Friday, April 6, 2012

Am I a 'foodie'?

As those of you who follow me on twitter couldn't possibly have missed, food and bev (well, wine and spirit at least; I claim no knowledge of fruit smoothies and vegetable juices) are almost the core themes of my 140 character declamations. What you are less likely to have noticed is that nowhere in these outpourings will you ever encounter the word 'foodie'.

Well nigh anyone can lay claim to being a foodie these days. A few visits to restaurants serving an assortment of cuisines (including multi-cuisine spreads at hotel coffee shops), the odd dive into a fresh produce market somewhere, the ability to name at least one form of pasta other than spaghetti and macaroni, a nodding acquaintance with Scotland's finest and there you have it. A new foodie has been minted.

Here's how my own enduring love affair with food began. As a child not yet in my teens, I would regularly accompany my father to the weekly meat and veg shopping trip to the neighbourhood mandi. In Delhi, for instance, in 1971, we would head for Mohan Singh Place, a dowdy looking shopping centre on Baba Kharag Singh Marg just off Connaught Place. The amazing colours and aromas of all the fresh produce on display and the pleasant higgle haggling that always accompanied the transaction made for a delightful and memorable, excursion. The veg would go into the fridge but almost as soon as we were back home, it was time to chop up the fresh fruit to assemble a Sunday morning Fruit Salad. The sprightly citrus of the orange, sparkling sweetness of Dashehri mangoes, mellow aroma of kharbuj- muskmelon, intensity of pineapple- all topped off with large dollops of fresh cream- ah, what bliss! I wouldn't have know it then but in such moments was laid the foundation of a life time love of food. And cooking.

Cut to college, about 7 or 8 years later. In those austere days, when it was still fashionable in India to be stoically indifferent to venal, fleshly pleasures and morally righteous to be above them, I was busy running around obscure galis and mohallas of Bhendi Bazar in Bombay, Shukrawar Peth in Pune and later, Teen Darwaza in Ahmedabad looking for the delectable morsel. I was discovering the joys of the epicure at the Kabab Roti stall near Do Taki at Duncan Road. I was immersing myself in the greasy, nearly deep fried omelette at Lucky Restaurant, Deccan Gymkhana, Pune. Fully loaded Gujarati Thalis, Sweet 'n sour Berry Pulao, Pithla Bhakri at Aswad, Kohinoor Mills, Farsan at Ellis Bridge, all these and much more were grist for my insatiable mill.

There was no stopping it.

Became a working man at 22 and the job took me to places I had never been before. Makkhan malai on Kanpur's Birhana Road, hare matar ki kachauri and hot jalebis deep in the heart of Calcutta's Bara Bazar, robust meats (and mutton rasam, believe it or not) at Sree Velu Military Hotel, the subtleties of authentic Mughal cuisine at Dastarkhwan-e-Karim at the evocatively named Gali Kababiyan near Delhi's Jama Masjid, ghee drizzled, silky soft idli at Bangalore's Mavalli Tiffin Rooms were all taken note of and duly accounted for.

While a lot of this happened to the accompaniment of such distinguished spirits as Old Monk and Director's Special, not to mention endless gallons of London Pilsner, Kalyani Black Lable and Kingfisher, the palate was also beginning to demand subtler libations. This search for refinement was given substantial impetus when in 1993, I finally quit smoking. On a visit to Singapore the following year, my then boss, Ashutosh Garg first introduced me to the art of Malt Whisky. The intense smoky, iodine-y, marine flavour of Laphroaig, my very first measure of Malt, was like nothing I had ever tasted. Love at first sip.

One thing led to another and before long, I was diligently accumulating and wrapping my taste buds around the caramelly Glenlivet, the milder marineness of Bowmore, the smoky sweetness of Highland Park, the tuberosey, jasminic Ardbeg...oh I could go on.

Even as this delightful story unfolded, I kept finding inspiration for even more exploration on television. Perhaps the earliest was food as stand up comedy - Chef Martin Yan's "Yan Can Cook" with his catchphrase "If Yan can cook, soooo can you". Soon after, I was blown away by the eccentric, eclectic genius of Keith Floyd (now, sadly, only of fond memory). Somewhere along the line, the Goddess Nigella smote me and I was never the same again. The point being, the world was full of all these awesome divinities and I was a questing acolyte, a supplicant at their magnificent temples of taste and flavour.

Time marched on. New tastes and flavours were discovered and embraced and it became clear that one lifetime would scarcely suffice to gain even a fleeting understanding of the gastronomic ocean upon whose shores I foraged.

How then can I ever claim to be a foodie? 

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Italian करंज्या with Tomato सार?


Maharashtrians amongst you, and those familiar with Marathi cuisine, will recognise the करंजी. The crunchy, chewy, crescent shaped, fried maida dumpling stuffed with a sweet coconut filling that is a mandatory component of दिवाळी चा फराळ. But when did it decide to immigrate to Bella Italia?
I give you Ravioli. One of Italy’s endless riffs on the art of Pasta making. And one that has long been a personal favourite at Italian restaurants. I have admired the wonderful battle of quite disparate tastes and textures that the chef contrives between the stuffing within the dumpling and the sauce that is poured over it. Finally it was time yesterday to try doing this at home and, having been pleased with the result, I thought I’d share it around. In particular, Ramesh, this recipe is for you for it is vegetarian, or at least ovo-lacto-vegetarian in a very strict dietary definition but it should be possible with some creativity to leave out the ‘ovo’ bit without serious consequence for the final outcome. Here goes

Ingredients:
For the chef:
Glass of good Red Wine- I had an Italian Valpolicella for verisimilitude but if you prefer Burgundy or favour a Napa Valley Cab Sauv, who am I to object?
For the Ravioli dough:
2 eggs
3 tablespoons refined oil (I used Olive but you are welcome to use anything you want)
6 tablespoons water
Whole wheat flour – Atta: I actually didn’t weigh it but just kept adding until I got a non-sticky dough)
Pinch of salt
For the stuffing:
200 g Ricotta Cheese + 100 g mature Cheddar Cheese (I had neither so I used 200 g Feta and about 100 g of Chevre- Goat Cheese that I had left over)
1 egg
Salt + coarsely ground pepper corns to season
For the sauce:
3 large tomatoes – juiced
2 medium onions – finely chopped
8­-10 garlic cloves crushed (ok so i won’t object if you used none, or 20)
Half a nutmeg- finely grated
2-3 teaspoons of fresh, finely chopped rosemary (although I would as happily use dried bouquet garni, mixed herbs, oregano or whatever else was at hand)
Turmeric – ½ a spoon
Oil for cooking – 2-3 tablespoons
Salt, red chilli powder to taste
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese (Parmigiano Reggiano) to serve
Process
Prepare the ravioli stuffing by simply mixing the cheeses with the egg and seasoning until the ingredients come together. Stick it into the fridge to allow them to bind. It will spend the next 15-20 minutes there which is quite enough.

For the ravioli dough, beat the eggs well in a large mixing bowl, then beat in the oil. Finally add water. Now start adding atta, a little at a time while continuing to mix with a fork, or just your hands. The mix will go from the consistency of a runny paste to sticky glue and finally a non-sticky ball of dough that easily comes out of the bowl. At about this stage, place a large pot with about 2 litres of salted water to boil on a high flame. Clean your kitchen countertop and dust with a generous quantity of flour. Now get the trusty बेलन  out and start rolling out the big ball of dough until you have a sheet about as thick as a typical tava chapatti – 2 or 3 mm (no extra marks for shape unlike in a chapatti so let those maps of imaginary lands happen). And no, you don’t need to check the thickness with a vernier calliper or micrometer gauge. Now use a sharp edged कटोरी  to cut circles out of the sheet. Set them aside and ball up the residual dough and repeat process until the last ball turns becomes the last circle. Your countertop should, by now, resemble an aerial picture of crop circles and M. Night Shyamalan will approve. Get the stuffing out of fridge and place about a spoonful of the mix at the centre of each circle. Wet your fingers by dipping them in some water and gently moisten one half of the circle, then fold it over until it covers the stuffing, then pinch the semi-circle together. The little moistness should suffice to seal the two sides together. Once you’ve transformed your countertop from crop circles to barchan sand dunes, take a large sip of your wine. Which, by the way, is why it is there. No good chefing can happen without a good glass of wine to provide thoughtful inspiration from time to time. If you don’t believe me, you’ve never heard of Keith Floyd. By now the pot of water should have come to a roiling boil and your Italian करंज्या  are ready to drop into the party.
Pour oil into heavy bottomed pan and immediately add the crushed garlic. Chopped onion (and some green chilli if you want it) goes in next. When onion starts to become translucent, add the herbs and the grated nutmeg, then season well with salt and pepper. Cover and let cook for 3-4 minutes. Pour in the tomato, add turmeric (basically to improve the colour) and red chilli powder and let cook for further 3-4 minutes on medium flame until the sauce boils and develops an even consistency.
By this time, your ravioli should have become slightly paler than when it went in, and have floated to the top of the water. In fancy chef language, it is al dente- still got some bite in it. That’s it, drain into a large colander and you are ready to plate up.
A standard serving is 2 or 3 ravioli. Drizzle with sauce, ensuring you get some chunky bits in, sprinkle with fresh, coarsely ground pepper and as much Parmesan as you dare. Dig in!