tbs finely chopped fresh ginger
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp tumeric
3/4 tsp mango powder or 1 1/2 Tbs lemon juice
1 tsp coarse salt
1 cup water
2 Tbs chopped fresh coriander

1. Pick clean the beans and wash thoroughly in several changes of water. Put beans inbowl and add enough water to cover by at least 2 inches. Let soak for 2 hours. Drain and set aside.
2. Measure out the spices and place them right next to the stove in separate piles. Heat 2 Tbs of usli ghee in a medium-size skillet or saucepan over medium-high heat. When it is hot add the minced onion. Fry, stirring constantly, until light golden (~10min). Add ginger, cayenne, and tumeric; continue frying for an additional 2 min. Add soaked beans. Sprinkle on the mango powder and salt, and mix wel. Pour on 1 cup water and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and cook the beans partially covered for 20-25 min or until the beans are almost cooked and most of the liquid is absorbed. Cover the pan during the last 5-10 min of cooking.
3. Stir in the remaining usli ghee and continue cooking the beans, covered, in the butter vapor, for 10min or untilt hey are fully cooked and soft. Uncover, fold in the cilantro, and serve warm.
   

“Firangi” Masoor Dal

(“Firangi” [foreigner] dal because I made this one up, following Sahni’s general instructions for dry-cooked dal. I love the electric salmon color of this uncooked dal; it fades a little bit during the cooking.)

two cups masoor dal
a tablespoon of cumin seeds, dry-toasted in a frying pan
garlic (as much as you like!)
ginger (ibid)
onion (ibid)
vegetable oil (mustard oil is a possibility)
three small hot green peppers (serrano type), seeded and cut lengthways into quarters
1 small can peeled tomatoes
three spring onions, choped in one-inch lengths
a generous amount of black pepper

Soak two cups masoor dal under two inches of water for two hours blended the garlic, ginger and onion in a paste and fried it up in mustard oil. Once that that was ready, I added the cumin seed and the hot green peppers, sautéed them until the peppers had gone limp, then stirred in the tomatoes (without the brine) and cooked for perhaps ten minutes. I seasoned further with black pepper after cooking was done.

Neen commented, perhaps doubtfully, that it looked Italian – but she didn’t complain about the flavor!

Okra Around The World

From the Guest Poster (Neen's Dad): Okra. Not quite comfort food, but familiar, associated with family meals when I was growing up. In Alabama and Georgia, it was cut into rounds, breaded and fried crispy -- and I have discovered with pleasure that the same preparation is regularly available as a "side" in many a Texas barbecue joint.

The okra pod contains a delicious ooze around the seeds, a substance that thickens stews and gives them a distinct tang. In Louisiana okra figures in many a "gumbo" dish, married with seafood and onions and tomatoes, spiced with gumbo filé (powdered sassafras). And in the cooking of the deep South, gumbo rounds appear in side dishes in combination with tomato or corn.

Only when I learned practical, everyday market French in West Africa did I discover that gumbo is in fact the word the French use for "okra." Gumbo regularly figures in West African stews; the most challenging is the "sauce gumbo" served to accompany foutu, a heavy paste of pounded yam or pounded plantain banana. Many a North American faces difficulties with sauce gumbo, not because of its particular taste but rather because of its extraordinary texture. The Baoulé, Agni, Senefou and other peoples of French-speaking West Africa love lots of gumbo in their sauces. To the uninitiated, shoveling gumbo sauce felt like scooping up mucous secretions.

In her cookbook Classic Indian Vegetarian and Grain Cooking Julie Sahni acknowledges that difficulty:

"Okra is a delicious vegetable, but it turns viscous and slimy when comes in contact with moisture."

Reading that, I flashed on "vicious" instead of "viscous" and got a disconcerting image of enraged okra pods. So I couldn't resist her recipe. As part of the inaugural Indian style meal for our visit to Neen and D, I had to try Braised Okra with Tomatoes, Onions and Spices.

(for 4 persons)

1/2 cup light vegetable oil
1 pound okra, trimmed and left whole
3 cups finally chopped onion
2 teaspoons minced garlic
2 tablespoons grated or crushed fresh ginger
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground fennel
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon turmeric
1 1/2 cups finely chopped tomatoes
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt, or to taste (use a lesser quantity if you're obliged to substitute regular finely ground salt)
1 cup hot water
3 tablespoons chopped fresh coriander

The trick to the cooking technique is to trim the okra at either end but leave them intact so that the interior ooze does not escape, other than for an occasional accident late in the cooking process. That way you will have all of that flavor captured inside the pods. I suggest that you choose the youngest, tenderest okra pods and avoid the larger ones, which can be gnarly and almost woody. This time of year in Washington DC the okra in upscale markets is imported from Chile at hair-raising prices, so I felt entirely justified in picking and choosing my pods.

1. Heat 1/4 cup of the oil over medium-high heat in a large heavy skillet or heavy cooking pot. When the oil is very hot, add the okra in a single layer and fry without stirring for 1 minute. Continue cooking for 3 or 4 minutes more, tossing and turning the okra until it is lightly browned. Remove the okra from the pan and set aside -- preferably on newspaper so that it can lose some of its oil coating.

2. Measure out the spices. We prefer to toast whole cumin seeds in a dry, very hot frying pan, moving them constantly so they don't burn, then crush them in a mortar and pestle. You may combine the cumin, coriander, fennel, cayenne pepper and turmeric. Keep the garlic and ginger separate.

3. Add the remaining 1/4 cup of oil to the same pan as before, along with the onion. Cook the onion until light golden (about 5 minutes, says Sahni). Add garlic and ginger to the onion and cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture turns caramel brown. (Or until you think it has gotten as brown as it's going to get.)

4. Add the cumin, coriander, fennel, cayenne pepper and turmeric. Stir for a few seconds and then add the tomatoes. Reduce the heat to medium and cook, stirring for 3 minutes or until mixture thickens and becomes pulpy. Add the okra, salt and 1 cup hot water. Stir to mix and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and cook, covered, until the okra is cooked (about 20 minutes) and the sauce is thick. Stir in a little of the chopped coriander leaves and garnish with what's left.

We found that with these proportions the dish was tasty but quite mild. You could up the spicing significantly (especially the cayenne pepper) or serve it alongside a sharp chutney.

Neen's Insertion: I thought I didn't like Okra (too slimy) until I went to Mali to do research for my BA thesis, and realized that I strongly associate the flavor with my childhood in West Africa. I had never made the association before because, as a kid, I would eat around the Okra -- I didn't realize how critical the flavor was to many staple dishes. That, and the fact that Okra is also a culinary cornerstone in the South-East, where my Dad's side of the family is from, almost lands it a place in the family scrapbook. (A JOKE). We'd like to submit this post to Weekend Herb Blogging. If you'd like to participate, read the rules for Weekend Herb Blogging, then send your entry to whomever is hosting by 3:00 on Sunday, Utah time.

A Father-Daughter moment over Naan

I'm not really sure how it happened, but I think my father and I share some sort of subliminal Indian food cooking bond. Go ahead, laugh. We are both solidly in the amateur category; neither can claim ties to the cuisine based on heritage or personal experience (never been to India, we've probably cooked 20 Indian meals between the two of us). But when sitting down to write this entry, I realized that my Dad is associated with nearly all my homemade Indian food memories. I made my first all out Indian food meal for his birthday 5 years ago. Prompted by my budding interest in his coming-apart-at-the-seams Madhur Jaffrey cookbook, he brought home a copy with an intact spine... and a couple more Jaffrey cookbooks for good measure. He rediscovered the books (and the kitchen!) since retiring to Austin last fall, so he was the one I called for recommendations when D and I turned to Indian food to survive Lent. During Lent, he mailed me some hard-to-find spices from Austin and, when we came to visit for Easter, took D and me to an Indian store so we could stock up on dal. So it's not completely random that the first thing he does upon arriving in D.C. is cook up a multi-dish Indian meal in my kitchen. Not random, but almost everyone outside the blogosphere and our nuclear family would be completely befuddled that he and I have this thing for cooking Indian food.

Oh, and I wish that I could have captured the back-and-forth dialogue that accompanied my father's cooking spree and my mother's cleaning spree. There were lots of "Do you have measuring cups/a whisk/a rolling pin?" & "Where do you keep your parchment paper?" & "You mean to tell me that you have only ONE cookie sheet??" & "I GAVE you a cucumber slicer -- what did you do with it?!" Ah, family. Did I mention that the apartment is small?

Dad's going to tell you about his cooking exploits from yesterday, but I wanted to single out and highlight the horizon-expanding creation of the feast: the Naan.

Naan is like a cross between the puffed Chapati and high quality white sandwich bread, only better. Yeast creates the thin outer crust and the more sophisticatedly-textured crumb (I'm at loss for a better word), while baking soda makes it chewy. Like Chapati and unlike French baguettes, a very short period close to high heat puffs the bread out like an envelope, but the walls of that envelope are chewy instead of crispy. It also calls for yogurt, milk, and an egg, so the flavor is vaguely reminiscent of a subtle brioche.

It was by far the highlight of the meal, in my opinion. Crispy crust, yet substantial enough to sop up all the flavorful dal and veggies. A delicate yet interesting flavor on its own. Very satisfying. And very out of the ordinary, or at least out of 'my' ordinary.

Plus, now I know what a broiler is and how to use it. Sheepish grin.

Madhur Jaffrey's Naan

3 cups all purpose white flour
1/2 cups plus 3 Tbs milk
1 egg, beaten
3/4 tsp salt
2 tsp sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 packet dry yeast (Dad prefers the texture of a whole packet)
2 Tbs vegetable oil
4 Tbs plain yogurt
1/4 tsp black onion seeds

1. Warm milk. Put flour into a big bowl. In a medium bowl, combine the egg, salt, sugar, baking powder, yeast, 2 Tbs oil, yogurt, and 5 Tbs of the warm milk. Mix well. Pour mixture over flour and rub it in with the hands.
2. Add 1 Tbs of warm milk at a time to the flour, and begin kneading. Add up to 6 Tbs or enough so that all the flour adheres and kneading is easy. Knead until the dough is elastic (about 10 min). Form into a ball, brush with oil, cover with damp cloth, and leave in a warm place to rise for 2-3 hours. If the temperature is above 80 degrees it should take only 2 hours. Otherwise it may take about 3 hours.
3. Preheat the broiler to about 550 degrees. Line 3 cookie sheets with aluminum foil, and brush lightly with oil.
4. Knead dough again for about a minute or two and divide into six balls. Flatten the balls one at a time, keeping the rest covered, and stretch them and pat them with your hands until you have a teardrop shape of about 11 inches long and 4 inches wide. (Dad used a rolling pin). Place two naans on each baking sheet, cover with a moistened cloth and leave for 15 min in a warm place.
5. Remove moistened cloths. Brush the center portion of each naan with water, leaving a 1/2 inch margin. Sprinkle the center portion with the onion seeds.
6. Place sheets under broiler, about 2.5-3 inches away form the heat and broil quickly for about 2.5 min on each side or until lightly browned.
   

Ashkanaz Stuffed Cabbage -- Indian style

I'm not sure why I'm on an Ashkanaz cooking kick. No wait, I do. As I posited yesterday while baking Hamantaschen for Purim for the first time, Americans tend to associate "Jewish" cooking with "Eastern European Jewish" cooking because the vast majority of American Jews can trace their lineage back to that part of the world. Things like Gefilte fish, Matzo ball soup, Challah, and Kugels are, shockingly enough, not traditional fare for Mediterranean Jews or Middle Eastern Jews. The same goes for words like Chutzpa, Klutz, Kvetch, and Shmooz, which are all Yiddish words. If you set a plate of traditional Sephardi cooking in front of a typical American and introduced it by its Ladino name, he would probably associate the food with Arab or Magreb cuisine and think that you spoke Spanish quite badly. Yet it's really tough to break these tangential cultural associations.

So, being a professed victim of popular culture, I served a traditional Ashkanaz dish for Purim dinner -- Stuffed Cabbage.

According to Gil Marks, "Cabbage, one of the oldest cultivated plants, is the most important vegetable among Ashkenazim [...] The now familiar green cabbage, with a firm, mild head, evolved in Germany around the twelfth century. Stuffed Cabbage originated in the Near East as a way of using the tough outer leaves by simmering them in liquid. Thanks to the Tartars and the Turks, stuffed cabbage spread throughout eastern and central Europe in the fourteenth century."

I bet you that Polish and Russian Jews couldn't care less that Purim usually occurs during Lent.

In fact, I bet you that most didn't even know what Lent was.

(Ok, I cheated. I happen to have learned in college that most Russian and Polish Jews spoke only Yiddish and had very little contact outside their rural communities).

To get to the point, most recipes for stuffed cabbage involve meat of some sort. Crap.

Which is where the Fairy Godmother of Vegetarians (or at least, of our brief foray with vegetarianism) steps in: Madhur Jaffrey just happens to have a recipe for Cabbage Stuffed with spiced mashed potatoes (ish).

Wow. just wow. The stuffed cabbage was so incredibly satisfying that you didn't even notice enough to feel pious about the fact that it was both seasonal and vegetarian. Hearty, comfortably spiced filling, meaty texture, almost succulent. D claims that the cabbage wrapping didn't add anything, but I think it was the perfect contrast in texture, taste, and presentation to take this from a side dish to a main course. Now, admittedly, dealing with the cabbage is somewhat a pain in the arse, not really a weeknight venture (or at least, not the same weeknight that you're baking Hamantaschen and have sore muscles from your gym class). And I'm not sure that the last steps of frying and steaming the stuffed cabbage added much. But oh man, was it good. I snuck back and ate leftovers for both breakfast and a post-Good Friday service snack. So satisfying!

We enjoyed this dish so much that we're sending it over to Kalyn's Weekend Herb Blogging, this week hosted by Katie of Thyme for Cooking. We hope that everyone likes it as much as we did!

Madhur Jaffrey's Cabbage Leaves stuffed with Potatoes

5 medium potatoes
7 medium onions (I used 3 average supermarket ones... M.J. must have written this recipe in a pre-GM era)
Vegetable Oil
2 tsp whole fennel seeds
1 tsp whole cumin seeds
1 tsp Garam Masala
Salt
Cayenne pepper (optional)
1 Tbs lemon juice
1 medium head of cabbage

For the Filling:

1. Boil the potatoes, then cut them very small (you'll be mashing them soon)
2. Peel the onions, cut them in half lengthwise and slice into fine half-circles.
3. Heat 6 Tbs of oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add onions and fry, stirring, separating the rings until the onions are brownish, about 7-8 min; they should not get crisp.
   
4. Add the fennel and cumin and fry another 7-8 min on lower flame. The onions should look a rich reddish brown now.
   
5. Add the diced boiled potatoes to the onion mixture and continue frying. As you fry, mash the potatoes with the back of a slotted spoon or potato masher.
   
6. Add the garam masala, 2 1/2 tsp salt, lemon juice, and cayenne to taste. Mix and set aside

The Cabbage:

1. Cut off the hard stem of the cabbage, remove the hard, damaged outer leaves and wash it. In a pot large enough to hold the whole cabbage, bring to boil salted water. Drop the cabbage in (water should cover at least three-quarters of it), cover, and boil 5 min. Lift cabbage out of boiling water (don't drain that hot water!), run under cold water, and carefully remove each leaf, taking care not to break them. Dry. If the inner leaves are still crisp, drop them again in the boiling water until they go limp. Remove and cool under water.
2. Spread out one leaf at a time. Snip out the hard core of the outer leaves with a pair of kitchen shears. You can snip to about an inch into the lead, removing a kind of narrow V. Now place a tablespoon of stuffing in the center and fold the edges over. Squeeze out the extra moisture; this also helps to keep the stuffed cabbage leaves tightly closed.
   
3. In a 10" skillet, heat 4 Tbs of oil over medium heat. Fry the stuffed cabbage a few pieces at a time, until each piece is browned on all sides. Take care not to let the leaves open. When all the pieces are done, lower the heat, arrange the stuffed cabbage pieces in the skillet in tight layers, add 2 Tbs of water, cover and cook on very low flame for 10-15min.
   

Serves 6-8. (For real. We would have leftovers for a week, except we've both been eating them at every possible occasion, including breakfast this morning! That's how good they are!)

Hearty Vegetarian Curry -- Finally, a Winter Success.

For all that I bitch about post-collegiate life, there are some aspects that I'm really going to miss when grad school starts up in the fall. I mean besides the paycheck, all you cynics out there :) No, really, I underestimated how much I would enjoy the workplace camaraderie. My coworkers are awesome: we trade recipes and favorite food blogs, we go to gym class together then whine about our sore muscles the next day, and we share stories from our weekend without it becoming a confessional. I really appreciate that folks are friendly without there being some awkward sense of forced personal intimacy; in college, social interactions were much more an 'all or nothing' deal. I wonder what the social culture will be like in grad school?

Another thing I really appreciate about the working world is that guilt doesn't hover over you like an omnipresent rain cloud. Take yesterday. I left work, I came home, and I spent about an hour cooking. With comfy slippers on, D working on his laptop close by, a glass of Riesling from a bottle that my dear Brooklyn friend sent to us, I just took my time. It was so satisfying. No inner alarm button going off beeping, "You should be studying/reading/writing up that essay." No opportunity cost that is not self-assigned. It's a much more sane rhythm. I can really leave work at the door, and enjoy the evening however I damn well please... which happened to be cooking a seasonally-appropriate, vegetarian dish.

Regardless of what the blooming tree outside our bathroom window claims, it's not spring here yet. No asparagus, tomatoes, or fresh greens that aren't the prodigal children of California or Chile. As I whined in yesterday's post, this has made our self-imposed vegetarian diet somewhat uninspiring. However, Victory! Who does hearty, flavorful vegetarian dishes better than the South-East Asians? I should have spent more of this month working through my two Indian cookbooks.

This stew/curry-like dish is potato based, making it sort of like a Hindu take on St. Paddy's Day. It's hearty with a complex flavor, and managed to hit the sweet spot where we were both quite happy with the heat level. (D keeps a sizable collection of hot sauces nearby for whenever I cook!). As a warning, fenugreek is a salty spice, so be sure to taste-test before adding more salt... chef's perogative!

I also made rice as a side, just in case the two dried chili peppers turned out overwhelmingly hot. Pretty simple rice recipe from the same cookbook: heat oil, throw in some mustard seeds till they pop, add a cup of rice and stir to coat. Add 1.5 cups of broth and simmer sloooooooowly till the rice is cooked, then add frozen peas (well, you Californians can add fresh peas, but those of us less blessedare stuck with frozen). It turned out to be a really versatile, fragrant, subtle dish... interesting enough flavor to eat on it's own, but muted enough that it was still refreshing against the spicy potato curry. D foresees that this rice recipe will be a regular addition to our weeknight repertoire.


Recipe: Madhur Jaffrey's "Potatoes in Thick Sauce"

5 medium-size boiling potatoes
1 piece of fresh ginger (2"x1"x1"), peeled and coarsely chopped
1 Tbs ground coriander (I roast whole seeds and then grind)
1 tsp ground cumin (ditto)
6 Tbs tomato sauce
6 Tbs vegetable oil (less couldn't hurt)
1 tsp whole fennel seed (I didn't have any, so I used celery seed. eeh)
10 fenugreek seeds, whole (I didn't have any, so I used ground. Not recommended, since fenugreek is so salty)
1/2 tsp black onion seeds, if available
1/2 tsp black mustard seeds
1-3 whole dried hot red peppers (I used two, and it was surprisingly pleasant)
1 1/2 tsp lemon juice
1 1/2 tsp salt (too much. Add to taste)
1 tsp garam masala.

1. Boil potatoes in their jackets at least 2 hours ahead and leave to cool. (I boiled, rinsed in cold water, and fridged while I did the next steps).
   
2. Roast and grind coriander and cumin if necessary. Put coriander, cumin, ginger in the electric blender and vroom-vroom for a few seconds to break up the ginger. Add the tomato sauce and 3 Tbs warm water. Blend to a paste.
   
3. Break each potato into 6-8 pieces. (Madhur Jaffrey peels them and breaks them up by hand. I like peels and had under boiled them, so I used a knife).
   
4. Heat oil in a 10-inch heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat. When hot, add the fennel, fenugreek, onion, and mustard seeds. When the mustard seeds begin to pop, put in the red peppers. As they darken, put in the paste from the blender. Fry for 5 min, stirring frequently. Add the potato and fry another 3-5min, stirring constantly. Add 1 1/2 cups of water and the lemon juice. Bring to a boil, cover, lower flame, and simmer gently for 15-20 min. The sauce should be fairly thick.
   
5. To serve, sprinkle with Garam Masala and stir. Serves 4 as a main with rice.

Nothing says 'I love you' like labor-intensive Indian Food

Yesterday, I went all out and spent multiple hours in the kitchen in order to produce an edible love letter. The final results:

Finished plate
Originally uploaded by Neenabeena

(Indian meatballs, Lentil Dal, Chapati, Cilantro-Yogurt Chutney, and Basmati rice).

D. loves spicy food and culinary adventures, yet has had relatively little experience with Indian food. Not that I'm any Hindustani diva. I did date a fellow from Kerala once, which spurred enough insanity that I a) watched as many bollywood movies as possible with the goal of both picking up some Hindi and getting an eyeful of Sharukh Khan, b) did my best to get along with his silently disapproving mother, and c) started teaching myself how to cook out of my parents' crumbling copy of Madhur Jaffrey's "Introduction to Indian Cooking." I was studying hard for International Baccalaureate exams at the time, and cooking gradually morphed into a physical outlet, a good break from Rousseau and Organic Chemistry that yielded significant rewards on the familial gratitude front. Having conquered the exams in late May, I decided to throw a big sha-bang for my Dad's birthday, presenting everything from Lamb Korma to Tomato-Tamarind Chutney to Kulfi (Indian ice-cream, sort of). It was outrageous. The whole episode ended with my Dad being one happy cookie, the cookbook finally falling into five or six distinct pieces, and me setting aside both the Indian boyfriend and any overly-ambitious culinary interests for college.

Fast forward four and a half years. D. and I are eating mostly vegetarian for Lent (another topic for another day), and I started poking around with Indian recipes as a way to make veggies more interesting. With a little help from amazon.com, I replaced the old crumbled Jaffrey cookbook with a copy that has an intact spine. And set aside Saturday to introduce D. to Indian food beyond cheap all-you-can-eat restaurants.

Koftas (Indian meatballs)
Originally uploaded by Neenabeena

These meatballs were incredibly dense, very middle-eastern instead of the fluffy-breadcumbly-eggy American things. They were stuffed with an onion-chili paste, which was actually really soothing in contrast with the dense meat. Very complex spicing, but not overwhelmingly hot. I was a little disappointed by the sauce, which was onion-based instead of tomato-based or meat-based. Really, it was just because it looks like an Italian sauce. D. really loved it. Which is good, because he'll be eating it all week.

Lentil Dal
Originally uploaded by Neenabeena

The Lentil dal was perhaps the biggest flavor success of the evening, namely because they in no way resembled the "woody"-tasting lentils that we have all fallen victim to at some point. Given the amount of protein and spicing in them, the dal was surprisingly light (thank you limes!) and meaty-flavored. Search me, maybe it was the combination of spices that made it so succulent?

Finally, the diva of the evening, the Chapatis. Chapatis are an Indian puffed bread made out of whole wheat flour and water. THAT's IT! After my bouts of wrestling with Baguettes (successfully) and Ciabatta (unsuccessfully), this seemed eerily easy. Something had to be amiss. Clearly Madhur Jaffrey had never met Julia Child, or she would have devised some more complicated devilry. Or at the very least require that I use a bread stone.

But no. Mix flour and water, and let the dough "rise" for 3 hours (it won't). Divide it into teeny-weeny lumps about the size of a cookie, and roll it as thin as possible. Plop this paper-thin creation onto a smoking hot pan, and in thirty seconds it will start developing bubbles. No joke:

Chapati starts to bubble
Originally uploaded by Neenabeena

Once you do this to both sides of your less-flat-by-now pancake, you have your loving partner whisk the pan out of the way and lower the flame, and you DROP THE BREAD ONTO THE OPEN FLAME. You then holler sacrilegious exclamations as the bread PROCEEDS TO INFLATE ITSELF LIKE A BALLOON!!!!!

Chapati
Originally uploaded by Neenabeena

Okay, so how outrageously cool is that?

So that's where Madhur Jaffrey gets you. Pre-collegiate, an absurdly grateful father and a renewed commitment to global urbanity. Post-collegiate, an absurdly grateful partner and a realization that, sometimes, all that 120K+ education hasn't enhanced your ability to appreciate some pretty sweet self-inflating chemistry in action.