tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79854782455594712152024-03-12T22:29:06.164-07:00The Spice Of Life - BlogFollow the Bailey family as they move from Canada to India in search of real Indian Food!TheSpiceOfLifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10655567047696123519noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-69531837332917479642016-02-05T16:47:00.000-08:002016-02-06T09:44:08.881-08:00The Creature Stirs....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After a very long hiatus, we have decided to reactivate our precious blog. There are many reasons. We made a lot of fantastic friends during our time in India. We documented a lot of food footage in the hopes of being able to create a travel/cooking TV series based on our experiences. Unfortunately, the food TV landscape has shifted quite a bit, and now all the programming seems to be reality-show type things where people compete, get abuse hurled at them, and cry. Not really our speed. Call us old school, but we wanted to show people how to really cook! We did put together a trailer of some of our footage, and you can view that here.<br />
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After the fruitless quest to honor our friends who were so generous with their time by creating a TV series, we have decided that this is the year of the cookbook! We will be putting together a book of 50 or so authentic South Indian recipes that we collected during our travels, along with tons of great pictures and "how to" bits. We have so much material to chose from that the biggest job is going to be figuring out how to pare it all down! The cookbook will be made available direct from our Global Feast website, which we are in the process of constructing. It's going to be a busy year...<br />
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So stay tuned, friends! Lots more to come<br />
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Rob and Laurel Bailey</div>
Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-62134885097239093382009-07-19T21:32:00.000-07:002009-07-22T10:24:39.484-07:00Easy Bake Oven<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTfGJQxq02YwQWxPrk3V9LHHx8T8_4BYqhbSfqXhK9yyO7QBUxJtrULkCyAy2ubNYxar_F27ALCueJR4PWn8ssikjFp4Pia5NHl6MPmtHsIrdLEZux5-3kJ5fqlUkhXOkYIqJhTLLCgw/s1600-h/Bread6.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTfGJQxq02YwQWxPrk3V9LHHx8T8_4BYqhbSfqXhK9yyO7QBUxJtrULkCyAy2ubNYxar_F27ALCueJR4PWn8ssikjFp4Pia5NHl6MPmtHsIrdLEZux5-3kJ5fqlUkhXOkYIqJhTLLCgw/s320/Bread6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361336496283745506" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9i9eE_qD-VIMKqlMXMOfzU5nvLo01vF_D7F-oZm9JaHH4C2hmaWShGjcHkka8ABd4OriQUyW9EkWRe0raBIbyO6hO3JS7YEzhRd9_lJ6z2w3tIjfiNFCVag4Y-K64lZSn86S4nZ7fOc/s1600-h/Bread5.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9i9eE_qD-VIMKqlMXMOfzU5nvLo01vF_D7F-oZm9JaHH4C2hmaWShGjcHkka8ABd4OriQUyW9EkWRe0raBIbyO6hO3JS7YEzhRd9_lJ6z2w3tIjfiNFCVag4Y-K64lZSn86S4nZ7fOc/s320/Bread5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361336363027724050" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONhSzxMXyYafCOkFWo7jhroK1S8_O_IULh58ZZHYk_YKpmxzkzBagtHHvH3U1A9LfgeaA3niLO6hnK2c_h-IkNQ-PUsweiS7WbMFuim92Y3DqRXOArxkIkBQlJqsPsdVPux7U8K5WaFw/s1600-h/Bread4.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhONhSzxMXyYafCOkFWo7jhroK1S8_O_IULh58ZZHYk_YKpmxzkzBagtHHvH3U1A9LfgeaA3niLO6hnK2c_h-IkNQ-PUsweiS7WbMFuim92Y3DqRXOArxkIkBQlJqsPsdVPux7U8K5WaFw/s320/Bread4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361336361911721282" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBeNAy9g-0VzG6pu2yGQrTNaAG6Qh_MHTUvhKpjvJWX4NNgrrRRSQ2eWLgQ_yD7xRblblD7I8AnOywIDPmclxyiTWWEVcJXa_dGuNC1uF1XG8fbUI7C2l7BWRObb-GLeizlyL22Jc5xo/s1600-h/Bread3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBeNAy9g-0VzG6pu2yGQrTNaAG6Qh_MHTUvhKpjvJWX4NNgrrRRSQ2eWLgQ_yD7xRblblD7I8AnOywIDPmclxyiTWWEVcJXa_dGuNC1uF1XG8fbUI7C2l7BWRObb-GLeizlyL22Jc5xo/s320/Bread3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361336350532466050" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZgN6-GTKHdF6PCb41BVpxj_dc8yG7INcqZycaTEk8wn-mxmfAm1g2gMcqVVOOFjs_lVu5WDG3KJEtpfUHct_WiEdTL-Xb432UC2X_Ad6YBybjL2AftT5Wmc6i9y7hi7ZzVeuORCwRkg/s1600-h/Bread2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZgN6-GTKHdF6PCb41BVpxj_dc8yG7INcqZycaTEk8wn-mxmfAm1g2gMcqVVOOFjs_lVu5WDG3KJEtpfUHct_WiEdTL-Xb432UC2X_Ad6YBybjL2AftT5Wmc6i9y7hi7ZzVeuORCwRkg/s320/Bread2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361336348101319106" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavEjXQCSbn-z4lFfbup4pZFRA_D3AhguLm796YOfJHmCSTpOAII-rcEwSsZlHkPPE6t1sMlAnTGLAmDuAniCTKunvLU5FujILJkikA8FrH3ZU1wa4cvH0qvmAJvweS4-WdCfDSZUNuvo/s1600-h/Bread1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavEjXQCSbn-z4lFfbup4pZFRA_D3AhguLm796YOfJHmCSTpOAII-rcEwSsZlHkPPE6t1sMlAnTGLAmDuAniCTKunvLU5FujILJkikA8FrH3ZU1wa4cvH0qvmAJvweS4-WdCfDSZUNuvo/s320/Bread1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361336336610969442" /></a><br />We're baaaaaack! Sorry for the delay but the trip home took two weeks, followed by two weeks of trying to get back in the swing of things Pacific island style, and we're just now getting it all together. We do plan to continue blogging, maybe not quite as frequently as before, but we will be posting more about food in general, less about specifically Indian and Keralan food and life. With that out of the way, let me bring up a subject near and dear to my heart - the Joy of Baking (and I don't mean the kind that starts with rolling papers).<br /><br />Right before we moved to Bowen Island 8 years ago, we sourced appliances for our dream kitchen, should we ever be able to afford it. We priced the perfect gas stove - four burners with a griddle in the middle, the perfect fridge with the freezer drawer on the bottom and built-in stacking ovens. When we walked into the kitchen of the house that we were yet to buy, we saw all of those items already there: a Wolf range, Miele ovens and the stainless fridge with freezer drawer below. That, combined with the garden and stunning view made us purchase the property - it was meant for us! We haven't looked back since.<br /><br />Of course, several years have passed and we've learned the hiccoughs of the place; the Miele ovens are tres Euro, meaning that they are a good two inches narrower than any North American model and many, many baking dishes won't fit, even on the diagonal. That said, I LOVE my ovens. I cannot imagine living with only one oven (well, yes, I can, since in India we didn't have an oven at all!), we regularly have both in use.<br /><br />I am a baker at heart. I like to cook and I'm pretty good at it (although I think Rob is a better cook, he has the passion for it) but I LOVE to bake. Since we've been back, the oven has produced Rosemary Cornmeal Epi, Kalamata Olive Bread and Multigrain Honey Granola (just to name a few). My baking obsession started early in life. My mother, the nutritionist, rarely had treats and desserts around the house. We were a green pepper, powdered milk and fruit family (not necessarily all together), not a cookies, ice cream and cake family. But my mother was all for encouraging her children in the kitchen so if I announced that I wanted to make cookies, she wouldn't have dreamed of stopping me. And, believe me, if the only way a sweet tooth like me was going to get cookies was to bake them myself, I'd happily memorize the dog-eared copy of the Fannie Farmer Cookbook and grease up the pan.<br /><br />Back in the 70s my folks hired a photographer to follow us kids around for a day or two. My parents didn't want posed, stiff photos, they wanted slice of life stuff captured in black and white for all eternity. The photographer was a lovely woman but I was nervous. She suggested that I go about my life and maybe do some of the things I enjoyed the most. I was 7 years old and I guess I could have dug up the garden or made some clothes for my dolls but I decided to bake a cake instead. It was a chocolate cake made in a bundt pan. Southern Georgia Chocolate Pound Cake, to be exact. We have these great grainy black and white photos of me, hair in two braids, a wispy tendril escaping confinement, paisley smock top mixing up the batter. The photos are great, as was the cake, despite the fact that I was so nervous I left out the eggs. You know, despite its reputation as an exacting science, sometimes baking CAN be forgiving. But I'm not giving you the recipe for the pound cake - that's a closely guarded secret - but you DO get the granola recipe. So turn on your oven and make some granola - go ahead, bring out your inner hippy. I dare ya'.<br /><br />Multigrain Honey Granola<br /><br />8 c of flakes (your choice of rolled oats, barley, rye, tritcale etc)<br />1 1/2 c chopped nuts (our first choice is pecans, almonds are second)<br />1 c dessicated unsweetened coconut<br />1 c hulled pumpkin seeds<br />2 t ground cinnamon<br /><br />1/4 c oil (sunflower or other light oil)<br />1/2 c local honey<br />2 t pure vanilla extract<br /><br />1 1/2 c dried fruit (raisins, craisins, chopped apricots. figs etc)<br /><br />Preheat oven to 150C (300F). Mix all the dry ingredients (except the fruit) together in a large bowl. Mix wet ingredients together and pour over the dry ingredients. Mix thoroughly so that all of the dry ingredients are moistened. <br /><br />Spread the mixture over two or three baking sheets lined with parchment or silicone mats. You want to cover the sheet but the mixture shouldn't be thick. Place baking sheets in the oven and bake for about 30 minutes, turning every 10 minutes so that it browns evenly and doesn't burn. Take out of the oven when golden, add dried fruit and cool completely. Store in air-tight containers. <br /><br />Eat with fresh fruit and yogurt or milk. Braid your hair and feel at one with the cosmos.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-71378213478685017332009-06-13T19:46:00.000-07:002009-06-13T20:50:56.246-07:00Ode To The Junior Wife<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjbKwjSRhO1J3zhfsBYICelXgMtjvwtaSwxvB1FgdKT9HHgfP4q0jQqXM9IEAdy-eMw20QmKNms-Drdn1sw_uZY2gXk5QHnS-n-jPPd0AC7px_kO34lbVO92Wdkjku6Blmw9iGrLSGN0/s1600-h/Emma.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjbKwjSRhO1J3zhfsBYICelXgMtjvwtaSwxvB1FgdKT9HHgfP4q0jQqXM9IEAdy-eMw20QmKNms-Drdn1sw_uZY2gXk5QHnS-n-jPPd0AC7px_kO34lbVO92Wdkjku6Blmw9iGrLSGN0/s320/Emma.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347011881661047730" /></a><br />During the time we've been here, we've often speculated as to what the locals must think of our strange little family. Rob and I are obviously too old, by Indian standards, to have a 5 year old, and who is the willowy 20-something who accompanies us everywhere? Some have thought that Emma (said willowy person) was our daughter and that Miles and Isaac are both her sons. Although, if you do the math, she would have had Miles at 13 and I'm not ready to be relegated to granny status yet (although I think that would be a lot less work)! And, if she is the mother - where is the father? This is a very traditional culture. Imaging what the locals might think of us, we have dubbed ourselves the Happy Polygamist Family. Lucky Rob has had to contend with both the senior and junior wives ganging up on him. Poor bunny.<br /><br />But I couldn't have asked for a better co-wife! Emma has made our trip so much more than we could have hoped for. She slid seamlessly into our family and brought her humour and poetry with her. I'm used to being surrounded by an all-male family and it has been an absolute joy and delight to have Emma's decidedly feminine energy in the house. We brought her with us as nanny and governess for our boys and she has excelled in those areas - teaching Miles how to properly research and write a report, and also patiently teaching Isaac to read before he is even in kindergarten.<br /><br />Because of Emma, Rob and I have been able to go out and film, knowing that the boys were more than well looked after. We have been able to go away overnight and know that the boys were happy, content and well-fed because Emma was there with them. But Emma has become more than a glorified babysitter and teacher. She has become family: our daughter and our friend. A fraughter? Thank you so much Emma for all that you have given to us and to our boys!<br /><br />Bailey 4 life, yo!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-10021873919642496602009-06-06T23:20:00.001-07:002009-06-07T03:07:01.422-07:00Where's The Beef?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ENa1KLeg468JLg1235qL0qBkD0T62GtJaD8BZlvpDuBIeVzjE_e9qWZPr-kEJtS8FegAsFO3CIeR2tkAU7oefz6uiaLwzlaZBDW-iZEm5aAqMSw3d5AJ2TarN4Tje10RmaqUeKxVS30/s1600-h/Fresh.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ENa1KLeg468JLg1235qL0qBkD0T62GtJaD8BZlvpDuBIeVzjE_e9qWZPr-kEJtS8FegAsFO3CIeR2tkAU7oefz6uiaLwzlaZBDW-iZEm5aAqMSw3d5AJ2TarN4Tje10RmaqUeKxVS30/s320/Fresh.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344468618435276130" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcaKz1cm0mrh5zXUH1DONxH8V1AZI2JyTVxMxfD2XBKVrEiOOb5DksSQcW6dRRYukuDR8k7NGIASVUMYzj5jvA8zTMChjuOg_SCaGIadKeEyGFGBnzBsrRf2RPyWoHQq4g12eU5deGdc/s1600-h/Beef+shop.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcaKz1cm0mrh5zXUH1DONxH8V1AZI2JyTVxMxfD2XBKVrEiOOb5DksSQcW6dRRYukuDR8k7NGIASVUMYzj5jvA8zTMChjuOg_SCaGIadKeEyGFGBnzBsrRf2RPyWoHQq4g12eU5deGdc/s320/Beef+shop.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344468611513628418" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iPkE3n85Q_71lBLozxBkmlFoObatMysmyZ9s8AgfovA7IGn821pXtJ9jljIII6Oy4PDaz8s2da1KVBYcAYNcu_6DIPZN0KYApwt7CxfMMluZeI-zGjIcaKlL5tscVAk9B4_ROZe4rP4/s1600-h/Stanley+Shopping.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iPkE3n85Q_71lBLozxBkmlFoObatMysmyZ9s8AgfovA7IGn821pXtJ9jljIII6Oy4PDaz8s2da1KVBYcAYNcu_6DIPZN0KYApwt7CxfMMluZeI-zGjIcaKlL5tscVAk9B4_ROZe4rP4/s320/Stanley+Shopping.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344468610551631314" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-OWUYFcr7WDwDv89GC6e3bcBy1SZG2-I5qZEHqkAG9XevKSgWpN7NmOGWF6tnBYbTDOkNu3ijbrg9BFRh8Dp3dXnuc7qRI5iXJxn_QoXqV3ThVCFladtOCxAp6lcSYfhoXI9XvLiMLs8/s1600-h/In+The+shop.jpg"><img style="float:left; 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margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfgS27ptpLpq30xqwz8sRbqrBN-M6vq11LnhfrYWhXt7GP6lP-pbVdzrMGiH9FWy117UhhZrZM5gR56GGmNNLu-SD_wqOHC5FYSPW3YNkHvHUrskrsL99KeJg0vvoEL7Z-V01vMMdN_Fs/s320/Ingredients.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344467795765050210" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_giBIGCniphYcztpqYaDkHu64PfA2zYB2ohJNu1xuIPGr-OHdr6yNs04KHuRx2oIC1sRXJ5kcz1zJOPBoVp5NWR5DEKlLBykSeJ-V3dsnqMPRU5hlRuLbqkmrXQbE3FaNKgPOWwnNhp4/s1600-h/Cooking+up!.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_giBIGCniphYcztpqYaDkHu64PfA2zYB2ohJNu1xuIPGr-OHdr6yNs04KHuRx2oIC1sRXJ5kcz1zJOPBoVp5NWR5DEKlLBykSeJ-V3dsnqMPRU5hlRuLbqkmrXQbE3FaNKgPOWwnNhp4/s320/Cooking+up!.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344467791700843666" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeiFqNwzM78OYNu91BT2Tlfz33-YcHzJmyanNcxZLrg8ptlxKNqeNON7CaVBkMF6Vnf3ztcgr2BpQiqnlHddzpzTbOYB2HDkcO6_IPS96Z68c8gK1RGvPjtvtIPcGE37Euk9lKqHRmyA/s1600-h/the+crew.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeiFqNwzM78OYNu91BT2Tlfz33-YcHzJmyanNcxZLrg8ptlxKNqeNON7CaVBkMF6Vnf3ztcgr2BpQiqnlHddzpzTbOYB2HDkcO6_IPS96Z68c8gK1RGvPjtvtIPcGE37Euk9lKqHRmyA/s320/the+crew.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344467785555236834" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEHQtfogC30LqabVZtOghzgj4nY6jT_ablDufqwPgAdiMbpbnHXyJ271Mnt2mktzHGBsx_9FM8ceuBzk36xjO6LmkBvftxlA7XZ46T_TceAh4uWTsb65a3XC1wLWRaeZoCfc4_QC2Pzg/s1600-h/Finished+dish.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCEHQtfogC30LqabVZtOghzgj4nY6jT_ablDufqwPgAdiMbpbnHXyJ271Mnt2mktzHGBsx_9FM8ceuBzk36xjO6LmkBvftxlA7XZ46T_TceAh4uWTsb65a3XC1wLWRaeZoCfc4_QC2Pzg/s320/Finished+dish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344467784875886194" /></a><br />The last thing one expects to do on a visit to India is to eat beef.<br /><br />But there it is on the menu, as clear as day. Black Pepper Beef. Beef Fry. Beef Biryani. Human Beef. Actually, that one was a misprint on the menu. It was supposed to be "Hunan Beef", but apparently the menu proof-reader failed to catch that error, along with other gems such as "Om-let", "Green Peace Curry", and "Sweat and Scour Soup". Much to my surprise, people in Kerala actually eat a fair bit of beef. This I found a bit contrary to my previous ideas about India. After all, was this not the country where the cow is held sacred? They were supposed to wander the streets with painted horns like they do in the tourism posters, blissfully going from snack to snack provided by legions of Hindu devotees. These bovine behemoths pretty much have the sweet life nailed, right? In other parts of India, perhaps. In Kerala, not so much. Here, the cows appear outright skittish, as they flit nervously from tree to tree in full camouflage gear, desperately trying to avoid the legions of lunghi-clad beef aficionados desperate to plunge a fork into their bony carcasses. <br /><br />There are valid historical reasons for this anomaly. Nearly 20 percent of Kerala is Christian, and Christians by and large are dedicated omnivores. If it grows, or does not move fast enough, there is a good chance it will end up on the Christian menu. Muslims, who also make up a good chunk of the population here are also dedicated beef-o-philes. Most curious of all, according to many I have talked to here, there is even a large part of the Hindu population that is fond of a wee nibble 'o' beef. All in all, faced with this carnivorous onslaught, it's a miracle that the cows of Kerala have not banded together into armed groups to defend themselves. <br /><br />Our landlady Gigi offered to let us film her making puttu, which is a common food item here. It's a cylindrical concoction of coconut and rice flour, which is steamed for a few minutes. By itself, puttu is rather bland, but much like tapioca or appam, it makes a great counterpoint to something spicy, like an egg roast or chana masala. Gigi thought that it would go very well with a spicy beef fry, and not being one to argue about such things, we went ahead with that plan. Once one makes the decision to eat beef here, the next step is to procure it, and this is the step where the faint of heart might be stopped cold in their tracks. In North America, most folks are used to buying their bits of cow in large air conditioned emporiums, pushing a cart around while soothing music plays in the background. Reaching into a spotless and sterile stainless steel bin, one selects a delightfully shrink-wrapped chunk of red-dyed, feedlot-finished, hormone-injected meat charmingly nestled on a styrofoam tray. Chances are with beef like this, the cow's last thought as it saw the approaching nail gun was "Oh, thank God.... this hell is over". <br /><br />In India, we do it a little bit differently. Early each morning in the local markets, the Piaggio micro flatbed trucks arrive with entire carcasses of freshly slaughtered animals, which are then carried into the marketplace on a pole by at least two men. Then the butchers go to work. Entire quarters, complete with long tails, are hung up on ancient metal hooks in front of the market stalls. Next to them hang the recently eviscerated liver, kidneys, tripe, and intestines. A severed head, freshly divested of all its skin but with horns, tongue, and eyeballs still firmly attached, is often placed in front of the stall, so that there is no doubt as to the identifying provenance of the hapless creature hanging from its hooks. There is no refrigeration of any kind. Although it appears disgusting and distasteful to some, for me, as someone who likes to hunt game for food, I can somehow relate more to this way of buying meat than the supermarket approach, where every effort is made to shield the consumer from the reality of what is being consumed. The consumer is also shielded from the multitude of sins incurred by the processes and practices of industrial meat production.<br /><br />Stanley, our erstwhile landlord, pulled up on his motorcycle at 9:30 to drive me the 1 kilometer up Ponoth Road to the main market. He advised me that we were not in fact getting beef for this dish, but water buffalo. As he explained, "Beef... more taste. Some people... hurt stomach. Buffalo good...everyone". So off we zoomed up the road. The last time we went to the market, Stanley gave me a crash course in cultural acclimatization when he insisted on holding hands with me as we walked through the market. It was cool, as this is the ultimate expression of friendship for South Indian men, but I was laughing at myself about how self conscious I felt walking around in a public place, wearing what amounted to a dress, and holding my landlord's hand. With this in mind, as I'm riding on the back of his motorbike, for some reason the old song from the 50's, "The Leader Of The Pack" started to echo in my brain. At least it wasn't "My Boyfriend's Back". Fortunately, there were hand grips on the back of the bike, so I wasn't forced to wrap my arms around his waist....<br /><br />At the market, Stanley quickly negotiated the proper cuts of buffalo, and our butcher went to work carving off a couple of kilos from a hanging haunch, and reducing it to smaller pieces on an ancient wooden block. He worked with incredible speed, and I was somewhat relieved to find that there was not an errant finger included in the package when we returned home. We soon were set up in Gigi's kitchen with all our camera and sound gear. The recipe for beef (buffalo) fry is actually pretty simple. A kilo of cubed meat is pressure cooked with nothing but a little salt for about a half an hour until very tender. At this point, she made us laugh out loud, because as she put the pressure cooker on the stove, she reached over for a second pressure cooker that she had started earlier which contained completely cooked buffalo! She has done so many shoots with us now, that she is thinking like a pro. <br /><br />A few tablespoons of coconut oil are heated, and then two sliced onions are sauteed until golden. A few slit green chilis and some curry leaves are tossed in. Next comes the garlic and ginger, which gets stirred around for a minute. The drained pressure cooked kilo of buffalo is then added, along with a couple of tablespoons each of coriander powder and chili powder. A tablespoon of turmeric and at least a tablespoon of black pepper. One heaping tablespoon of Garam Masala, which Gigi always grinds herself from a mix of cinnammon, clove, star anise, fennel, and cardamom. While this is being stirred about, the liquid from the pressure cooker is boiled and reduced down substantially, almost to a syrup. This gets added to the buffalo mixture and stirred some more until the mixture is fairly dry. A little salt to taste, and there it is! <br /><br />Gigi set out a plate for Laurel and me with a log of freshly made puttu, and a mound of the buffalo fry. It was quite fantastic. Even Laurel, the former staunch vegetarian, had to admit that it was pretty darn tasty. Addictive, in fact. Afterwards, we were more than a little saddened when we realized that this was the last shoot that we would be doing with Gigi before we left. She has been very generous with her time and her knowledge, and we really owe her a huge thank you. She made up another plate of buffalo and puttu, and Laurel, Stanley, and I walked next door to our house to feed the boys. A few hours later, Stanley rang the doorbell with a plate of tapioca and buffalo. It was like bovine crack. Must..... stop.... eating....<br /><br />I fully expect to see a Burger King outlet on my next visit. They already have Domino's Pizza...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-85413727942520306632009-06-02T03:54:00.001-07:002009-06-02T04:44:59.121-07:00The Journey Continues...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmmBVvjjHrlJs9CsXkMB-B1Nh5VmBleuUpZFcSYNizYUm0AqHtFyo0L5bUCbQLk6FXenp1D4SNVgj3HG9TKSyL0O59Ig5IedVU8yPUUwvU2Qkb5rcDFsfLvW8MT5O0l19S1cLvkFb5GU/s1600-h/Gee.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmmBVvjjHrlJs9CsXkMB-B1Nh5VmBleuUpZFcSYNizYUm0AqHtFyo0L5bUCbQLk6FXenp1D4SNVgj3HG9TKSyL0O59Ig5IedVU8yPUUwvU2Qkb5rcDFsfLvW8MT5O0l19S1cLvkFb5GU/s320/Gee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342691486912086754" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Zd4yUpH9KJ34cMLXc24D7LuG10Stk16JtJvVaVx_T_2CuH1mYKB8-siRfj2ecA52qVuSiLoYjf-2MVeGU_odDPDFyHh2feQ6wgUDcNOOgJtTZiJ16HZla1clogMmLhTfrToDwc-s7ak/s1600-h/Rajesh.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Zd4yUpH9KJ34cMLXc24D7LuG10Stk16JtJvVaVx_T_2CuH1mYKB8-siRfj2ecA52qVuSiLoYjf-2MVeGU_odDPDFyHh2feQ6wgUDcNOOgJtTZiJ16HZla1clogMmLhTfrToDwc-s7ak/s320/Rajesh.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342691482106745314" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9n8fojT5WuHPZu6C8VjymWeBYEJlFgJpQ35WfitUd-e0c8QBHhwZTLSRX2LLscx41A4ZkXIPoeqkgHuBEdnxjGhs3Yhzw1q8PzOX-bP4D08deZfSBcpDmC5_3Bxgo-gHG7Ub4ontwKlk/s1600-h/Laurel_Chitra.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9n8fojT5WuHPZu6C8VjymWeBYEJlFgJpQ35WfitUd-e0c8QBHhwZTLSRX2LLscx41A4ZkXIPoeqkgHuBEdnxjGhs3Yhzw1q8PzOX-bP4D08deZfSBcpDmC5_3Bxgo-gHG7Ub4ontwKlk/s320/Laurel_Chitra.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342691192928865810" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzOWtO7OvijdHvKCBfYoJnmioe_CcdL-iUyGo4KzZuRcVNV_Z6K8w8Jv_ftCNWqs-ffjqe6gZR6LnDX-HjhbIqjesBLnEAuCIoQfS7EMhHI4kXZM6FpITWPXBA3vUkFkfC1LfyzlTRyI/s1600-h/Gigi.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzOWtO7OvijdHvKCBfYoJnmioe_CcdL-iUyGo4KzZuRcVNV_Z6K8w8Jv_ftCNWqs-ffjqe6gZR6LnDX-HjhbIqjesBLnEAuCIoQfS7EMhHI4kXZM6FpITWPXBA3vUkFkfC1LfyzlTRyI/s320/Gigi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342691188072768098" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBcCk6YnmuV9JClg3Nh0KfBtSrKrR69DYyLIDOLn1Mq2dqNXr_8BaW_sP-VExyoxot9RptxJIIVs-xKzKRZACJ06dkluGxpTtzY5cKorqdUnKb14WpZtyygT2xt9RXZkyc3uYU8e6A7Q/s1600-h/Varghese.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBcCk6YnmuV9JClg3Nh0KfBtSrKrR69DYyLIDOLn1Mq2dqNXr_8BaW_sP-VExyoxot9RptxJIIVs-xKzKRZACJ06dkluGxpTtzY5cKorqdUnKb14WpZtyygT2xt9RXZkyc3uYU8e6A7Q/s320/Varghese.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342691189647540450" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aCKfv5E4lqm46EK5HfrTYXQ3c0y4oaNoFXzDvNlxMYBL0wS4QIQw1eBvWD9guIu3xWMwCsBIg3mqBG4kT9Lg_ktL_eVDq8zUlfRsv31ojMP9FpgD56UoLX5sHOVqUoniYuoJqQi5iN0/s1600-h/Sajna.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aCKfv5E4lqm46EK5HfrTYXQ3c0y4oaNoFXzDvNlxMYBL0wS4QIQw1eBvWD9guIu3xWMwCsBIg3mqBG4kT9Lg_ktL_eVDq8zUlfRsv31ojMP9FpgD56UoLX5sHOVqUoniYuoJqQi5iN0/s320/Sajna.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342691185258176994" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENq0Y7u5OpknE1VKWuLuzv3JVP6cSjiH2q-0FTISuABKJejSCF1oehMl4yVq_2Cwzn8Jurz0MMRR9HJOlN9eP7qZqPgnaunGV5-Ns9dKi6YrQxudZGAdynlSieazuX3b91fHbSV-YxEU/s1600-h/Raj_Suma.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENq0Y7u5OpknE1VKWuLuzv3JVP6cSjiH2q-0FTISuABKJejSCF1oehMl4yVq_2Cwzn8Jurz0MMRR9HJOlN9eP7qZqPgnaunGV5-Ns9dKi6YrQxudZGAdynlSieazuX3b91fHbSV-YxEU/s320/Raj_Suma.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342691181673873122" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"I'm so glad we had this time together. Just to have a laugh or sing a song."</span><br /><br />Those were the days. Early 1970. Rainy night. Homework done. Dishwasher humming after a meal of moosemeat, boiled vegetables, and an iceberg lettuce salad with Kraft Italian dressing. The whole family, except the one who called dibs on the hideous green reclining chair, would nestle into the neo-psychedelic floral patterned Simpsons Sears polyester sofa, complete with its liberal coating of Scotch Guard. The spanking new Zenith colour TV would finally warm up to the point where the snow would mostly disappear from the screen, and the opening theme from "The Carol Burnett Show" would drift out of the speaker in glorious mono. "These Zeniths are good", my dad would proudly say. "Way better than that Japanese crap. It has Chromacolour, you know...". <br /><br />We loved this show, and it always used to bring my mom to tears of laughter, occasionally causing her to spit out her Ovaltine through her teeth in a fine stream back into her mug when Tim Conway would crack up Harvey Korman, who would gamely attempt to make it through the scene whilst trying his professional best to suppress a belly laugh. Our dog, a mangy poodle that my brother did his absolute best to torture at every opportunity, would often lay half buried in a harvest gold sea of shag carpet so thick that younger visitors to the house were known to get lost for days at a time. He would sit there motionless for hours, shedding fleas, hair, and bodily secretions deep into the shag carpet, exposing only his nose and eyes above the carpet like some mutant French crocodile.<br /><br />More than once, as we were sitting drinking our malty beverage and snacking on Peak Freen's biscuits, enraptured by the comedic genius piped into our home by the brand new miracle of cablevision (no more antenna on the roof for us!), a disturbed look would come over my father's face, and he would wrinkle up his nose in disgust. In an accusing voice, he'd turn to my mother on the couch and pointedly ask "Was that you?". A noxious effluvium of evil hung motionless in the air, as if placed there as punishment by Satan himself. Embarrassed by the sudden negative attention, Mom would invariably say "Oh heavens no, Kenneth. It was the dog". We all knew better, but it somehow seemed acceptable to not call her on it and let Mom have her fantasy moment. She brought new meaning to the term "silent, but deadly". Mom's gone now, and I feel it is safe to tell the world. It was not the dog. It was never the dog.<br /><br />At the end of the Carol Burnett show, Carol always sang a little song, thanked the cast, and gave an affectionate little tug on her left ear, which I learned many years later was a secret signal to her grandmother. Well now we're coming to the end of <span style="font-style:italic;">our</span> little show, and it's time to thank the cast before we sing our little song. After living in India for 6 months, we find ourselves nearly at the end of our sub-continental sojourn, and as the final days here count down, I must confess that we're all a little stunned. Stunned that 6 months has gone by so fast. Stunned that we've actually done what we set out to do, namely collect real recipes from real people in real kitchens. Stunned that what has become the norm over the last several months will be but a memory in less than two weeks. We've been doing all our shopping at markets where you can get your dinner killed on demand. We've bunked in overnight trains with strangers. We've angrily haggled over 10 rupees with usurious rickshaw drivers. We've become adept at crossing 6 lanes of chaotic traffic as a unit, and somehow reaching the other side of the street with the same number we started off with. We've changed, and we've done it as a family.<br /><br />Yes, we have a couple more things lined up to shoot, but it all seems rather bittersweet. Our brains are already half focused on the next part of the adventure: Singapore, Beijing, and Tokyo. Home, and all the chores and garden work that we've put off for half a year, is looming large in our collective consciousness. But we must really take a moment now and thank the people here that have made a difference during our stay here. Firstly, our landlords Stanley and his wickedly good cook of a wife Gigi. Thanks for taking a chance on a bunch of scruffy Canadians, and allowing us to rent your house. Thanks for being so welcoming and having us into your home not only for Christmas dinner, but for many other fantastic meals as well. We're not sure why you decided to make the extra effort of renting to foreigners, but we're really glad that you did. Isaac is really going to miss playing video games at your house while Gigi feeds him appams with sugar! <br /><br />Rajesh, our good friend and neighbour, completely changed our lives when he offered us a ride to the main road early on in our stay. Thanks to Rajesh, I have discovered the joys of riding on the back of a motorcycle to go and play football at 6:30 morning. You turned us on to the Toddy Shop, the Punjab House, and virtually every secret location to buy crabs on the island of Vypeen. We've often thought about just how different our trip would have been if we had not met you. <br /><br />Chitra, our dear friend and chief culinary guide during our stay, has been an incredible source of knowledge, recipes, and good humour. Thank you for being such a great cook and for tirelessly giving of your time and energy to help us plumb the mysterious depths of this cuisine that seems to flow out of you with no effort at all. <br /><br />And finally, thanks to Gee. Gee has an amazing talent for making the impossible possible. More times than we can count, Laurel and I have been overwhelmed by your generosity, hospitality, and superb problem-solving abilities. You're a pretty good cook, too! <br /><br />All of you have shown us a totally different side of India than we saw last time we were here, and we're humbled by how you've welcomed us into your homes and your lives. You've succeeded in redefining hospitality for us, and I think it is safe to say that without your connections and logistical support, our filming efforts would have been far more challenging and far less successful. Thank you.<br /><br />Also thanks to Venu, Gopal & Usha in Coimbatore, Jacob at Haritha Farms, Alok, Varghese, Anwar & Sajna, Rajindran & Suma, and the multitudes that have somehow contributed in ways both large and small to this strange, and in retrospect, presumptuous endeavor. We were pretty naive to think that we could just parachute in and learn everything there is to know about Indian food in 6 months. All of you have made for a pretty soft landing for the Bailey family. This is far from our last blog post, and there will be many more before we reach home. We really wanted to take a moment to offer some proper thanks to people who have really made a difference while our brains were still functioning!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Seems we just get started and before you know it... Comes the time we have to say so long..."</span>Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-11070629197470807772009-05-25T22:55:00.000-07:002009-05-26T02:47:28.036-07:00Holy Traffic Jam, Batman!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZA6oss-u0DmbkurJkEjO2y5yCCm2cZb_RkVe6vTbJm3mgp-yJV3uG0sy7LatSH-cRjBK6uXh5rymbrrxoV5b3iwZ4nLMp0s_rtCBZ6mB2Wyf9NINHb5_2Q7YZ8NFi_SEqkU1qlbMb6ms/s1600-h/IMG_2494.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZA6oss-u0DmbkurJkEjO2y5yCCm2cZb_RkVe6vTbJm3mgp-yJV3uG0sy7LatSH-cRjBK6uXh5rymbrrxoV5b3iwZ4nLMp0s_rtCBZ6mB2Wyf9NINHb5_2Q7YZ8NFi_SEqkU1qlbMb6ms/s320/IMG_2494.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340056132611424418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzHTOE5-Yk19MNlnZ2uNF5HaOEvTueuFvPKatz6AwTcH3TTxDgif6CTlVPYzfjXWhTdqXF-FFXURBlBGKvLm3r4rWoq1nQrmP1KYjN3o_o8KEXA27BqhJu7ZjpM1k0bQb4sOXjc9WpBE/s1600-h/IMG_2488.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzHTOE5-Yk19MNlnZ2uNF5HaOEvTueuFvPKatz6AwTcH3TTxDgif6CTlVPYzfjXWhTdqXF-FFXURBlBGKvLm3r4rWoq1nQrmP1KYjN3o_o8KEXA27BqhJu7ZjpM1k0bQb4sOXjc9WpBE/s320/IMG_2488.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340055704482148066" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtyHHv_1kD6KVxhsdFLMDvMN7fT2oltEuUvMP3aZH3WKw_UxkOE5PUNExk9bKEy-CWtIMGwHIwIi5cK0GBqf6U3YYHxAnvuRhrBsFFAtuNp288XT2OpufftWFIhWekll7f4GO1bcVhXY/s1600-h/IMG_2486.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtyHHv_1kD6KVxhsdFLMDvMN7fT2oltEuUvMP3aZH3WKw_UxkOE5PUNExk9bKEy-CWtIMGwHIwIi5cK0GBqf6U3YYHxAnvuRhrBsFFAtuNp288XT2OpufftWFIhWekll7f4GO1bcVhXY/s320/IMG_2486.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340055702588351826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieefpkBokOkaqxRRR0eznQzj-6QiIk63YE0V1HP1CSgwU1mRP7LXkHzhqLRg-16BeaAwIMoDhrX8pf86Fx3WxaeCD-RcvN1-F-dj9EEg6eOdk-7l7m6hXd9u65uiKCBGrcf5aCrZR2Anw/s1600-h/IMG_2484.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieefpkBokOkaqxRRR0eznQzj-6QiIk63YE0V1HP1CSgwU1mRP7LXkHzhqLRg-16BeaAwIMoDhrX8pf86Fx3WxaeCD-RcvN1-F-dj9EEg6eOdk-7l7m6hXd9u65uiKCBGrcf5aCrZR2Anw/s320/IMG_2484.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340055696751125778" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvjFZaOMKTkx7c_OKVRqJi4-zFhyPRYFqSrn9e1Qqqxkw5cV6v3CASZ1nrchqqO6_AybUpAlb7ANZxjGQdb7s8iw9rof_4wvtiLdhzCp3vZk53CRE9fL52cxCp_3Nr_SLhACtDACmPpY/s1600-h/IMG_2483.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvjFZaOMKTkx7c_OKVRqJi4-zFhyPRYFqSrn9e1Qqqxkw5cV6v3CASZ1nrchqqO6_AybUpAlb7ANZxjGQdb7s8iw9rof_4wvtiLdhzCp3vZk53CRE9fL52cxCp_3Nr_SLhACtDACmPpY/s320/IMG_2483.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340055696389061058" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgRkbxkkIqioRpjrL28tzJ5pWtg_Vxi_KeXWVmL3WB0PfrczFvp_0tlhqxoPDzEoP2S4-lXCx73u69IZRcSudXG5wuLBKxAxErjJv4kmP3xayTUU4D1LMU9phELQ3vDpLvIEwuVnmtIE/s1600-h/IMG_2481.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgRkbxkkIqioRpjrL28tzJ5pWtg_Vxi_KeXWVmL3WB0PfrczFvp_0tlhqxoPDzEoP2S4-lXCx73u69IZRcSudXG5wuLBKxAxErjJv4kmP3xayTUU4D1LMU9phELQ3vDpLvIEwuVnmtIE/s320/IMG_2481.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340055691692698562" border="0" /></a><br />Tuesdays in Kaloor can be an adventure, requiring extra thought and planning if you are heading out of the neighbourhood. Up on the main road for about 5 blocks or so, traffic crawls to an almost-stand-still as motorcycles and auto rickshaws jockey for position between the big red buses, all trying to get past the hordes of the faithful. This is the flock at St Antony's and they swarm the church on Tuesdays. We haven't yet figured out why Tuesdays are special but every Tuesday, rain or shine, hundreds of people flood the outside of the church, adorned with a 2 foot high neon sign that says "St Antony Pray for Us", many buying candles and incense to light in prayer, and blocking the traffic for hours on end. We have come to refer to this as the Holy Traffic Jam and we do our best to avoid the area on Tuesdays. But that is not always possible. Last Tuesday we were picked up and taken to Chitra's catering kitchen to do the last day of filming on the epic sadhya shoot. It took an extra half hour to make our way through the 5 block snag of devotees, beggars missing limbs, and candle vendors, but Chitra was all prepped and waiting for us when we did arrive. We had four dishes to do that day: olan, kaalan, kichadi and pachadi, all coconut rich dishes that highlight the main ingredients in Keralan cuisine. The cooking of the kaalan needed to be spread over more than one day but otherwise we were able to pull off the shoot successfully despite the delay. Thank Shiva (obviously St Antony is far too busy on Tuesdays to be looking after us)!<br /><br />The last four dishes for the sadhya have very similar ingredients but the method used to cook and the slight variations in ingredients make each of these dishes distinct. <div><br /></div><div>Olan has a very watery "gravy", making it a lot like a soup but it is not served in a bowl or a cup but is treated like all the other curries that make up the sadhya - a spoonful on the banana leaf to mix with your rice. It has little brown beans called cowpeas in English and thin slices of pumpkin and winter melon floating in a coconut milk broth. It is gently flavoured with green chillies and reminded me a lot of a Thai soup like Tom Ka Gai. Fragrant, a little sweet, and soothing. <div><br /></div><div>Kaalan is a time-hog, taking 4 hours to reduce to the proper consistency, but oh, is it worth it! A curd (yogurt) base with turmeric, green chillies, yams, plantain, fresh ground coconut and finished with coconut oil, mustard seeds, dried red chillies and curry leaves. It is tangy, creamy, rich and spicy all at once. Apparently kaalan is rarely made at home these days, not surprising considering the attention it requires, and is usually purchased for the special feast meal at Onam (Kerala's harvest festival and the annual occasion for the sadhya).<div><br />Kichadi can be made with different vegetables (cucumber, beets, tomato, okra) but for this version Chitra deep-fried rings of bitter gourd (pavakka), that knobbly pale green cucumber-like vegetable you can find in various Asian grocery stores. Rob and I have not had a lot of luck with bitter gourd. We've had some very good dishes in restaurants, so we know that we like it when it's prepared well, but have had no success using it ourselves, it always turns out too bitter. So armed with new tips and tricks from Chitra, we are hoping to turn our luck around. Apparently one looks for the palest, least green, bitter gourd when out shopping (who knew?) for bitter gourds. After frying the bitter gourd rings, a sauce is made of fresh grated coconut, cumin seed, mustard seeds, green chillies and curd and then the dish is tempered with coconut oil, more mustard seeds, dried red chillies and curry leaves.<br /><br />The most interesting dish was the pachadi. Pachadi is like a main course and dessert rolled into one - sweet, spicy, fruity and creamy. Maybe that doesn't sound very appetizing but, trust me, pachadi is as tasty as it is unusual. </div><div><br /></div><div>Pachadi (Fruit and Yogurt Curry)<br /><br />2 ripe bananas, peeled and diced<br />1 whole pineapple, peeled and diced<br />11/2 c blanched peeled, chopped tomatoes<br />1-11/2 c water<br />1 t turmeric<br />2 t salt<br />1 1/2 t chilli powder<br />2 sprigs of curry leaves, stem removed<br />3 T jaggery (palm sugar, or substitute dark brown sugar)<br />1/2 fresh coconut, grated<br />1 t cumin seeds<br />4 fresh green chillies<br />3 T of water<br />1/2 c plain yogurt (not skim)<br />1 sprig curry leaves, stem removed<br />1 c whole grapes, stems removed<br /><br />for tempering:<br />2 T coconut oil<br />1 t mustard seed<br />4 dried red chillies, broken into halves<br />1 sprig curry leaves, stem removed<br /><br />Put bananas, pineapple and tomatoes in a large pot over medium high heat. Add 1c of water, turmeric, salt, chilli powder and curry leaves. Cover and simmer til soft, about 10 minutes. Add jaggery and stir to melt.<br /><br />Grind the meat of 1/2 a fresh coconut with cumin seeds, green chillies and about 3T of water in a blender or food processor to a smooth paste. Add the coconut paste to the pineapple mixture, stir, turn heat up and check for salt. Let simmer for a few minutes until the mixture is hot again. Turn the heat to low and add yogurt. Add the leaves of another sprig of curry leaves and take off the heat. Stir in grapes.<br /><br />To temper the pachadi, in another small pan, heat 2T coconut oil until hot. Add mustard seeds and wait for them to pop. When the seeds are popping, add the dried red chillies and the curry leaves. Take off heat immediately and pour over pineapple mixture. Serve with rice and other, less sweet curries as a part of an South Indian meal.<br /><br />But, enough cooking, let's get back to the 'hood. St Antony's gives the neighbourhood colour. Churches here are different from the staid and quiet churches back home, they have a lot more in common with Hindu temples than Canadian churches - colourful, loud, smokey with incense and jasmine-blossom scented.<br /><br /></div><div>One day we were returning to our house from Fort Cochin in an autorickshaw. The driver of the auto was a particularly kamikaze driver - we were all holding on tightly as he swerved around buses into oncoming traffic, honked at cars that were slowing him down and yelled at motorcyclists (and the family of 5 hanging off the motorcycle) that were unfortunate enough to be anywhere near us. Suddenly, without any warning, the driver swerved over to the curb, came to an abrupt halt out front of St Antony's, jumped out of the rickshaw, and in about 20 seconds had purchased a candle, lit it, placed it on the alter outside with a quick prayer - leapt back in the rickshaw and carried us on our way. We all felt so much better (not!) as he plunged us back into the thick of oncoming traffic. We did, however, make it home safely, so buddy obviously had his priorities in order. This has to be the first time in history that an Indian rickshaw driver said a prayer while driving, it is usually the passengers in the back doing the praying!</div><div><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"I was driving home early Sunday morning through Bakersfield, Listening to gospel music on the colored radio station, And the preacher said 'You know, you always have the Lord by your side', And I was so pleased to be informed of this, That I ran 20 red lights in His honor, Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord!"</span><br /><br />This is our 100th blog post! Can we yak, or what?</p></div></div></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-46129380351149174422009-05-21T23:47:00.000-07:002009-05-22T00:15:19.287-07:00The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUsaXfnQfSYB_iP3_OspgkMbuh_PPyazrWMAViN-Hm_Gjh0efhishDGUd26qaeVCJoV5TQ-5DyaFsqX60LY7042zGcB0i_mOuRVGq5AQuDLVBBk4Usj6IhtRw07T7EqADaTNDx7__sTo/s1600-h/Crabs!.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUsaXfnQfSYB_iP3_OspgkMbuh_PPyazrWMAViN-Hm_Gjh0efhishDGUd26qaeVCJoV5TQ-5DyaFsqX60LY7042zGcB0i_mOuRVGq5AQuDLVBBk4Usj6IhtRw07T7EqADaTNDx7__sTo/s320/Crabs!.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338543374511022098" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aM_J5u5ZuBuWNi91zUwcwjrsjrCLzRPO4sALgg2rTDq45ScjszOiVaeSvd4Hy1id8tu_plmXkA7Zs2brRSaZHhYrc0dOteNBd0h_cniaOrIsDOBbVQ-TwtdQrGIKvte6y7sm0ABA2eM/s1600-h/Scampi+Masala.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aM_J5u5ZuBuWNi91zUwcwjrsjrCLzRPO4sALgg2rTDq45ScjszOiVaeSvd4Hy1id8tu_plmXkA7Zs2brRSaZHhYrc0dOteNBd0h_cniaOrIsDOBbVQ-TwtdQrGIKvte6y7sm0ABA2eM/s320/Scampi+Masala.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338537406138928306" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJoQNPf4hhds3brVwh-K1YGiQC8ts3z2oSVvNNj2VlLeXLrHBomMbwnaGQUV1dr7l-YE_Bn-hyJESqpTDhHEG3JFz0144Kka8k0cWl8_qopX13N2LRqLDL87QPifWN5qZt2MkuShvUxI/s1600-h/Crab+Masala.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJoQNPf4hhds3brVwh-K1YGiQC8ts3z2oSVvNNj2VlLeXLrHBomMbwnaGQUV1dr7l-YE_Bn-hyJESqpTDhHEG3JFz0144Kka8k0cWl8_qopX13N2LRqLDL87QPifWN5qZt2MkuShvUxI/s320/Crab+Masala.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338537403773096754" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7XVUFJjD1fPhU-7s_baVeGDKz7G6IRGBUvQz0WUk-XPf5iP6y-fisqorxPsA6L9vIMUbPgzEWGou2mmi74Kw7b2TdwXXE5Xj0af89Jfo9EJVXY2uyzhvkmaGCalwj1_Z23TzC0sJBha0/s1600-h/Scampi+Prep.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7XVUFJjD1fPhU-7s_baVeGDKz7G6IRGBUvQz0WUk-XPf5iP6y-fisqorxPsA6L9vIMUbPgzEWGou2mmi74Kw7b2TdwXXE5Xj0af89Jfo9EJVXY2uyzhvkmaGCalwj1_Z23TzC0sJBha0/s320/Scampi+Prep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338537409438796850" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkfoa8tb3fr00MTmBbGfI0MYHd7mkEg7-5guLAE-7aivDZJl37umB9Uwd1Ndr68bq_U07n2R_zMza6s_f2_AMQ2S9_DRTVJoRjQBuVb-zISgfutiiYFVOXiPRIF_xK-t9JjZx15MeZXU/s1600-h/Crab+Prep.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkfoa8tb3fr00MTmBbGfI0MYHd7mkEg7-5guLAE-7aivDZJl37umB9Uwd1Ndr68bq_U07n2R_zMza6s_f2_AMQ2S9_DRTVJoRjQBuVb-zISgfutiiYFVOXiPRIF_xK-t9JjZx15MeZXU/s320/Crab+Prep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338537407147782498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifYBLU8319JnpKOHFxz_Z3_BAVN_m-tUzdDvIisYOxb7Um6YWLXiBVndvEFSypz9McAAr3ZLjN2Uy39TF_VlzWbl_6LJLvmHVhspTvLSx8D6futO3IbmljX1MxQU3k7G08MBNZytJ7YI/s1600-h/Scampi+Dish+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifYBLU8319JnpKOHFxz_Z3_BAVN_m-tUzdDvIisYOxb7Um6YWLXiBVndvEFSypz9McAAr3ZLjN2Uy39TF_VlzWbl_6LJLvmHVhspTvLSx8D6futO3IbmljX1MxQU3k7G08MBNZytJ7YI/s320/Scampi+Dish+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338538204863674178" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpI3LBiS6T9Ct63lwtVBiLOWRqJSWGlLICDMvyrU9KucZNq2Uxer4yXRBiHp6323HlZ4q2CW6uSjvtEHhLA9sFled-CN_qu1aRv_IJ6uQwHJ4QxjPFyzTaWrE6WJKoF-ND4RHEGGv9otI/s1600-h/Scampi+Dish+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpI3LBiS6T9Ct63lwtVBiLOWRqJSWGlLICDMvyrU9KucZNq2Uxer4yXRBiHp6323HlZ4q2CW6uSjvtEHhLA9sFled-CN_qu1aRv_IJ6uQwHJ4QxjPFyzTaWrE6WJKoF-ND4RHEGGv9otI/s320/Scampi+Dish+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338538200921473458" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQs_YcYX6G_-BIQWm1V53UWXAfxMDdXyxLARxMLdql0mB7sZXHNDLn3zwoiyeg42h4yf8BnfM0PKQcACTahwjPvm9aHEGua-HYTFHnvAAylPSDiJuRRNbrorULJkQSL52ALbN1XogbIrs/s1600-h/Crab+Roast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQs_YcYX6G_-BIQWm1V53UWXAfxMDdXyxLARxMLdql0mB7sZXHNDLn3zwoiyeg42h4yf8BnfM0PKQcACTahwjPvm9aHEGua-HYTFHnvAAylPSDiJuRRNbrorULJkQSL52ALbN1XogbIrs/s320/Crab+Roast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338538193750263362" border="0" /></a><br />My neighbour is a dick.<br /><br />That's the Bad. Seriously. I've been a good polite Canadian for 6 months, but I've had just about enough of my neighbour, who sees fit to blast his crapbox CD player at full volume as early as 6:45 in the morning. Every morning. The cheesy speakers, unable to deal with his feverish demands for greater volume, simply collapse under the strain and distort apathetically. It is painful. This has been going on since the first day we moved here, and shows no sign of letting up. To make matters worse, he appears to be the proud owner of only one CD, and therefore has no qualms about playing the same damn thing over and over and over again. It is pop music at its most insipid, and the lack of any redeeming musical merit annoys me just about as much as the volume. If he woke us up every morning with some Miles Davis, or Bach, it might not be so bad. Once he's sure that we're all awake, say around 8:30 or 9 AM, the music stops until evening, when his crapbox black and white TV plays Malayalam soap operas at similar volume levels with doors and windows open, broadcasting the inanity throughout the neighborhood for all to hear. I've come to believe that he must think he's actually performing a public service. I'm amazed that someone can have such profound disregard for his neighbours. At home, I would have had the police on speed dial and made a ritual out of calling to complain on a daily basis. But somehow, although I have actually briefly contemplated murder, I haven't. And I don't know why.<br /><br />Oowee oowee ooooo.... wah wah wahhh...<br /><br />Here's the Ugly. I have been pushed to the brink of madness with this. Earplugs don't help, as our bedroom window is within 10 feet of this Devil's Own PA System. I have worked up some elaborate revenge fantasies. Perhaps renting a PA system and pumping Lou Reed's "Metal Machine Music" at 3 AM would have an impact. Some Nine Inch Nails perhaps. One particularly bad night, I sat seething on the front deck, unsure as to how to manage my anger. The previous night, a couple of coconuts had fallen to the ground from our tree in the yard. I should point out here that my neighbour is a poor man. His house is ramshackle, and the tiled roof is like a patchwork quilt of blue pieces of tarp, badly patched cement, and pieces of wood and salvaged plexiglass designed to keep most of the rain out for one or two more seasons before the whole thing collapses in complete decay. There I was with coconut actually in hand, and contemplating lobbing it across the fence and onto his roof. In my mind, I imagined it shattering the roof tiles and plunging through the roof and making a direct hit onto the television set, causing the picture tube to implode right in front of him. At which point I would casually walk out of the gate, walk past the open door, wave, and say something like "Jeez, I guess the wind really caught that one, eh?". I casually passed the coconut from hand to hand as I tried to estimate which tile I would have to break in order to inflict maximum damage. After a couple of minutes, I put the coconut down. I just couldn't do it. I satisfied myself by hurling a small pebble onto the roof, sort of like warning shot across the bow. It rattled off a couple of tiles and then onto the ground. He never even heard it, and I didn't feel any better.<br /><br />Shrinking back from the edge of this emotional abyss, I began to see things a little differently. This guy is poor. Dirt poor. He gets up at 5 AM because it's normal for him to do a few chores in the coolest part of the day. His CD player, TV, and one CD are possibly the only luxury items he will ever be able to afford. Why should he not be proud of that? I was going to return home to my vast collection of electronic convenience items, but he was going to still be here with his one CD and TV, trying to squeeze some sweet enjoyment from the massive lemon that life had handed him. It dawned on me that the ugliness was in my own brain. It was not a proud moment.<br /><br />Oowee oowee ooooo.... wah wah wahhh...<br /><br />And now the Good. This week Gee made good on his promise to show us the recipe for his famous Crab Roast and Scampi Fry. Earlier in the day, Gee had bought a bunch of smaller female crabs and several of what he calls "scampi", which are a like a cross between a very large (7-8 inches) prawn, and a langoustine. They have long, spidery claws that can double their overall length. It was the beginning of the rainy season, and this is the time where the crabs and prawns are at their sweetest, we are told. These are creatures of the brackish Kerala backwaters, and are quite different from the Dungeness crab and Pacific Spot Prawns that we are used to getting. Without cooking them at all, Gee popped off the shells of the crabs, and after making sure that all the yummy roe from the female crabs had been scraped out into the pot, the shells and the small legs were discarded. He then cleaned off the gills and cut the bodies in half. Each crab yielded 4 pieces: two body halves and two large claws. The claws were then cracked with the dull side of a knife blade so that the masala could mingle with the meat. Into a large pot they all went, along with as much of the juices from the crabs as could be salvaged. Next stop was the mixie, where Gee combined about 4 tablespoons of fresh ground black pepper, nearly 20 green chilis, a good chunk of ginger, and 4 or 5 small red onions into a coarse paste. Once the masala paste was made, Gee took half of it and used his hands to mix it in well with the crab in the pot. Then the pot was covered and placed over a flame or just long enough to cause a little steam to escape before the crab was removed from the heat. The other half of the masala was then fried in a large pot until it started to darken and get quite fragrant. Then the rest of the crab/masala was added, along with some salt. The whole thing is continually stirred and fried until the masala that coats the crab is quite dark, and the mixture starts to get a little dry. Mmmmmmmmm....<br /><br />The scampi were left with their bodies still attached to the heads (the tastiest part!), and only the shell of the tail section was removed. Gee blended up shallots, garlic, ginger, and curry leaves in the mixie, and then added some salt, red chili powder, and turmeric. He carefully folded this into the bowl with the scampi and massaged the masala into the scampi, being careful not to be too vigorous, lest the heads become separated from the bodies. He heated up some coconut oil (2 cups or so), and when it was hot enough to sizzle, he gently placed the scampi into the oil to fry. It's hard to describe the wonderful smells that we were experiencing in that kitchen, but it was a seafood lover's dream. After listening for the telltale "pop" sound, Gee flipped them over to evenly cook. When he finally pulled them out of the pan, they were perfect. The masala coating them was crispy, salty, and coconutty, but the prawns were tender and perfectly cooked. The heads revealed another treasure trove of sweetness to boot. The were so good that Laurel and I unashamedly were picking bits of crispy masala off the serving dish long after the prawns had disappeared. The crab was equally marvelous. Black pepper is a most underrated spice, and the combination of a large amount of fresh black pepper with green chili made for a complex taste that seemed to go on forever. Even Gee's wife Chitra, the staunchest of vegetarians, admitted that the kitchen smelled so good, that for the first time in her life she was actually considering having a taste of seafood! The Good was really Good.<br /><br />Oowee oowee ooooo.... wah wah wahhh...<br /><br />My neighbour is still a dick. But I understand...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-75118754071188504092009-05-18T23:11:00.000-07:002009-05-18T23:33:20.910-07:00Sadya Couldn't Be Here<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOqXHJU21YC26NAXfHUWdUEYIlDl3EMs2IVG_nIvjF5K_ip37mYcj9famdAzPAFzys_jfvl9RalfN42uuiBJHyC8Lofw1Jj6piyXwx0lCf4WoGK8TMrSNP5tyOLSsrsujvAm_RssatHQ/s1600-h/Tying.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOqXHJU21YC26NAXfHUWdUEYIlDl3EMs2IVG_nIvjF5K_ip37mYcj9famdAzPAFzys_jfvl9RalfN42uuiBJHyC8Lofw1Jj6piyXwx0lCf4WoGK8TMrSNP5tyOLSsrsujvAm_RssatHQ/s320/Tying.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337418930814890626" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpoYFQHlpz4aem2kAMoea3BzIusnyzR0c9zAPTs9R1Puggx2q06hzoIDZmUKZT9Xc25P10U81Hmv71vmCleW2feyfmEtGYYbeRyDLgjcHxtLxUU0rLYO_L-2MUHOq8uEtFH7gFsZHYXk/s1600-h/Dude.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; 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float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHTmQ63o1DoB3ipZr0rg3lSfAvW0Jnv2AFb0JksszNgWn8MpLLfNuhdFzfXRYgnJ2zsy6edMgRTJhHDGAZqbjosrCfOJhDeQ8L8eX4HFnStYDxXUuriFLLXh3l-4QB8zkO4n-gcguomVo/s320/Happy+Meal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337414953029598498" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2nNX9bnCw9sJlArHXvlreZWXNgKb8dBYpRjxUSWn0OgRLqJtW-0wbRQGPc6sF2Hv8baDjMhyphenhyphenDvGhyphenhyphennxOpYXugIZURgkBisFI5sG-EoGiVGqvUqufcf848ihCJM2h9O-P8QURdbb1dk/s1600-h/Cameraman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2nNX9bnCw9sJlArHXvlreZWXNgKb8dBYpRjxUSWn0OgRLqJtW-0wbRQGPc6sF2Hv8baDjMhyphenhyphenDvGhyphenhyphennxOpYXugIZURgkBisFI5sG-EoGiVGqvUqufcf848ihCJM2h9O-P8QURdbb1dk/s320/Cameraman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337414950775363554" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_1l6j6GeMwxpV1NC0fEzZ0k5vvCtn6SrrR5xApl1-_qXiTIJmHZF5cVxTGjh7uvt6Cnoqp-pOkEg5BW3hWaoXc3AOh3MeziW7-Ql_zJrGlZyNr7yiTlq158HDBg9VLaNEoyPWnfVjfNc/s1600-h/Pickle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_1l6j6GeMwxpV1NC0fEzZ0k5vvCtn6SrrR5xApl1-_qXiTIJmHZF5cVxTGjh7uvt6Cnoqp-pOkEg5BW3hWaoXc3AOh3MeziW7-Ql_zJrGlZyNr7yiTlq158HDBg9VLaNEoyPWnfVjfNc/s320/Pickle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337414594287104642" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgEmp0r3hJz4CIIWX72x1lxclqgos00eWM4N2fH0ISM9f22ZsyPlRcZKNQzW_O0jXb3ic0d9pplvdwl_paDJ8iO-YoMePwMxxohCAPPO9VFUJFPKkPADCSHNMoszaooneZ1p6w7irroc/s1600-h/Ready!.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRgEmp0r3hJz4CIIWX72x1lxclqgos00eWM4N2fH0ISM9f22ZsyPlRcZKNQzW_O0jXb3ic0d9pplvdwl_paDJ8iO-YoMePwMxxohCAPPO9VFUJFPKkPADCSHNMoszaooneZ1p6w7irroc/s320/Ready!.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337414588847466738" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbekn8QSh_fhB8kdEFMOi6t80TktXtYbA3MBP-FmcuL3xOljCpub8Tg0HOePni0GtJ-VS5Ir7vMjnCQNQrYTq4vNfMnT7UrWoUd7iRJES2Ae4WcRpfb_0QToGfJePHYMOAOXbuUtOckaE/s1600-h/Chitra+Serving.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbekn8QSh_fhB8kdEFMOi6t80TktXtYbA3MBP-FmcuL3xOljCpub8Tg0HOePni0GtJ-VS5Ir7vMjnCQNQrYTq4vNfMnT7UrWoUd7iRJES2Ae4WcRpfb_0QToGfJePHYMOAOXbuUtOckaE/s320/Chitra+Serving.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337414588642422658" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbd1Tggz1itsYv0pQDacWxQAJ2ljYIQryFqjQ6L89TP8x7rdPk7N0XJFXV5ARt_ld6qAoNRggbDUeFA3ivNOgy6iCjzh5Ve0b9lAeFiPF5qkRfO2AIuDZRTRIpUJ-ysqa0K6cWbVTBwmk/s1600-h/Miles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbd1Tggz1itsYv0pQDacWxQAJ2ljYIQryFqjQ6L89TP8x7rdPk7N0XJFXV5ARt_ld6qAoNRggbDUeFA3ivNOgy6iCjzh5Ve0b9lAeFiPF5qkRfO2AIuDZRTRIpUJ-ysqa0K6cWbVTBwmk/s320/Miles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337414588687754210" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfAGdZeCwSpPF7bM4FvB2EaiXqiukn5JvRWvydvC6t3TZCdDOqx3QKFraOQnXTMa9WrG09aq-BHjBzPz0jUiP4y_hvTI8Oah_DO2Zav1V1PQ-WGMav2vu9TzZ_BIkyFBRRbkF6u0rggw/s1600-h/Emma+Isaac.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfAGdZeCwSpPF7bM4FvB2EaiXqiukn5JvRWvydvC6t3TZCdDOqx3QKFraOQnXTMa9WrG09aq-BHjBzPz0jUiP4y_hvTI8Oah_DO2Zav1V1PQ-WGMav2vu9TzZ_BIkyFBRRbkF6u0rggw/s320/Emma+Isaac.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337414584989243538" border="0" /></a><br />On the plate, it doesn't seem like such a big deal.<br /><br />A fresh green banana leaf was placed before me, as I creaked and groaned and somehow managed to fold my aging carcass into a cross-legged sitting position on the woven mat. Chitra, our wonderful chef friend who had spent the better part of the last week and a half preparing for this meal, carefully served up her creations one by one onto the banana leaf. A total of twenty four items go into the traditional Sadya meal, and Chitra had patiently walked Laurel and me through the creation of every dish. First, she placed payasam (a sweet cardamom-infused thin pudding much revered here) onto the leaf. Then a little salt. Then a flurry of traditional vegetarian dishes, along with several types of pickle, papad, and banana chips. A huge mound of the Keralan "chubby rice" topped with a healthy, and I do mean healthy, ladle of sambar. Then finally, a dollop of pure ghee. My expression was one of pure glee.<br /><br />The order of appearance of all the items on the banana leaf is dictated by tradition, based on the principles of Ayurveda, the ancient "life-science" of India. The guiding principles are certainly beyond the scope of this humble blog post, so I'll just stick to the food. As I mentioned in a previous post, in a proper Sadya meal, there must be a full spectrum of tastes, ranging from salty, sweet, hot and spicy, bland, crunchy, and bitter. Every dish is prepared without any onions or garlic, which is unusual, but based on the Brahmin idea that members of the onion family tend to distract the mind away from focus on cosmic oneness, and instead shift the focus to thoughts about how hot your wife looks in her new outfit. Despite the absence of the garlic and onions I love, the dishes in this meal were anything but devoid of flavour. They were, in fact, spectacular. And my wife still looked good.<br /><br />We had started the meal preparation the previous week with a trip to visit the lady who makes the papads by hand. Then, the next afternoon, we went to visit a Brahmin catering crew who were kind enough to show us the preparation of Payasam, which is the traditional dessert. It was shocking to see how much effort actually goes into this one dish. First, they make a kind of noodle called "ada" by making a thin paste from broken brown rice flour, oil, and water. This paste is then spread out on banana leaves and the leaves are rolled up and tied with a bit of fiber from the leaf. The finished items, which look like rolled up diplomas from Banana University, are then tossed into a large cauldron to boil for a long time. We were told to return in the morning, to see the transformation from diploma to noodle, and sure enough, at 5 AM, our faithful friend Gee pulled up in front of the house. It was still very dark, and Muslim prayers murmured somewhere off in the distance as this sleepy trio drove back to the banquet hall with camera and sound equipment. <br /><br />The catering crew was still going strong, as they had actually worked through the night to ensure that their feast would be ready on time. The crew, composed of barefoot and shirtless mostly older men with some pretty questionable dental work, were all clad in orange lungis as they scurried about the fluorescent lit kitchen. We were led out back, where the "ada" was unrolled from the banana leaves, and then pressed through some wire mesh on a frame to create the noodles that would later be mixed with the payasam. It was all over by 5:30 AM, so we packed up our gear and headed back home to bed. The things we do to get the proper film footage...<br /><br />Over the next week or so, our friend Chitra worked very hard to gather all the ingredients and the recipes for the remaining items in the Sadya meal that she was going to demonstrate for us. It took us five days of shooting, and on each day covered about four dishes. The pickles and papad were done, so we focused on the parade of other dishes. The first day, we made Sambar and Rasam (pepper water), which actually benefit from aging a bit in the fridge. Then I started to get dizzy as Chitra, seemingly without effort, managed to pull off over a period of days things like green bean thoran with coconut, fruit curry, cabbage thoran, olan, kootu curry, and masala curry. The list was actually much more comprehensive than that, but there were so many things that I could not film it all and make notes at the same time! It was marvelous to watch this woman work. At no time did she consult a recipe or look at a cookbook. It just flowed out of her in the most natural way, and everything was absolutely delicious. It's interesting to note that while Chitra is obviously an accomplished cook, she says that her mother thinks that she can't cook at all, and that her sister is the one with the cooking talent. Normally, being a polite Canadian, I tend to defer to my elders, but in this case, it must be stated publicly that Chitra's mom is sadly misinformed. Girl can cook!<br /><br />On the final day of filming, we all gathered together at Chitra's kitchen to consume this work of art. Chitra and Gee's three kids, our two boys, and Emma were all invited to sample this celebration feast. Chitra proudly dished out her creations onto the fresh banana leaves in the prescribed order. She was beaming as she related that this was actually the one year anniversary of her husband Gee's new business, and that having a Sadya meal on this day was a happy coincidence, and most auspicious. I was not about to argue. The kids ate all theirs completely, with Miles taking a second helping of rice. He's only 8, but I swear he already eats more than I do. I'm living in fear of our teenage food budget. After they were done, Gee, Chitra, Laurel, Rajesh, and me all sat down to eat this labour of love. It was amazing, and a real privilege to both eat, and also witness the making of. <br /><br />Looking at my plate, I knew it was a big deal... Thanks Chitra.Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-84504969055427783942009-05-14T23:27:00.000-07:002009-05-15T05:31:16.804-07:00Idol Thoughts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQJyWKPXFLJbuv4M1mLabDxq0FDpCMLJLG7W6UDsYdufezg5GzgHJfc_T8M80r08V7-upf7sd6FRYs5f6KL8St94w1oRaWMg69LzqnpUl5nVvF2soVzbHQ4OcoeFJba_OLzANEnJrwHI/s1600-h/Slabs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQJyWKPXFLJbuv4M1mLabDxq0FDpCMLJLG7W6UDsYdufezg5GzgHJfc_T8M80r08V7-upf7sd6FRYs5f6KL8St94w1oRaWMg69LzqnpUl5nVvF2soVzbHQ4OcoeFJba_OLzANEnJrwHI/s320/Slabs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335944013940254722" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwBeN59NIvpeHcTf8l65mkvrW6W6KO_jLIIHdJkptGaE7zOaOIQC-aogHphVZVIFZZVeRG7A901VtyEHEYtO8uR6kLRoOuopJkZG_TeYW6o-MI6AQHnXyyvho8-XEQKJdBH5y6ZenQuM/s1600-h/Lingam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwBeN59NIvpeHcTf8l65mkvrW6W6KO_jLIIHdJkptGaE7zOaOIQC-aogHphVZVIFZZVeRG7A901VtyEHEYtO8uR6kLRoOuopJkZG_TeYW6o-MI6AQHnXyyvho8-XEQKJdBH5y6ZenQuM/s320/Lingam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335944015957702274" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xwo_Y2oZMqEcO7Q4k4i8MR26YHTcS75GSam6bkeArJa_0UgoDBqJnb6225GH3d8DdLU7V_ZswDxH05cOFbaFSrchhf9U_2fWc-ruE2jxEKAbJEL6tITWZf30yN3JGcmgnt_t2-aQN8g/s1600-h/Rear+View.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xwo_Y2oZMqEcO7Q4k4i8MR26YHTcS75GSam6bkeArJa_0UgoDBqJnb6225GH3d8DdLU7V_ZswDxH05cOFbaFSrchhf9U_2fWc-ruE2jxEKAbJEL6tITWZf30yN3JGcmgnt_t2-aQN8g/s320/Rear+View.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335944013829306610" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYHwGOpvT9CYmfnBa5Td1JC8kwjIfNKX_5qfICvJViZO-8NzZfmEolKNFFl7lkrkwPeARnPeT4qDIKczx6Qv4NSOVIf9tf4kMgSPnNS7YTQ2ePjZKlY_icA_WHq0rwqUgPizdPti6iCM/s1600-h/Ganesh+%27r%27+Us.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYHwGOpvT9CYmfnBa5Td1JC8kwjIfNKX_5qfICvJViZO-8NzZfmEolKNFFl7lkrkwPeARnPeT4qDIKczx6Qv4NSOVIf9tf4kMgSPnNS7YTQ2ePjZKlY_icA_WHq0rwqUgPizdPti6iCM/s320/Ganesh+%27r%27+Us.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335935503984181362" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TPOuOImepPjf_y9LK8NIVZHmVqsfuFxCJSDrOhfTgB46UgntPYqoZMZA4M93KmuBdLZAZL6PW1w4IAZfYf8oGQ8vr2OZBxp266f36WBisiOgoxDmy1TGRT0-1kiweOV6xZX47-odNaQ/s1600-h/Idols.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TPOuOImepPjf_y9LK8NIVZHmVqsfuFxCJSDrOhfTgB46UgntPYqoZMZA4M93KmuBdLZAZL6PW1w4IAZfYf8oGQ8vr2OZBxp266f36WBisiOgoxDmy1TGRT0-1kiweOV6xZX47-odNaQ/s320/Idols.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335935503406597154" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzGeEp_TDccV3-f7DPGjG_5Z-m1sNcuYaLu2R2b21Pg0VyLhYvZ-nBzcOmJB6ttKti4_aSeJoJYwkD8CGCmlwwPuzUHzfArYmO0PE8ZFCseP0MAIuDalPJBE_nV4qR0JlhBcJdAkvb4o/s1600-h/Chiseller.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzGeEp_TDccV3-f7DPGjG_5Z-m1sNcuYaLu2R2b21Pg0VyLhYvZ-nBzcOmJB6ttKti4_aSeJoJYwkD8CGCmlwwPuzUHzfArYmO0PE8ZFCseP0MAIuDalPJBE_nV4qR0JlhBcJdAkvb4o/s320/Chiseller.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335935507239066082" border="0" /></a><br />It was time to get stoned.<br /><br />Really stoned. Not the kind of exploding-seed-mexican-weed-out-back-of-the-high-school-dance kind of stoned, but the kind of stoned that can only come with... actual granite. While definitely harder to keep lit than it's illicit counterpart, granite offers many benefits, the most notable of which is its legality. Granite really is the only way to safely get stoned in India. I should backtrack a little... A few months back, Laurel and I went shopping in Fort Cochin, which is on an island in close proximity to Ernakulam, where we are firmly ensconced en famille. It can be reached by bridge or ferry, and we always opt to take the ferry. It's a 3 rupee, 15 minute ride on a dilapidated diesel-powered tub. One of those ocean-going disasters-in-waiting that always makes you grateful when you see the destination dock appear, as this means that there is less of a likelihood of your demise being touted in one of those headlines you always see: "Overloaded Ferry Capsizes, Hundreds Missing".<br /><br />Fort Cochin is an odd little place. It's heavily geared towards the tourist trade, and flower-shirted, fanny-packed, sunburned travelers in various stages of morbid obesity are routinely disgorged from the cruise ships in order that the local merchants may prey upon them like so many oily-haired silk-shirted Venus fly traps. "Come into my shop sir! Special price!!" Here, it is not uncommon to see plastic being passed off as precious stones, and metal purported to be silver that will turn your skin green before you even leave the shop. You see a lot of white people here, more so than in Ernakulam across the bay. There is a lot of yoga tourism that happens here, and the streets are crawling with drawstring-panted, tank top-wearing European backpackers hoping to achieve some form of enlightenment on their 2 weeks away from their Dusseldorf cubicles. Turning left from the ferry dock, it's a couple of kilometers to the unfortunately named "Jewtown", home of India's oldest synagogue, where merchants lie in wait for prospective targets as the tourists run the gauntlet of cheese, dodging prodigious piles of goat poo along the way . Historically, this was a center for spice trading, and a lot of trade still goes on here. However, the vast majority of shops cater to the needs of the tourist. Carved elephants, bronze bells, silk scarves, and bad jewelry are the norm. Anything that is capable of collecting dust and proving to the neighbours that one has actually travelled to India is for sale here.<br /><br />One of our missions on this trip was to collect some art, and the unfortunate reality is that Fort Cochin is actually the best place to go to shop for certain items. There are some antique stores in Jewtown that are actually quite amazing. Room after room of old (and in many cases, not so old...) carvings, boats, and even portions of entire buildings are on display. All items are fixed price, thus denying us the pleasure of haggling. On one trip we bought a few pieces and arranged to have them shipped home, and on that trip we spotted a cool looking Shiva lingam, which is a carved stone item used in ritual worship. They come in various sizes, and the one that caught our eye was about 20 inches tall, and weighed several hundred pounds. When we asked about the price, the sales person looked at the sticker attached to it. The sticker does not actually show the price. There is a hieroglyphic written on it that indicates the price only to the staff, and not to mere mortals like us, despite having read "The Da Vinci Code". She clicked her calculator a bit and calmly told us "575 US Dollars. Shipping extra". We liked it alright. Just not at that price....<br /><br />A few days later, we told our friend Gee about this (are you starting to discern a pattern here?), and he said that he had a friend who was an architect, and that this friend would know where these carvings are produced locally. A week or so later, armed with suitable information, we drove out of town a few kilometers and then pulled over at the side of the road where a small carving business was set up. A corrugated tin shack served as an office, and there was a ragged blue tarp that tried its best to keep the sun off the couple of dusty shirtless men who were engaged in chipping away at some granite. Gee had some words with the boss in Malayalam, and the long and the short of it is that we commissioned this fellow to custom build the Shiva lingam for us for less than half the price they were asking in the "antique" store, with a nicer finish to boot. Emboldened, we also ordered up a great relief carving of Ganesh, a 4 tier butter lamp with base, and a stone kitchen grinder like the one we had seen in use in the notorious goat biryani episode. It would all be ready in two weeks. We were so excited, we naturally had to go and have beers with all the money we saved.<br /><br />One week after that, Gee drove us out to the even more remote quarry where the work was being done. The Shiva lingam was too big to be done at the roadside workshop, so we made the trek about 30 km out of town. Several men, again under ragged blue tarps, toiled in the midday sun carving bits of temple, columns, custom stone stairwells, and of course, our lingam. It was an eye opener, to say the least. These guys work hard. It's dusty, hot, and I'm not sure what kind of medical plan is in place for the repetitive stress injuries that must certainly come with the job of whacking stone for at least 8 hours a day, every day. Satisfied that the stone work was well underway, we turned and headed back to Cochin, excited about the prospect of having fabulous hand carved stone art in our garden. It really made me think twice about my own work, which, even though it usually involves not much more than lengthy lunches and the occasional mouse click, still somehow gives me cause to complain vociferously. Note to self: get real...<br /><br />Now all we have to do is get it home. Will a granite Shiva lingam fit in the overhead carry-on bin?Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-2945492700054190272009-05-11T23:11:00.000-07:002009-05-11T23:59:43.227-07:00Currying Flavour<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FaNai_99UnWABwRPJi5pP5PEUSSlugAnP-lc3DlwZwp9A21_p6dBMZO_LSuKiz9IQMXmzHgYI3-OiZF3STxbGdpGZZ56gxzTvHDZRiwLzmme-nQDzWRlUUfHuyVg9xDJgUTECkAUkLQ/s1600-h/Bush.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FaNai_99UnWABwRPJi5pP5PEUSSlugAnP-lc3DlwZwp9A21_p6dBMZO_LSuKiz9IQMXmzHgYI3-OiZF3STxbGdpGZZ56gxzTvHDZRiwLzmme-nQDzWRlUUfHuyVg9xDJgUTECkAUkLQ/s320/Bush.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334827528139391186" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdUp18GzcXMBgyv5DtIK_mu8PTSlHhB61JMoDM3YTFB0Lp74wd2sYQ5bKbv1nK2_4MiLlTa2pFKsslEQ0caN-A9rBY4iJDLNuyYNp3kkC8izpVCUOfytxqyG_Ht6VqqCtAqPLL4zddY0/s1600-h/Branch.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdUp18GzcXMBgyv5DtIK_mu8PTSlHhB61JMoDM3YTFB0Lp74wd2sYQ5bKbv1nK2_4MiLlTa2pFKsslEQ0caN-A9rBY4iJDLNuyYNp3kkC8izpVCUOfytxqyG_Ht6VqqCtAqPLL4zddY0/s320/Branch.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334827523558475122" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuXwM4Zh5KzD6YNv7_W5GOz4KFGJt0bOoenONdrAqA4UMTTL_qVN82jEjLdA1kBuyowTK9rRBejtE5tGhAGf-pZObzBXyZJRZRjIXOtfgrU836a9WLlBWLQ1pRhe7RgmHxKLbgsQP6lA/s1600-h/Plate.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuXwM4Zh5KzD6YNv7_W5GOz4KFGJt0bOoenONdrAqA4UMTTL_qVN82jEjLdA1kBuyowTK9rRBejtE5tGhAGf-pZObzBXyZJRZRjIXOtfgrU836a9WLlBWLQ1pRhe7RgmHxKLbgsQP6lA/s320/Plate.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334827523377588738" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Trebuchet MS">English is a funny language. Not only does it break all of its own rules, it also has multiple meanings for the same word. Take, for example, the word "curry". As a verb, curry can mean: to groom a horse, to beat or thrash, to attempt to ingratiate through flattery and fawning, or to rebuke or criticize. As a noun, curry is a blend of spices (curry powder or what is called a masala here), a dish made with that blend, or an entirely different herb - the curry leaf (<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Curry_Tree">Murraya koenigii</a>)</i>. There is also a "curry plant" (<span style="font: 13.0px Helvetica"><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helichrysum_italicum">Helichrysum italicum</a>)</i></span> that smells like the aforementioned spice mix but that is not edible!<br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Trebuchet MS">Curry Leaf, or karivepallai, is an integral part of South Indian cuisine, particularly to the food of Kerala, but does not taste anything like curry powder. There are very few dishes made here that do not incorporate the curry leaf, luckily we all love them! Something magical happens when a fresh curry leaf hits hot oil. The oil sputters from the moisture in the leaf and then the leaf gives off a fabulous aroma and gets crisp and more-ish. Not surprisingly then, the main way that curry leaves are used is in the "tempering" process. Tempering is a technique to finish many of the drier "curries", those that don't have a lot of sauce. Near the end of the cooking a mix of vegetables or meat, a separate kadai (little wok or frying pan) is heated and oil is added to it. In Kerala is is usually coconut oil. When the oil is very hot, black mustard seeds are added. When the seeds start to pop like popcorn, dried red chilies are tossed in and quickly fried in the oil to change colour. Then the leaves are pulled off of a few curry sprigs and added to the oil. The whole spluttering thing is tossed together and then the heat is turned off. All of this takes <i>maybe</i> 5 minutes. The resulting spiced oil is poured over the finished dish. A dish that has not been tempered is lacking a certain <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">je ne sais quoi</span></span>. Sometimes a teaspoon of methi seeds, cumin seeds or urad dal are added to the tempering to contribute to the overall flavour, texture and healthiness of the dish.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Trebuchet MS">Curry leaves are fairly fibrous and so are not eaten fresh off the stalk. Because Keralan cuisine uses a lot of ground fresh coconut, the grinding process is another good time to add curry leaves. Pop the leaves of a few sprigs into the mixie (see Rob's post about majesty of the mixie <a href="http://robandlaurel.blogspot.com/2009/02/magnificent-mixie-im-slut-for-hardware.html">here</a>) with some grated fresh coconut and blend away. Sometimes this blended concoction is added to a dish that is cooking, other times it is the base for a coconut chutney. </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Trebuchet MS">When making a wetter curry, with what they call "gravy" here, whole curry leaves can be added early on in the cooking process, sort of like bay leaves. The liquid in the dish and the longer cooking time makes the leaf more palatable and digestible. It is a personal preference whether you eat the curry leaves in the final dish or whether you push them to the side of your plate as most people do with the whole dried red chilies.<br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Trebuchet MS">In Vancouver we are lucky enough to have several stores that carry fresh curry leaves (our favourite is Asia Market on Hastings Street near Main but there are several grocery stores in Little India that also carry the leaves). Curry leaves don't have a long life once picked - a few days in the fridge, maybe a week, is about all they can handle. You can freeze or dry the leaves but the dried leaves, like dried parsley, really lack the bright flavour and essence of the leaf, frozen is preferably if you really can't get fresh. In the markets here in Cochin, vendors often throw a handful of curry leaves into your bag free of charge. But many people here have curry trees in their gardens and can pick the leaves fresh as needed. Since Murraya koenigii is a tropical plant, I'm looking into the possibility of growing a curry leaf tree as a houseplant when we get home. How cool would that be?</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 13.0px Trebuchet MS">But back to the English language. Don't even get me started on the many definitions of "temper" or 'tempering"! As a former ESL teacher, I feel for any one who needs to learn English as a second language; it can be tricky enough for native speakers to use correctly! Spelling (anyone familiar with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghoti">ghoti</a>?)! Grammar! Idiom! Of course, it is also a joy. Its flexibility allows for playful dialogue that apparently some languages cannot accommodate. So what I am trying to say is that I don't really mean to curry, rather to curry favour with our readers out in the blogsphere and remind them, all currying aside, that voting for the Spice of Life on the Blogger Awards page only takes a minute of their time...</p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-3296138431009739082009-05-06T23:43:00.000-07:002009-05-07T00:11:17.316-07:00Pickle In My Pocket<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOVO0Hk2dNrLcgdOkkCNJcJeB-QhvCeKjn-i9OdWzJwikG1ji2eZaA3ihEcYm65YlITtGODKJO4xn2MGbTZBJFc2rqc7Sl6w3nAQYUXyENzLxlKZB4IlAN0TSETWJBbFPKMvroTVJ4rM/s1600-h/Ginger_Ingred.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOVO0Hk2dNrLcgdOkkCNJcJeB-QhvCeKjn-i9OdWzJwikG1ji2eZaA3ihEcYm65YlITtGODKJO4xn2MGbTZBJFc2rqc7Sl6w3nAQYUXyENzLxlKZB4IlAN0TSETWJBbFPKMvroTVJ4rM/s320/Ginger_Ingred.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332971301999690674" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UvyvdOHRe38Xd1POGNlFpbdTIcNT83CIEhooZ3UBog-nm21S4h6t612UJxfpABr_q94Sha50Wz-Hb9KvrcjJ2rUHFQ4leEgQoFsP9chbWgxxme_IivUB3JZXOsnIsUXT8xzCfH1SFKY/s1600-h/Grape_Ingred.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UvyvdOHRe38Xd1POGNlFpbdTIcNT83CIEhooZ3UBog-nm21S4h6t612UJxfpABr_q94Sha50Wz-Hb9KvrcjJ2rUHFQ4leEgQoFsP9chbWgxxme_IivUB3JZXOsnIsUXT8xzCfH1SFKY/s320/Grape_Ingred.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332971302397976450" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIu_wT8BcmNhA1pBhE8NxovKlHiJWWgIEeWdrHqaLSl3MqP7QPRZEgReqQwPjFDFFvY1LDco4jUtr-apXWsgZLt7QjPthWjJMRup6W-kimqk3aMR4lraq8OLDrHh5uvJ5dcRya6PuFV8/s1600-h/Lime_Ingred.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIu_wT8BcmNhA1pBhE8NxovKlHiJWWgIEeWdrHqaLSl3MqP7QPRZEgReqQwPjFDFFvY1LDco4jUtr-apXWsgZLt7QjPthWjJMRup6W-kimqk3aMR4lraq8OLDrHh5uvJ5dcRya6PuFV8/s320/Lime_Ingred.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332971296911221682" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVrqg8b53xk04Zz0_IjnX31s0RGAbISe9Jr1Iz3Vs1w9wrDjyUKzABaWvq2L_Bd-EofDbkJYM39oZZ4qDGnHffgPJZM90lOpwH1oMEUAR2TVtrSsSelCCGVj7VYnDuh04BHvWk4Yq6Mc/s1600-h/G_Mango_Ingred.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVrqg8b53xk04Zz0_IjnX31s0RGAbISe9Jr1Iz3Vs1w9wrDjyUKzABaWvq2L_Bd-EofDbkJYM39oZZ4qDGnHffgPJZM90lOpwH1oMEUAR2TVtrSsSelCCGVj7VYnDuh04BHvWk4Yq6Mc/s320/G_Mango_Ingred.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332971294690834290" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAq5bkll8o50JFYk3IS2K0PejFdXCr9Wl8eRFaBKGb0BFqn2QRHdvMGBePCSKZc5LCWEq6KUj1VC3YSaf-Z2zgG7s6uABnXWrcIFeU4SVoo_4WmFkndlyilFUzL1StT0TBTx3aK3C9PTI/s1600-h/Ginger.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAq5bkll8o50JFYk3IS2K0PejFdXCr9Wl8eRFaBKGb0BFqn2QRHdvMGBePCSKZc5LCWEq6KUj1VC3YSaf-Z2zgG7s6uABnXWrcIFeU4SVoo_4WmFkndlyilFUzL1StT0TBTx3aK3C9PTI/s320/Ginger.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332970647814613106" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5_XqG2JHEFa5rzVl5blOQRxgeOpzvZ6EDjHYdeu7SV4CeIa-HGLzxxzD6XgDwVUTcLeAwKFfDu_8t-w2oBp-m9EK1ojc1zPtkcr5gvBIlw-FbaSrF8kKIzsK48ZpRjwzgw8m38BxD9k/s1600-h/Grapruit.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5_XqG2JHEFa5rzVl5blOQRxgeOpzvZ6EDjHYdeu7SV4CeIa-HGLzxxzD6XgDwVUTcLeAwKFfDu_8t-w2oBp-m9EK1ojc1zPtkcr5gvBIlw-FbaSrF8kKIzsK48ZpRjwzgw8m38BxD9k/s320/Grapruit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332970645988651410" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDS6hDnUYjuNoIPoZ12GFwX_sNSOIJkSLHseh_4nlLzK_vwLZoWLl1xTfpd2Cf-8lPdn3jOZP9Jz0nhZgd_kElSlJLsQHDetZ1WN6JSJrRSNPK7IYWQJci9BuIrF8W3EHlKipxZ9aSPdE/s1600-h/Lime.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDS6hDnUYjuNoIPoZ12GFwX_sNSOIJkSLHseh_4nlLzK_vwLZoWLl1xTfpd2Cf-8lPdn3jOZP9Jz0nhZgd_kElSlJLsQHDetZ1WN6JSJrRSNPK7IYWQJci9BuIrF8W3EHlKipxZ9aSPdE/s320/Lime.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332970644871280610" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aaemT3UxbLiJVC9oLdexs2mqo9pBcSvakdF2VFYIhZb7XMrZ1kRwp9BEVYeqmDBl-zgArge3M_tXtZf1WSghVkAM1okY1B5x_qnGnKhzNSb4P4iGkhy4NT_0T5K33FwFp6XiLv0aKMs/s1600-h/Mango.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aaemT3UxbLiJVC9oLdexs2mqo9pBcSvakdF2VFYIhZb7XMrZ1kRwp9BEVYeqmDBl-zgArge3M_tXtZf1WSghVkAM1okY1B5x_qnGnKhzNSb4P4iGkhy4NT_0T5K33FwFp6XiLv0aKMs/s320/Mango.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332970637557266130" /></a><br />I really love pickles.<br /><br />One of my favourite Far Side cartoons is the one where two gorillas are in a zoo cage, poised in front of a bunch of bananas. One says to the other (I'm paraphrasing here) "Y'know Phil, I really LOVE bananas. I mean, heck, we ALL do. But for me, it goes beyond that". That's kind of how I feel about pickles. I've been known to call out a cook from the kitchen in a restaurant and berate him mercilessly for not having the foresight to serve a proper dill pickle with a burger. I mean, <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span>. It's just <span style="font-style:italic;">not done</span>. You need something salty and acidic to balance out the sublime fatty juices from that grass-fed, hormone free, happy beef patty. <br /><br />I've had strong picklish leanings ever since I was a boy. My mother, despite her shortcomings as a cook, actually made pretty good dill pickles for many years before she lost interest in making anything besides reservations. My favourite after school snack as a kid was one of them big salty and garlicky dills, along with a slice of nondescript orange cheddar cheese. I've tried to make dill pickles, but have never been able to duplicate her recipe. She passed away 3 years ago this week, and I suppose that my chances of having the recipe relayed to me are admittedly slim. Bugger...<br /><br />The first time I visited New York was in 1991. I was a dreadlocked leather-jacketed keyboard player, recording an album ("Hey Stoopid") with Alice Cooper at Bearsville Studio in upstate Woodstock NY for several weeks. The guitar player in the band, one Stef Burns, and I decided to take a train into NYC for a day's adventure in the big city. We walked out of Grand Central Station, and the first thing I saw was a car driving past with its undercarriage emitting flames. When the car stopped at the light, a pedestrian tried to tell the driver that his car was on fire. The driver, still apparently unaware that he had perhaps minutes to vacate the car before being engulfed in flames, not only ignored the warning, but took the opportunity to yell a few choice words out the window and flip the pedestrian the finger. The flaming car took off when the light turned green for parts and fates unknown. Nobody else seemed to notice. Welcome To New Yawk.. Stef took me almost immediately to the Broadway Deli, where we ordered massive pastrami sandwiches. Waiting for the sandwiches to come, I tucked into the plate of pickles that was on the table. Half-sours! Sours! Pickled green tomatoes! A whole brave new world of pickles opened up for me right then and there. These weren't Mom's pickles at all. They were.....God's own pickles. Yahweh's own, to be more precise. Oi, such pickles.<br /><br />Now I find myself quite a ways from New York City. Believe me, after 6 months here, a pastrami on rye with a little mustard would certainly go down a treat right about now. I'm in India, and while pastrami is scarce, pickles are indeed plentiful, although the pickles in India bear little resemblance to the cucumber-based Euro-pickle that we are accustomed to in North America. Pickles play a huge part in the cuisine of India, and the variations in their ingredients and preparation are as vast as the country itself. After documenting the preparation of pappadam for the traditional Sadya meal, the next thing we dove into was the creation of four different types of pickle that are used. Once again, our good friend and dedicated chef Chitra hosted us in her catering kitchen to show us how to prepare a few items. For her version of the Sadya, she made Ginger Pickle, Green Mango Pickle, Grapefruit Pickle, and Lime Pickle. <br /><br />In a Sadya meal, it's important to have a variety of tastes and textures, and tradition dictates that the food items be consumed in a particular order in order to obtain maximum benefit from the meal. It is a complex mix, and sweet, sour, spicy hot, bland, cooling, and bitter items all have their prescribed place, and they all have equal importance. I use the word "prescribed" intentionally, as a proper Sadya meal is effectively an Ayurvedic prescription for well-being. The pickles play an important part. The Ginger Pickle has some heat from the ginger, but also is balanced by sweetness from the jaggery, or palm sugar. It's fantastic with rice, and frankly, this is one that I could eat right from the jar by the spoonful. The Grapefruit and Lime Pickles have a decidedly bitter taste. They are not so much meant to be eaten on their own, but as a complement to other foods. The Green Mango Pickle lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. Redolent of chili and hing, also known as asafetida, this great pickle leans more towards the savory side of things. Although the Sadya is a pure vegetarian meal, the Mango Pickle goes great with fried fish. It's Chitra's mother's recipe, although she has tweaked it a bit.<br /><br />After prepping all the ingredients, Chitra whipped through the assembly of all four pickles in short order. These things are not at all difficult to make, and once done, will sit in a jar in your fridge for weeks or months. A little salt goes a long way to preserve things. The exact recipes will once again follow in future posts once we review the tapes, but the general idea is incredibly simple: just to heat up the ingredients in a pan and put them in a jar once they are cool. It's very simple and also very rewarding. In the meantime, please enjoy the pictures we took of Chitra's masterpieces. I can't wait to get back into my own kitchen and make my own versions of these, especially the ginger and green mango. I really love pickles.... I mean, heck, we ALL do.<br /><br />But for me, it goes beyond that...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-8793546685512206582009-05-05T01:15:00.000-07:002009-05-05T07:42:21.415-07:00My Pappadam Told Me...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdi_rFH7dmFCaLjS9Mhl2ZBqSVXw58KwDmV6xCQquBkXED7ixqra5rq4JaWuHJEXoYWpPH_be1uMzXjpCLbrgv94B6ATltaO6oYW2ggjwCDsE_7aDm4l3mgDs0xdE59W6DGhbRSLQ4ys/s1600-h/The+Master.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdi_rFH7dmFCaLjS9Mhl2ZBqSVXw58KwDmV6xCQquBkXED7ixqra5rq4JaWuHJEXoYWpPH_be1uMzXjpCLbrgv94B6ATltaO6oYW2ggjwCDsE_7aDm4l3mgDs0xdE59W6DGhbRSLQ4ys/s320/The+Master.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332251489959153698" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTVN5O28MKwr0Ji1FkqSA_n3SxpviRUV9IJKt6nCJxwo4DebU_WsPZga0swQWILQYCkXGODu7lrliaiDE9CvXzt035Q1bDnG1bXETo3SVv7cYHmQPDhtD-UuGOm1yQY1PUOfj-0wqDxw/s1600-h/Dough.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTVN5O28MKwr0Ji1FkqSA_n3SxpviRUV9IJKt6nCJxwo4DebU_WsPZga0swQWILQYCkXGODu7lrliaiDE9CvXzt035Q1bDnG1bXETo3SVv7cYHmQPDhtD-UuGOm1yQY1PUOfj-0wqDxw/s320/Dough.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332251286973208482" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEial4TawS3b7Qc5uJSEixq7xeZXJMUNGQNtFJBaWEiWIUCxwKvUbt23CFdNBRgRysb_YMZzk1aZ7JmfeEDT-oaYY3IDodG_jlSP4facwqbu3GckztYlUvIK80_2ZicbF2wIUglWI_7-2SQ/s1600-h/Drying+Sheet.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEial4TawS3b7Qc5uJSEixq7xeZXJMUNGQNtFJBaWEiWIUCxwKvUbt23CFdNBRgRysb_YMZzk1aZ7JmfeEDT-oaYY3IDodG_jlSP4facwqbu3GckztYlUvIK80_2ZicbF2wIUglWI_7-2SQ/s320/Drying+Sheet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332251286207071938" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1LNdEHqtkBthpMnQvDkosW1gffZPRefimE3N50C1weHNAnChIwUVUL4Hd9Y3fq1cbS-n8nz3lvaqCahHSazWaUzZw7UVJdm0VxDRSlyPEIp6bV6PoS7GBTW1yiQKoYPJaE0lyl4zPN4/s1600-h/DriedBundle.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1LNdEHqtkBthpMnQvDkosW1gffZPRefimE3N50C1weHNAnChIwUVUL4Hd9Y3fq1cbS-n8nz3lvaqCahHSazWaUzZw7UVJdm0VxDRSlyPEIp6bV6PoS7GBTW1yiQKoYPJaE0lyl4zPN4/s320/DriedBundle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332251283810965538" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_wZj17ft5AK8RyISd1-nYu22fD_8UCF35_rH9p5p3Uamw35xKaacx7KyO88cbA2I6ZMvTrz_eah_uAe1Q9gh16iAlor9HsoSjmAISJFTe784klqS4rqF4x1YWZ3fK0AF92cM40Hz5pc/s1600-h/ready+To+Fry.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_wZj17ft5AK8RyISd1-nYu22fD_8UCF35_rH9p5p3Uamw35xKaacx7KyO88cbA2I6ZMvTrz_eah_uAe1Q9gh16iAlor9HsoSjmAISJFTe784klqS4rqF4x1YWZ3fK0AF92cM40Hz5pc/s320/ready+To+Fry.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332251278275168290" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAmjzLzY45vSxDMGu7oBX95KpsSvULNcrWyqkjdhGlZb4CYBJ6ADA7OLaJo8_aUSfrNei5hqb9Vk_CTQnG_h5HVkFPfi1c35zGekMINKZyqghBxZzNYYsXexRsb-TFE2UMmIJdBsjmy7U/s1600-h/Yum.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAmjzLzY45vSxDMGu7oBX95KpsSvULNcrWyqkjdhGlZb4CYBJ6ADA7OLaJo8_aUSfrNei5hqb9Vk_CTQnG_h5HVkFPfi1c35zGekMINKZyqghBxZzNYYsXexRsb-TFE2UMmIJdBsjmy7U/s320/Yum.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332251280402176018" /></a><br />Well, how hard could it be, really.<br /><br />Those who know us know that we've never been ones to shy away from a challenge. In just over 9 years of marriage, we've had two children, renovated houses, built recording studios, started a couple of businesses, opened a bed and breakfast, opened a retail store, and most recently, moved to India to study the food and culture. So when our friends Chitra and Gee casually suggested that we document the making of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhya">Sadya</a>, or Keralan traditional feast meal, we barely flinched. It's just a dinner, right? Pffffft.....Then we had a production meeting with Chitra to plan the filming, and it was then that the true scope of the endeavour was revealed. When I looked at my Excel spreadsheet of dishes and planned shooting days at the end of our two hour discussion, it became apparent that this was going to be anything but casual.<br /><br />A <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhya">Sadya</a>, the Malayalam word for "feast", is a traditional Keralan vegetarian meal served up for special occasions only. It's a very fussy and involved meal to prepare, and there are some fairly strict rules and customs for it's correct preparation. A full-on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhya">Sadya</a> meal has 24 separate dishes in it, and the order on which they appear on the banana leaf plate, and the order in which they are consumed are strictly observed. There are Ayurvedic principles involved, and therefore many do's and don'ts that may seem a little bizarre to the uninitiated. For example, onions and garlic are typically not used in the preparation of dishes for a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhya">Sadya</a>, as they are said to "arouse the passions", and therefore interfere with a properly meditative mindset. This explains my fervent love of onions and garlic, and therefore my personal tendency to dwell in the lowest states of consciousness. Woof! <br /><br />So the next few posts will be concerned with the preparation of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhya">Sadya</a>. Chitra, our talented chef friend, generously volunteered to prepare this feast for us over a period of several days. Our work needed to be spread out over time, because even with a large catering team, the sheer amount of work involved in preparation can take at least a couple of days. We've actually been able to film a couple of these large teams at work, and it's a pretty amazing sight to see at least a dozen people pull an all-day and then all-night shift in order to prepare these dishes, some of which are incredibly involved, for groups of people that can number as high as six or seven hundred hungry diners. <br /><br />We decided to start with the thing that keeps the longest: pappadam. Pappadam are those crunchy crisp circular crackers either made from urad dal, or tapioca flour, water and salt. Some are made by mixing in black pepper, or cumin, or green chili, but the ones for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhya">Sadya</a> are intentionally left plain. The flat, dried crackers are then fried very briefly in oil, and served at room temperature. Of course, for a special feast, we don't just trundle off to the grocery store or market and pick up something pre-made off the shelf now, do we? That would be the cultural equivalent of serving Kraft Dinner at your wedding dinner (hi Uncle Cletus...). It's just not done. So once again, we relied on a contact of Chitra's to get the real inside poop on how these vitally important snacks are made by hand.<br /><br />Chitra and Gee picked us up in their delightfully air-conditioned Honda CR-V, and drove us and all of our camera and audio gear to a nice house, much like the one we have been renting, in another part of Kaloor. It was only a few miles away, but navigating through the labyrinthine streets and finding the proper address was a challenge, even for Gee. We were welcomed into the home by Chitra's lady friend and her son. After unpacking the camera, strapping on the audio mixer, and affixing the microphones to Chitra and Laurel, all of us were led upstairs to an essentially empty room where the pappadams were made. The floor was comprised of spotlessly clean 2 foot square marble (or vitrified ceramic) tiles. There was only a stainless steel bowl with a large lump of batter in it, and a 4x6 foot plastic sheet. We all got down on the floor with her, and watched as she repeatedly grabbed a small lump of batter and placed it on a semi-stiff piece of plastic that had been lightly oiled. Then another piece of plastic was placed on top of that. Next, she deftly tapped the top piece of plastic with a circular stone to press the batter out into a perfect circle. A quick peel of the top layer of plastic, and she then moved the fresh disc over the large plastic sheet by her side, inverted it, and peeled away the last bit of plastic. <br /><br />The window was open, and the sounds of drums and horns from the temple festival going on a couple of doors away drifted in. Oblivious to the nearby costumed elephants and feverish drummers, she repeated this batter ballet with practiced ease. Her constant smile told us of the obvious pride that she took in what she was doing. Soon, the large plastic sheet was filled with fresh pappadam. The freshly laden sheet was then moved out into the hot sun to dry. Chitra told us that she makes about 250 of these pappadam a day, every day. She only stops when the rainy season comes, and it becomes impossible to dry them outside. It was her only source of income. Laurel tried her hand at making one, and it soon became obvious that doing it quickly and correctly took a certain amount of practice! <br /><br />After this, we were led back downstairs for some coffee and a few samples of her handiwork. The pappadam were quickly fried in oil, and served up piping hot. They were so delicious, that we bought several bundles to take home with us. So part one of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadhya">Sadya</a> meal was pretty much in the bag. As we climbed back in the Honda for the drive back home, I could not help but marvel at this woman's work. The sheer industriousness of it struck me. It was so very impressive for us to see her making her living in such an ingenious, dignified, and self-sufficient way. I could not help but wonder. Faced with the need to support ourselves and our families alone, how many of us would rise to the challenge as she had done? <br /><br />How hard would it be?Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-27307631020925317702009-05-01T23:55:00.001-07:002009-05-03T08:41:12.741-07:00Cardamom Pods And Kinky Insex<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLW0Ey5XmwUJ0t5J_VhqR2qj4y-Qno1YWorOP2GM3mipgS9N1ZiBE-b8kaGZAuABd5KR5iGlBvN7_h9YTImX33egcUjA9WF2v5GlQ_7riHzfQxObSpxZo6h3qC6lLgSIqbMpzJgC8TLus/s1600-h/Horny+Beetles.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLW0Ey5XmwUJ0t5J_VhqR2qj4y-Qno1YWorOP2GM3mipgS9N1ZiBE-b8kaGZAuABd5KR5iGlBvN7_h9YTImX33egcUjA9WF2v5GlQ_7riHzfQxObSpxZo6h3qC6lLgSIqbMpzJgC8TLus/s320/Horny+Beetles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331232014024833874" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmDVIWr2JlD7dvAjNLUyBXqpc4ztMoFAHzsxNuC-qlh4h-ODuyQvhQ28f75VHh2uETO0ztKziiIoSbfAmgpR0Nmn_PUVkPzaNodGdn-9iWXZ_WX4dfjHj07Q4evNdJEYpdLgNzLmgKFo/s1600-h/Screamer.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmDVIWr2JlD7dvAjNLUyBXqpc4ztMoFAHzsxNuC-qlh4h-ODuyQvhQ28f75VHh2uETO0ztKziiIoSbfAmgpR0Nmn_PUVkPzaNodGdn-9iWXZ_WX4dfjHj07Q4evNdJEYpdLgNzLmgKFo/s320/Screamer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331232008984695762" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoHZ_AEMZM0a7QsSBEdz1uv573JQA77kPXXUoRK51uGoP7rQgUX0hyphenhyphenbDUBENIvG2Xsf66BsbSccjdqiXwHqqASpIVrhnyh-q9_uiKpJcWRagSkm0IVoIGTP4-75q5VwdgzUDXB5j_DK8/s1600-h/Making+Idli.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoHZ_AEMZM0a7QsSBEdz1uv573JQA77kPXXUoRK51uGoP7rQgUX0hyphenhyphenbDUBENIvG2Xsf66BsbSccjdqiXwHqqASpIVrhnyh-q9_uiKpJcWRagSkm0IVoIGTP4-75q5VwdgzUDXB5j_DK8/s320/Making+Idli.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331231327385990834" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmiDAfuhsBqrM7erX6EaNpyMtQRlGM3NHLUWVAECt61Ck3aw4FlpBhPFwsRHBHcLHyU5Vj0xing89zxHDD7rldzMXbbNJx0UNktdXmOkAZpMBnZhMLynLDHbOSRm8rv8V0Q_GA0MkWFgU/s1600-h/Keralan+Kitchen.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmiDAfuhsBqrM7erX6EaNpyMtQRlGM3NHLUWVAECt61Ck3aw4FlpBhPFwsRHBHcLHyU5Vj0xing89zxHDD7rldzMXbbNJx0UNktdXmOkAZpMBnZhMLynLDHbOSRm8rv8V0Q_GA0MkWFgU/s320/Keralan+Kitchen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331231322612818178" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwEWwskXwcX4qFsBbd6Fb4IRgttA5qRiJ80GUL9ncYax04terlrLTkdjkytZLO9bfWOEeubQs6Oqw8aOx7O_wgjR7ICn9GxbfWds7gbVdgYlGVunvzjWjd9_0hU6noSwXM5NLkYBsV74/s1600-h/Pod+On+Vine.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwEWwskXwcX4qFsBbd6Fb4IRgttA5qRiJ80GUL9ncYax04terlrLTkdjkytZLO9bfWOEeubQs6Oqw8aOx7O_wgjR7ICn9GxbfWds7gbVdgYlGVunvzjWjd9_0hU6noSwXM5NLkYBsV74/s320/Pod+On+Vine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331231317728928962" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvywWB5_hxIGZsCPkVJOhe6562_sbtjDUVvETHYkgTILdZ3gUFDMChZhQrAEGPSoUSGCdFB4xWpuCUgClawIUQgVV5oWOwZHFjMJhmUXImgKkovUY3aafdclix70t_mzFjhiT1JVlhhiw/s1600-h/Green+Gold.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvywWB5_hxIGZsCPkVJOhe6562_sbtjDUVvETHYkgTILdZ3gUFDMChZhQrAEGPSoUSGCdFB4xWpuCUgClawIUQgVV5oWOwZHFjMJhmUXImgKkovUY3aafdclix70t_mzFjhiT1JVlhhiw/s320/Green+Gold.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331231315826384338" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwT88PFZn8nb4TV1GzaRd6wdyovbM42ih6NJLJJQ1EQTqlC6ltmWCW0OX-Ack9DwUJEsV9Mr24UfwzAsxFtGt_VY_5blxeQ83wWMLq41VuWyl0hhEMDMDyg0HUGr86vvalIo80Ps7d-yQ/s1600-h/Open+Pod.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwT88PFZn8nb4TV1GzaRd6wdyovbM42ih6NJLJJQ1EQTqlC6ltmWCW0OX-Ack9DwUJEsV9Mr24UfwzAsxFtGt_VY_5blxeQ83wWMLq41VuWyl0hhEMDMDyg0HUGr86vvalIo80Ps7d-yQ/s320/Open+Pod.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331231315941738290" /></a><br />I never dreamed that a rhinoceros beetle could be so... horny. I'll get to that.<br /><br />When I explained to my friend Gee that we wanted to film some background info on spices, he quickly piped up, "Chitra has a friend who has a place that we can visit for cardamom". Of <span style="font-style:italic;">course</span> there is a friend. Chitra and Gee have many friends, and they seem to pop up the most unlikely places. Ever since we had the pleasure of meeting them both, we have been constantly amazed at the densely woven fabric of their social connections. I swear that we could be making a seemingly impossible right turn across 9 lanes of traffic, when out of nowhere a uniformed policeman would leap out, stop all traffic except our car, and guide us through the intersection neatly, perhaps dusting off the tail lights with his handkerchief as we passed. When queried, Gee might invariably say something like "Oh, I went to school with his brother", "His father and my father were at college", or "I saved his cat from drowning when I was a child". Okay, I'm exaggerating a little. But not much. In this case, Chitra remembered that an old teaching colleague of hers had recently taken possession of a massive spice plantation in the previous year. So it goes...<br /><br />So as a result, a couple of weeks back I found myself sitting on the covered deck of a rambling raj-era house perched atop a 150 acre estate 5 hours from Cochin with Gee, and the owner of the estate, Rajindran. Evening was falling, and as we were perched up on a hilltop at least a thousand feet above Cochin, it was thankfully cooler than the steamy evenings that we were used to. The ladies had retired, and as the day turned to night, we enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company as we watched the mist roll by the front of the deck. Gee and I had a cocktail or three, and although Rajindran abstains from demon rum, he was very happy to join us in a lengthy, and as the beverages flowed, increasingly loud and far-ranging conversation. Rajindran, who is submitting his PhD law thesis in June, and Gee, who is a structural engineer by trade, but has an informed opinion on just about everything, both proved to be exceptional conversational partners. We covered everything from the massive economic shift from the US to India, to gold conspiracy theories, to the proper way to cook certain vegetables. In short, as the drinks flowed, we came pretty darn close to solving all the problems of the world. Now if only our delegated staff can execute the plan...<br /><br />There was a large fluorescent light bulb just above the door to the house, and as it got darker, the bulb served as a beacon for every insect in the vicinity. First small bugs. The odd mosquito perhaps. Then came an insect sound unlike any I had heard before. It sounded like a small prop plane coming in for a landing. Then another. And another. We were soon inundated with dozens of 2 to 3 inch long rhinoceros beetles, zooming over our heads and thumping and bouncing off the light bulb and the walls with a mad choreography that could only have been conceived of in a tiny insect brain. Occasionally, a tired and shagged out beetle would fall to the ground, only to lay helplessly on its back, wiggling its legs in a vain attempt to regain an upright posture. After a short time, at least 20 of the hapless bugs had assumed this posture. They would remain this way for hours and on into the next day, wiggling sporadically, and waiting for either a good samaritan to turn them upright, or eventual death, whichever came first. This was a curious thing. I had never seen these insects before, and I marveled at how the species could survive, given such a fundamental design flaw. The rhinoceros beetle is an equally unconvincing argument for both evolution and intelligent design.<br /><br />At one point, a large winged creature with about a 3 inch turquoise body, of which there were also many, tired of buzzing around the light, wisely decided to fly between Gee's back and the back of the chair he was in. As Gee leaned back after making a particularly emphatic point, the creature was trapped momentarily. It actually let out a scream. A tiny scream, yes, but an actual audible scream with a discernible note of fear. It was as if the actor who played "Mini-Me" just got the word from his agent that he was being re-cast in the sequel to "The Love Guru". That would be enough to frighten any man. Gee leaned forward a bit, and the critter flew out from behind him, free for the moment. <br /><br />There was a large post to the right of the chair I was in, and when I happened to turn my head, I was stunned and amazed by what I saw a scant few inches from my face. A large male rhinoceros beetle, replete with horned facial accoutrement, was mounted atop a submissive female specimen and, well, doing its best to perpetuate the species. He was doing a heck of a job, as the tired and occasionally twitching remains of a few other females lay at the base of the pole would seem to indicate. Unlike the screaming insect moments before, there was no sound that I could discern. With the stamina of a Cuban porn star, this 6 legged Lothario kept at his relentless procreative activity for as long as I sat there, undaunted, and perhaps even encouraged, by the human voyeurs in the immediate vicinity. Remember that old black and white science fiction movie, "The Fly"? Instead of "Heeeeelllp meeee.", it was "Whooooo's your daddy?".<br /><br />We were not at the lush estate of Rajindran and his lovely wife Suma, however, to watch the horniest beetle since John Lennon have its way with the ladies. We were here to see how cardamom grew. This was a research trip, after all! Cardamom is a very important spice in Indian cuisine, and it is second only to saffron as the most expensive spice in the world. This amazing plantation produces over 35 tons of the little green pods each year, and at peak times there are over 200 people working the estate. Cardamom will only grow at a certain elevation, and can be fairly fussy to grow on a large scale. The production is incredibly labour intensive, as each pod has to be picked by hand, collected and transported to the drying house, where the pods are washed, cleaned, and dried on large racks with a heater that is fed with wood recycled from the property. The building is kept under lock and key at all times, even in this remote location. This stuff is green gold.<br /><br />Rajindran took us out for a tour of the estate in a jeep. We got to film the cardamom pods being picked, cleaned and dried. It was a real privilege to get to see this operation up close. Suma, meanwhile, supervised her kitchen staff of three ladies in the non-stop preparation of amazing food for more than a dozen people. Snacks materialized seemingly every 20 minutes. Cooked chunks of tapioca with chili chutney. Fresh fruit. Elaborate meals of 8 or 9 pure vegetarian dishes were laid out on the massive table inside the 100 year old house. For breakfast, we were served idli and sambar. The idli batter was prepared the day before using the traditional stone wet grinder instead of a machine, and the difference in texture was like the difference between hand-made and machine-made pasta. The idli were light and ethereal. The best we've had. <br /><br />The kitchen itself was amazing, as it was left original Kerala style. The stove was carved from a massive slab of granite, and decorated with symbols of Shiva. There were 4 "burners" that pots of various sizes were perched on, each fed by a wood fire. I swear it all adds to the final taste! Watching this crew of women work in tight quarters, communicating nearly wordlessly as they put out dish after sumptuous dish was like watching some form of gastro-ballet. We got to film the preparation of a dish called "avial", which is a traditional concoction of many types of vegetables and shredded coconut. Simply inspirational stuff. As we were leaving, the following day, Suma appeared and generously presented us with a large bag of the estate-grown cardamom and a large bag of black pepper. We were thrilled! I know that we have prattled on about the magnitude of Indian hospitality, but to have Gee and Chitra drive us up to the plantation, and to have Rajindran and Suma open up their home to us in such a spectacular fashion was truly humbling. A simple "thank-you" seemed grossly inadequate, but that's about all we could muster as we waved goodbye and headed back to Cochin. What an amazing weekend.<br /><br />I will never listen to a Beatles song in quite the same way again...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-65445044359090907072009-04-25T23:54:00.001-07:002009-04-26T08:43:42.422-07:00Ode to Okra<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8_IOvyI/AAAAAAAAADQ/1CrFTP3o9i0/s1600-h/Okra.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8_IOvyI/AAAAAAAAADQ/1CrFTP3o9i0/s320/Okra.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328893003405639458" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8oScBTI/AAAAAAAAADI/82FhRMx0Za4/s1600-h/Boys.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8oScBTI/AAAAAAAAADI/82FhRMx0Za4/s320/Boys.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328892997274436914" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8QmDwtI/AAAAAAAAADA/nBxPZz7Sulg/s1600-h/Okra+2.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8QmDwtI/AAAAAAAAADA/nBxPZz7Sulg/s320/Okra+2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328892990914282194" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8alVGcI/AAAAAAAAAC4/GWkhhxD-dyc/s1600-h/Bhendi+Dish.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_BCBPRjyKmjU/SfQH8alVGcI/AAAAAAAAAC4/GWkhhxD-dyc/s320/Bhendi+Dish.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328892993595578818" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">"Is it okay if I finish the last of the okra?" Miles says in his most polite trying-to-be-the-boy-with-manners voice. "No fair! You had seconds already. I want the last of the okra!" his 5 year old brother, Isaac, squawks. Sound like a dream universe? Welcome to my reality. I don't want to brag (yeah, okay, maybe I do!) but my children not only eat their vegetables, they fight over them too. And there are few vegetables as fine as okra to argue over.<br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">Okra is a much maligned vegetable. It has a bad rap as slimy and hairy - it is neither - it is majestic and unique! Call it lady's fingers, gumbo, vendaka or bhindi, okra is one of the Bailey family's favourite foods. We have bhindi several times a week - in fact, during our time in India it has probably been our main green vegetable. We never have leftovers and the boys have definitely been known to argue over who gets the last bhindi in the bowl. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">Bhindi is in all the markets here and appears to have no season (although we haven't been here for a full year so we don't know if it is available all year round) making it a good go-to vegetable. In Vancouver we buy okra on Main Street in Little India or in Chinatown, it can occasionally be spotted in other "asian" and "mediterranean" stores around town, but rarely in a supermarket so you have to look to find it.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">For the uninitiated, okra are beautiful green ridged fruit or seed-pods, about 5 - 15 centimeters long, smaller are usually better since they can get too fibrous as they get larger. When sliced crosswise okra produces little pentagonal disks - hence the name 'bhindi' which means 'dot' in Hindi - filled with edible soft seeds. Okra is a good source of vitamin A, C and several of the B vitamins, as well as potassium, protein and dietary fibre. There is a myth that bhindi (and mushrooms) should not be washed or they will absorb water and become slimy. Not so! Don't soak them, but a wash is just fine. You can eat the whole pod but some people cut off the top part that attaches the pod to the stem. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">The texture of okra depends entirely on the technique with which you choose to cook it. If you leave the okra whole, deep or shallow frying in hot oil produces crisp-on-the-outside-tender-juciness-on-the-inside. If you cut the bhindi crosswise into rings and fry them, they get crispy-crunchy and caramelized like fried shallots. You can roast them in the oven tossed in a little oil and salt to achieve a similar effect as long as you use a fairly high temperature and lay them on a sheet in a single layer. Okra's bad reputation comes from the texture of the pods if you use moisture to cook them: if the heat is too low or you have too many in the pan, the moisture in the okra comes out and they stew in their own juices instead of caramelizing. You can braise or stew okra and avoid the <span style="font: 13.0px Trebuchet MS">mucilaginous</span> texture if you add something slightly acidic like tomatoes or citrus to the mix. Sambar is a good example of this (see <a href="http://robandlaurel.blogspot.com/2009/04/sambar-over-rainbow.html">previous post</a>). Or you can use that texture to your advantage to thicken and add body to a soup or stew. We are partial to fried, very well-spiced bhindi, either left whole or cut into rings.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">The following recipe is an adaptation of Fish Fry. We were filming at a cardamom estate near Munnar last weekend (more on that in another post), owned by the eminently hospitable Rajindran and Suma. Rajindran is "pure veg" which in India means that he eats no meat, fish or eggs but does eat dairy. His lovely wife, Suma, was not vegetarian when they married but has become one in deference to her husband's lifestyle choice. Because Suma grew up eating fish and meat, she was taught how to cook these foods Keralan style. Her bhindi dish uses the same spicing and technique as a typical Keralan Fish Fry, substituting bhindi where there would otherwise be karimeen. Her 'Chicken' Fry is made with cauliflower, but that's a whole other recipe for another time.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">Bhindi 'Fish' Fry recipe</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">500 g okra</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">1 t turmeric</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">1 t ground black pepper</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">2 t red chili powder</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">1 t salt</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">1 t crushed garlic</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">1 t minced ginger</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">1t lime juice or vinegar</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">oil for shallow frying (coconut oil in Kerala but canola, sunflower or peanut would be fine)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">Wash the okra and cut several 3-4 cm lengthwise slits into the pods, keeping both ends intact. Mix up the spices and make into a paste by adding the garlic, ginger and lime juice. Rub the paste all over the okra making sure that the spice blend gets into the slits. Let sit for 20-30 minutes. Place about 2 cm of oil in a shallow pan and heat until just beginning to smoke. Add a few okra at a time and fry until nearly crisp and almost black. Remove and drain on paper. Continue frying until all the pods have been cooked. Serve with rice and other curries as a part of an Indian meal.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">There are a lot of myths out there about what children will and won't eat. From what I can tell, a lot of what kids are willing to eat (or not) is predicated on their community's expectations of what they will like. Our boys eat chillies, blue cheese, olives, pickles, garlic, jelly fish and most vegetables. I don't think it ever occurred to Rob or to me that they wouldn't like those things (although judging from the reactions we get all over the world, they <i>should</i> not like them) so we ate them and expected the boys to eat them too. No special meals, no extra dishes "just for the kids", but also no filling up on only those things that you prefer.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Trebuchet MS">Now if only I could get my boys to argue over who gets to clean up their room! Hmmm. Taking a page from my own book, if I expect that my kids will want to clean their room, will they? I'll have to get back to you on that...</p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:12px;"> </span></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-11086796527082523182009-04-24T23:59:00.000-07:002009-04-25T11:36:12.205-07:00Bovine Non Sequitur<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0ciDVaitsIYhbd99OC7S4rSvZx0x4TH7Aya5ou6LQAlB_-9eQjMgikmjlCQp-lAVtb6DgIFrxpDO9_2QCE_ySdIxhO_JCF1EhLrEaOHToErI9FhwNc4bpqbiLgpwFwZJtqn-671LpJI/s1600-h/The+Attic.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0ciDVaitsIYhbd99OC7S4rSvZx0x4TH7Aya5ou6LQAlB_-9eQjMgikmjlCQp-lAVtb6DgIFrxpDO9_2QCE_ySdIxhO_JCF1EhLrEaOHToErI9FhwNc4bpqbiLgpwFwZJtqn-671LpJI/s320/The+Attic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328521343677007714" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe6aMFYranm8npcus6ofZxLoptkU2Psl3kfNVdwnf1reDTsln-MV5W2eA-PUmP-KqNk3RzuVLaKJsWsCG4oJ8jJOyprsAFtBqJoxI97EfuInHWL2f7wUwSh0grj1XcXMhsctqAe0puKM/s1600-h/Shrimp+Cocktail.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe6aMFYranm8npcus6ofZxLoptkU2Psl3kfNVdwnf1reDTsln-MV5W2eA-PUmP-KqNk3RzuVLaKJsWsCG4oJ8jJOyprsAFtBqJoxI97EfuInHWL2f7wUwSh0grj1XcXMhsctqAe0puKM/s320/Shrimp+Cocktail.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328521044232785794" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EjtWsxIO-UtG8NA_16IPnGzlVJ7DdkQppq2VMG_GMvQdHaBIx8Z1U_4XSmKaf0xWgZcMOnrKrqNOTX-DXLk1iiABRtWRSOrOI0zkkL2gK5s23qCbR0VSmRZcaMSZIsVHNx-H9XYP7WQ/s1600-h/Bruschetta%3F.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0EjtWsxIO-UtG8NA_16IPnGzlVJ7DdkQppq2VMG_GMvQdHaBIx8Z1U_4XSmKaf0xWgZcMOnrKrqNOTX-DXLk1iiABRtWRSOrOI0zkkL2gK5s23qCbR0VSmRZcaMSZIsVHNx-H9XYP7WQ/s320/Bruschetta%3F.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328521044312368594" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17En46tiejMkjsuK_7cwy8T4v_cjbgZOVUwTy9uMRwPVnbmuICcmvGTjajv6pkvuBjwweQRZxkrTGME-m13cB6g1RmdQRaoBuCPl8Ud99f7InvXsWDvTA-04gOxq2gcQqZdC41HQPTng/s1600-h/Stray+Thoughts.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17En46tiejMkjsuK_7cwy8T4v_cjbgZOVUwTy9uMRwPVnbmuICcmvGTjajv6pkvuBjwweQRZxkrTGME-m13cB6g1RmdQRaoBuCPl8Ud99f7InvXsWDvTA-04gOxq2gcQqZdC41HQPTng/s320/Stray+Thoughts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328521039721850274" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMG9SO1JE8nYFbbd0FcNMrA2xOMHmSA8Ecew8fyhIfHAogU8EuhXeYJTqHle-wPp-dgZflZqbLJM8lKxwFF9STU4f_UiTgfireW_eVXdu0RGOUsnBlO6OSqBdW8loNpXcjHKKWYt1eF0/s1600-h/Shrimp+thermidor.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMG9SO1JE8nYFbbd0FcNMrA2xOMHmSA8Ecew8fyhIfHAogU8EuhXeYJTqHle-wPp-dgZflZqbLJM8lKxwFF9STU4f_UiTgfireW_eVXdu0RGOUsnBlO6OSqBdW8loNpXcjHKKWYt1eF0/s320/Shrimp+thermidor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328521042077678258" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxLoOKPJ9cHonJMB0CXzA1-hSWjoO5ztVBzKuci-r3vdEvTz5hGULQgaJlw3w2yzbBrH3v6s6xydbXppR7b4oRzB0cUP-9NSI0yuMtOTVj-UhBNhyphenhyphen7V-3mZ9qttiFze2LtoCtv1v8ri0/s1600-h/Jockey's+Delight.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxLoOKPJ9cHonJMB0CXzA1-hSWjoO5ztVBzKuci-r3vdEvTz5hGULQgaJlw3w2yzbBrH3v6s6xydbXppR7b4oRzB0cUP-9NSI0yuMtOTVj-UhBNhyphenhyphen7V-3mZ9qttiFze2LtoCtv1v8ri0/s320/Jockey's+Delight.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328521036681573570" /></a><br />The last thing I expected to eat in India was a steak. Yet, there I was, eating a steak. In India. This deserves an explanation. <br /><br />Once in a while, despite the dire warnings of my doctor to reduce my cholesterol levels, I like to have a steak. Not just any steak. A good steak. I refuse to push a squeaky-wheeled cart through a fluorescent-lit supermarket aisle as the Muzak distracts me just enough to not critically think about what kind of crap I am buying. No mindlessly plucking a chunk of red-dyed factory critter shrink-wrapped on a dimpled pink styrofoam tray for me! No sirree, if I'm going to have a steak, I'm either going to hunt it myself, or it's going to be from a happy hormone-free grass-fed steer, one that has never seen the inside of a feed lot or a hypodermic filled with growth hormones. A cow whose last thought as it was happily munching grass on the free range was something along the lines of "Awww... that's sweet. They bought me a DeWalt nail gun for my birthday!". <br /><br />When it comes to a steak house, my standards are high. I have worshipped at arguably the most sacred steak temple on the planet, Peter Luger's in Brooklyn. While attending an AES conference in New York in 1999, I had the pleasure of dining there with my late ex-father-in-law, the noted author Gerald Krefetz, and two of my engineering colleagues. We ordered the Porterhouse steak for four. After a couple of healthy martinis, a surly Russian waiter appeared at the table. He cleared some real estate, and placed an inverted ashtray on the table. The purpose of the ashtray soon became clear. The waiter reappeared with a platter of Flintstonian proportions. The largest steak I had ever seen was placed before our slack-jawed foursome with one end of the platter resting on the inverted ashtray. The steak oozed all of it's not inconsiderable dry-aged melting marbled fat into the reservoir at the low end of the plate. The waiter, who was grumpy even by Russian standards, methodically spooned this beefy elixir onto our potatoes and creamed spinach. In a thick Russian accent, he gruffly intoned "Ees not hailth food...". We were left to gorge on this awe-inspiring artery-clogging chunk of majesty, some of which I'm sure is still lurking in my colon somewhere...<br /><br />Fast forward ten years. I've ben in India with my family for six months. My wife and I wanted to do something fun to celebrate our 9th anniversary. We were married on April 24th, 2000 in Dharamsala, India. And again on April 25th, 2000, but that is another story. After six months in Cochin, despite the amazing Keralan food here, I have to admit that we were getting some hankerings for something decidedly un-Keralan. In Vancouver, we are so used to having so many great restaurants offering a wide variety of cuisines, that the restaurant scene in Cochin seems rather monochromatic by comparison. Fish Fry? No problem. Rice meals? Everywhere. Strangely bastardized versions of Chinese food? You can't swing a cat without hitting one of those places. For our anniversary, we needed to branch out. Big time.<br /><br />My fabulous wife Laurel, whom is known to her loyal followers as "the Queen of Google", promptly went online and found reviews of what were purported to be "the best restaurants in Cochin". For those who have done this before, your experience has probably been like ours. The "best" restaurants are the ones that pay for the most advertising. It's a real challenge to sift through "objective" reviews, most of which are submitted by the owners or family members, and come to a decision about where to eat. One review caught our attention. It was a review of Cochin's only steak house, "The Attic". A glowing review. What made this even more remarkable was that the review was submitted by a vegetarian. We were hooked.<br /><br />Dressed in our finery, we caught a rickshaw from our Ponoth Road home to the bustling downtown scene on Marine Drive. It was a Friday night, and there were lots of people everywhere. Everywhere it seems, but The Attic. The Attic, one level up from the street, was entirely devoid of customers at 7:30 on a Friday night. It was a frickin' mausoleum, albeit a pleasant enough one. After being shown to our table in what must be the most un-Indian dining room in all of India, we were amazed to see that there was not one single item of Indian origin on the menu. We both agreed that this was a bold move, as it demonstrated a commitment to it's aesthetic, which, while being courageous, may prove ultimately financially suicidal. <br /><br />First up was our appetizer. In a nod to 60's kitsch, we both ordered the shrimp cocktail. 8 or 10 medium sized shrimp drowned in a mayonnaise and cocktail sauce , served in a margarita glass, along with two tomato wedges, and 2 quarters of a hard-boiled egg. All things considered, it wasn't bad, although eating it made me feel like Johnny LaRue in a loud Hawaiian shirt, trying to impress the broads at the Polynesian Room. Retro, but not authentic. What impressed us both was a perfect sprig of parsley, an herb that we have not seen at all for six months.<br /><br />Next up was the bruschetta, which the decidely un-surly waiter pronounced "Brew-shetta". I successfully fought the urge to correct him. 4 chunks of baguette-like bread topped with some fresh tomato, dried herbs, and sliced canned black olives. The olives were the same uninspired kind that Domino's pizza buys by the trainload. DNA testing would no doubt prove that somewhere along the line there was a vague family resemblance to an olive, but it must be said that these were perhaps best left out of the dish. The bread, sliced in nearly 3 inch thick chunks, was baguette shaped, but unfortunately made from very finely ground local flour, and not at all allowed to ferment and develop the sumptuous crumb of a true baguette. A leaning tower of mediocrity. That only left the tomato, which thankfully, was a passable shade of red. Thank god for small mercies.<br /><br />Despite this, we were truly enjoying ourselves. It was actually fun to have the place to ourselves, and as much as we love Indian food, to not be eating it. Next up came our mains. Laurel's was a truly retro "Prawn Thermidor". For a moment I hallucinated a vision of her in a beehive hairdo and a Jackie Kennedy clutch purse and pillbox hat, but the vision soon passed. Hers was not bad, but ultimately uninspired. She only ate half, and "parceled" the rest. Then came the object of my desire: the steak. It was advertised as a filet. I ordered it rare, and much to my surprise, that's how it came. Perched upon some nicely cooked spinach, then a few slices of sauteed beetroot, then some slices of roast potato, was my steak. Smothered in black pepper, it seemed rather diminutive in comparison to the Peter Luger's leviathan. It would seem that the passe trend of "piled food" had finally floated across the sea and washed up on the beach. The steak itself was a little difficult to pin down. Was it aged? Perhaps for a day or two. Mainly outside. Was it tender? Maybe a little too tender. It had a texture that would suggest that it had either been relentlessly pounded by a chef as part of his anger-management therapy , or recently kicked into submission by a losing jockey. What was advertised as being "jus", was actually that Langis instant gravy that leaves the telltale MSG burn on your tongue afterwards. I could go on...<br /><br />However, it was a steak, dammit! An honest-to-gawd piece of roasted meat. In India, no less. This was nothing short of a miracle. We had a great time, and to be frank, we actually expected the food to be a lot worse than it was. It was actually... charming. Maybe it was just the dinner company. Laurel and I talked about all the changes brought by 9 years of marriage. Children. New houses. Businesses. Travel. We wondered what we would be doing in another 9 years.<br /><br />One thing is certain. As I was following her sari-clad form around the fire in a dimly lit Shiva temple 9 years ago, the last thing that I expected was that we would be back in India with two beautiful children. Eating a steak.Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-86206508151302142072009-04-21T23:03:00.000-07:002009-04-24T09:23:40.717-07:00Sambar, Over The Rainbow...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BIhZL7TU8f8I0UE9bdgCz2biX9-mUCpc-cV6bYMfA2FV9sbKBssith-9m6EKXTvIqmHaNJgfzojowY76Po1UtENOy0Bgq2Ld8oUghyphenhypheniPPI7rHp51wpOWuTGj_6gWMQT75fiQgJ1ojwk/s1600-h/Gigi!.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BIhZL7TU8f8I0UE9bdgCz2biX9-mUCpc-cV6bYMfA2FV9sbKBssith-9m6EKXTvIqmHaNJgfzojowY76Po1UtENOy0Bgq2Ld8oUghyphenhypheniPPI7rHp51wpOWuTGj_6gWMQT75fiQgJ1ojwk/s320/Gigi!.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327394970906478818" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafU17vAzhK2zRAF9Xp5iZlMpUMM5-1tBo6U31XYRF9OZJOuZCcVoQcLeUMCR69B68H6V5dgQvnq3gViV9qTmt8xQ9CmRY0kOk57N2p9XCpSekYnF3qFBzsse6Dp5v8EBBuCmAHxqUD9E/s1600-h/Ingredients.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafU17vAzhK2zRAF9Xp5iZlMpUMM5-1tBo6U31XYRF9OZJOuZCcVoQcLeUMCR69B68H6V5dgQvnq3gViV9qTmt8xQ9CmRY0kOk57N2p9XCpSekYnF3qFBzsse6Dp5v8EBBuCmAHxqUD9E/s320/Ingredients.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327394967900126530" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJegtmakFNkVntTLPuokemsdWN5zlpvuHnTEVwD-r8pL_gVPveSVovhIWzIbIRVTeZvRPXWXgXYMafiFfAxQx2PudiNZoSnOmf5QFQaeIH9WVdf1zsOIb8ZOBAveQLt0kHfd9deE1CkIk/s1600-h/coconut+chutney.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJegtmakFNkVntTLPuokemsdWN5zlpvuHnTEVwD-r8pL_gVPveSVovhIWzIbIRVTeZvRPXWXgXYMafiFfAxQx2PudiNZoSnOmf5QFQaeIH9WVdf1zsOIb8ZOBAveQLt0kHfd9deE1CkIk/s320/coconut+chutney.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327394429601537634" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUQn7va2xO9FMdDRJIW57RWVo6iZeWBQOjzJMiazdw2ovqiNPGJiOviDTs_v4xTasytd43D_UHav7EDSvc9SApWYisz_ybktIGVlGFP3Jkoe1WvITQ1nufBAOobS8wqneh2Eq8vSn6C4/s1600-h/Idli.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUQn7va2xO9FMdDRJIW57RWVo6iZeWBQOjzJMiazdw2ovqiNPGJiOviDTs_v4xTasytd43D_UHav7EDSvc9SApWYisz_ybktIGVlGFP3Jkoe1WvITQ1nufBAOobS8wqneh2Eq8vSn6C4/s320/Idli.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327394431348877250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-OIMM66qPqrpnMGiLhu5Zz0k8TOFsf00Uh0cy88ILOjjDgNoRzP7e2FqxQivLQLVSn9UYuscfI8JxZ0hEY8Ey8CetRDlX-H24ayhxLDSLxKoCgEC896VWb4acdZciYth73Pi_WDaaHs/s1600-h/Sambar.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-OIMM66qPqrpnMGiLhu5Zz0k8TOFsf00Uh0cy88ILOjjDgNoRzP7e2FqxQivLQLVSn9UYuscfI8JxZ0hEY8Ey8CetRDlX-H24ayhxLDSLxKoCgEC896VWb4acdZciYth73Pi_WDaaHs/s320/Sambar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327394427768156818" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdzbCLp960GaBGbFBDRzj4e2kQGcmSQbRgx_l2aXQGU4YNj5XaYHMjvx9WJ5eF2vZS_gUl5F7wnney2d4LUFldWPHN4IfyfH909ok07EWpJQPBWzleKdF4QkrdPAzQfGDfeSKlXKmTB4/s1600-h/sambar+%26+chutney.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdzbCLp960GaBGbFBDRzj4e2kQGcmSQbRgx_l2aXQGU4YNj5XaYHMjvx9WJ5eF2vZS_gUl5F7wnney2d4LUFldWPHN4IfyfH909ok07EWpJQPBWzleKdF4QkrdPAzQfGDfeSKlXKmTB4/s320/sambar+%26+chutney.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327394427230450370" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzaM1GiXtH8bUuvFW2RK6nR6ZrvEcOnKKswrsdzJKgQo8u8nP_7TV7W6MHLhzcs_ZvqeiWijm3vXVJTQ3uah7HUlRydbm6Vmxu-4JF5NNHE8nJO2M1CDCK7NBAa_j4-hI1p7hyphenhyphenxCdAlcM/s1600-h/Idli_Sambar.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzaM1GiXtH8bUuvFW2RK6nR6ZrvEcOnKKswrsdzJKgQo8u8nP_7TV7W6MHLhzcs_ZvqeiWijm3vXVJTQ3uah7HUlRydbm6Vmxu-4JF5NNHE8nJO2M1CDCK7NBAa_j4-hI1p7hyphenhyphenxCdAlcM/s320/Idli_Sambar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327394423534393922" border="0" /></a><br />It's spicy. It's salty. It's sour. It's everywhere.<br /><br />For the uninitiated, sambar is a kind of spicy gravy made of toor dal, vegetables, and tamarind. It is served as an accompaniment at nearly every meal, and it's an extremely important part of the South Indian vegetarian diet. It's hard for a non-Indian to imagine not only the infinite and subtle variations on it's preparation, but also the fierce debate that ensues amongst aficionados about whose style of preparation is the best. Every man in South India has a very strong opinion about how this dish should be made, and who makes it. Many will go out of their way to steer you to a place where the sambar is invariably described as the "best in all of India", and it's surprising how often their favourite version of this dietary staple resembles their mother's. Much like Italian men speaking wistfully of Mama's Sunday gravy with a tear in their eye, many will tell you that their mother makes the best version, and most wives have the good sense to agree that their mother-in-law's sambar is undeniably the best. When men speak of it, drool forms in puddles, and their eyes roll back in their heads, like Homer Simpson recalling a double pork chop marinated in beer. Well, almost...<br /><br />It's long been a goal of mine to learn to make the perfect sambar. Ever since I first tasted this magnificent concoction in the 1980's at the long gone and oft lamented Noor Mahal on Fraser Street in Vancouver, learning to make this has been my heart's desire. The Noor Mahal version was excellent, at least in memory, and the first time I tasted it I was hooked. It is the legume equivalent of crack. All rich with creamy dal, tangy with sour tamarind, just enough salt, and several interesting vegetables. Finished off with hot oil redolent of curry leaves, red chili, and black mustard seed, sambar is a stew to satisfy the soul. When we moved to India, this urge to learn to make a good sambar was still lurking in the back of my mind like a paparazzo in Madonna's backyard. Out of sight, but never far away. Then we met Stanley and Gigi, our landlords and next door neighbours. The game was afoot.<br /><br />For months now, we have been frequently blessed by the mysterious delivery of yummy dishes at all hours of the day. Stanley has actually appeared at our door as early as 8 AM with a steamer full of delicious idli cakes, a large bowl of Gigi's wonderful sambar, and a smaller dish of fresh made coconut chutney. From the first taste, I knew that I had found Sambar Nirvana, that mysterious state of being first described in the ancient Vedas by Swami Bhaktidefuture. I was instantly transported through space and time back to the 1980's on Fraser Street, all skin and bones with a badly gelled haircut, chewing on a chicken palak dosa that I could scarcely afford, but drowned in that wonderful sambar. Sensing that I was close to achieving a life's goal, I thought of what nefarious plans I would have to hatch in order to get Gigi to teach me how to make this heavenly concoction. I assumed that it would be harder to pry out of her than removing the proverbial rifle from Charleton Heston's cold, dead hands. My evil plots and schemes turned out to be completely unnecessary. She kindly offered to teach us how to make it. Not only that, she offered to let us film her doing it in her kitchen, along with her recipe for idli. Indian hospitality. Go figure...<br /><br />By this time, we had already shot a few episodes with Gigi in her kitchen next door. She really is an awesome cook, and a very gracious hostess. She somehow makes cooking for a small army look very easy, even as she is turned out in a spectacular silk sari and festooned with gold jewelry. Our normal routine had been to show up with all of our gear around 11AM, cook and film for a couple of hours, and then have a lunch that was usually epic in it's scope. So when idli and sambar day arrived, I assumed that it was business as usual. I was wrong. We were roused at 8:30 AM by a loud and persistent knock on the door. I grabbed the nearest lungi and hastily wrapped it about my waist. With my ventilated nether regions barely covered, I rushed shirtless to open the door. There was Stanley. "You are late", he said, in his characteristically verbose way. He turned and left for his house next door. Then it dawned on me: idli and sambar was breakfast food, and not lunch. Not an auspicious beginning.<br /><br />Fortunately, when we arrived next door a scant 5 minutes later, there did not seem to be a trace of ill will. Gigi got right to work as the camera rolled. First, she put together the batter for the idli for the benefit of the camera. This wasn't the batter that she ended up using though, as idli batter should really stand for several hours to give it a slight fermentation tang before being used. It's basically the same batter as is used in a dosa. Rice, a bit of urad dal, and water are blended up and left to sit. The batter is poured into little molds, and then steamed for ten minutes or so. She also made a lovely coconut chutney from fresh coconut, a touch of ginger, and some shallot. This was tempered with coconut oil, fresh curry leaves, black mustard seeds, and dried red chili. Then it was on to the sambar...<br /><br />So what is this thing that inspires such strong opinions? Sambar is a study in contradictions, very much like India itself. It's at once simple to make, yet very complex and varied in flavour. How can an ingredient list so basic yield something so complicated and rewarding? The technique of the cook is everything. At the risk of stating the obvious, not only is the way each ingredient is treated crucial to the outcome, but the actual order in which the ingredients is combined is also critical to the final taste. For vegetables, Gigi's version has eggplant, winter melon, okra, potato, and tomato in it. She spices it with ground red chili, turmeric, fenugreek seeds, and ground coriander. A critical component is an interesting Indian vegetable called "drumstick". It's a long green pod about a foot long, and it looks suspiciously like a big green drum stick. If Bob Marley was a drummer, this is what he would have played. The toor dal is cooked until somewhat mushy, and then water, spices, and vegetables are added. The particular order eludes me at the moment, but suffice to say that the detailed recipe will appear after we return home and log all the tapes.<br /><br />Once everything is cooked, it's time for the final tempering with the holy trinity of black mustard seed, dried red chili, and fresh curry leaves briefly fried in coconut oil. It's all topped off with a healthy hit of fresh cilantro. We all sat down and had a hearty, if not belated, breakfast of fresh steamed idlis, fresh coconut chutney, and the sambar of my dreams. To say that it was good would be a wee bit of an understatement. It is the cycle of desire, action, and fulfillment that keeps us all spinning on this earthly karmic gerbil wheel. This tasty breakfast was truly the fulfillment of a long standing desire. With this desire out of the way, perhaps sainthood is not far away...<br /><br />It's spicy. It's salty. It's sour. It's right next door, baby.....<br /><a title="Sambar on Foodista" href="http://www.foodista.com/recipe/SS6WST6P/sambar"><img alt="Sambar on Foodista" src="http://dyn.foodista.com/content/embed/logo.png?foodista_widget_ZL37LMR3" style="border:none;width:100px;height:22px;" /></a>Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-10516265145543104332009-04-14T03:17:00.000-07:002009-04-16T01:02:38.083-07:00Variety is...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj951OWHaQgdzMn0z-e4Eqpvcx3cS_ibOUNCxF3P9X8QjS3_F2lVI2SvbFWXBZg7uVCYSw68AL5xn2lXG3Ij-payPTWdtjOKYnviA8xE-VqV69IV7DTdJvGadeO3ph5dMVnIk4LN40NV6c/s1600-h/Sign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj951OWHaQgdzMn0z-e4Eqpvcx3cS_ibOUNCxF3P9X8QjS3_F2lVI2SvbFWXBZg7uVCYSw68AL5xn2lXG3Ij-payPTWdtjOKYnviA8xE-VqV69IV7DTdJvGadeO3ph5dMVnIk4LN40NV6c/s320/Sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324983943621971874" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TiDwEQlKI8PyJYqKE77fOfcAhZa65WzJM2tQzV0wzmLBx0ZWFosZcn112Vkyf7rSrD_LpQaYZ97IV1IpN-gDhg5oQY9e813rE7jjtUQ_K-qSNHzFZ9PLR5UG6hL4ND_0oYxjClwGt9k/s1600-h/Buddy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TiDwEQlKI8PyJYqKE77fOfcAhZa65WzJM2tQzV0wzmLBx0ZWFosZcn112Vkyf7rSrD_LpQaYZ97IV1IpN-gDhg5oQY9e813rE7jjtUQ_K-qSNHzFZ9PLR5UG6hL4ND_0oYxjClwGt9k/s320/Buddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324983944551398322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyR1Q7FfcptFT-uhrdwkqaUvqiNrEs3CZjtVs62t7woiFC4uKbILVNMVppHs25n4-wGKJGzR6sE6PfzDqoq_sSF84OLKkM5clq2dFtunG3C2zR7PU9K6nhke-3pt6KXwyXriqxFajjBNo/s1600-h/Busy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyR1Q7FfcptFT-uhrdwkqaUvqiNrEs3CZjtVs62t7woiFC4uKbILVNMVppHs25n4-wGKJGzR6sE6PfzDqoq_sSF84OLKkM5clq2dFtunG3C2zR7PU9K6nhke-3pt6KXwyXriqxFajjBNo/s320/Busy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324983942299972178" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpIAr3uDL3TibgWd_klOpNRlGfIGUHjiqsBUS_CQkMhi3pvaHLBU2DZXGLeXPC6qhOQdZ1z3fdqWCqDyw5EyR3f_30EugtkZjJQHhNZK5ZI6ui2jm7o66QMb7kyONQDuJt6H6xFEkAE8/s1600-h/Before.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpIAr3uDL3TibgWd_klOpNRlGfIGUHjiqsBUS_CQkMhi3pvaHLBU2DZXGLeXPC6qhOQdZ1z3fdqWCqDyw5EyR3f_30EugtkZjJQHhNZK5ZI6ui2jm7o66QMb7kyONQDuJt6H6xFEkAE8/s320/Before.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324983939343157826" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9o3Ho8h58CYYzhsFd-WTxQuO5qOHbQ6cX1OkYJBREAZ5LhAyZ_1eWCYvc-CRVE-238EUmflIFS-U4XOkYzTvw012C5jfm768fIbJibMjy655oj-qdHK7zWJeznqSUz0YIrY4QzuT0sM4/s1600-h/After.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9o3Ho8h58CYYzhsFd-WTxQuO5qOHbQ6cX1OkYJBREAZ5LhAyZ_1eWCYvc-CRVE-238EUmflIFS-U4XOkYzTvw012C5jfm768fIbJibMjy655oj-qdHK7zWJeznqSUz0YIrY4QzuT0sM4/s320/After.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324983936167382690" border="0" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Maybe it's because I'm a gemini. Then again, maybe not. Maybe it's because Vancouver spoils us rotten, allowing us to "eat in any language". The ingredients that are available to us at home make cooking and eating a truly global feast. Shall we make Mexican tonight? No, I think Greek. Or how about Thai? Spanish? Vietnamese? You name it, we can get the ingredients. And we do cook from all of those cuisines on a regular basis. What I'm trying to say is that I don't do too well with eating the same food day in and day out. I need variety! Now it does occur to me that this is a very privileged position, most of the world is lucky to eat whatever they can, whenever they can get it. But once food becomes a not-so-hard-to-come-by commodity, it seems to be a part of a truly western desire to want to branch out a bit and explore. </p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">I love Indian food - all the foods of India - and there are many, many different regional cuisines in India but most of them are not available in Kerala. And the "Chinese" food here, while sort of tasty, is not very Chinese either. We've supplemented at home a bit: oatmeal for breakfast (with banana and pineapple, of course), without an oven I have become very good at whole wheat griddle scones and "english" muffins. With the reggiano we received from friends, we have managed to make a good pasta dinner too. But most of the time we eat rice, fish fry, cabbage thoran, bhindi fry, prawn masala, chapati, sambhar, payasam etc. Real Keralan food. And despite really enjoying the food of Kerala, a steady diet of nothing but Keralan food has, on occasion, grown a little wearisome. Thankfully, Rajesh introduced us to The Punjab House restaurant.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">The Punjab House has become our once a week please-give-me-something-without-coconut-in-it place to dine. The current proprietor's mother opened the restaurant 30 or 40 years ago and it has been an Ernakulam institution ever since. On a Friday night you have to hang over the tables of diners and scoop in to take their seats the minute they stand up or you won't get dinner at all. We know this from experience, watching seat after seat being taken by young men who came in after us and didn't care that we were waiting with children. We are now as ruthless as they were then. Lost is he who gets up to wash his hands! The restaurant is nothing fancy - about 15 formica-topped tables, a cash desk, a fridge and freezer and some young men who work really hard because the place is always hopping. The kitchen is cramped and very, very hot. The proprietor's English is excellent (as a side note, you may not know that the main language that Indians from different areas use with which to communicate is English. There are so many languages in India but English is the common thread leftover from the colonial period) and he likes to tease the boys whenever we drop in. He is a warm and affable host who runs the restaurant as a tight ship, making their own yogurt every day and handling a very busy lunch and dinner service.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">You can gather from the name that the restaurant specializes in the food of the Punjab, an area in northern India that is very fertile and known as the "breadbasket" of India because it produces most of the subcontinent's wheat. The availability of wheat in the area shaped the cuisine which is not quite as rice-heavy as southern Indian food. The Punjab House is a vegetarian restaurant that is famous for its Alu Parotta. This is not the parotta/porotta that Rob wrote about in the last post. Kerala parotta is a flaky spiral flat bread, the Alu Parotta is a stuffed flat bread. A small ball of whole wheat chapati dough is rolled flat, a scoop of filling is placed in the centre and the edges are brought up around the filling and pinched together at the top. The dumpling-like ball is then gently pressed and carefully rolled out into a circle without letting the filling ooze out. Then this pancake is fried in ghee on both sides and served finger-burnin' hot with a side of curd (plain yogurt), raw chillies for those who like them (me, me, ME!), raw onions squeezed with lime juice and various other dishes of vegetables and legumes (chick peas, lentils etc). Alu means potato and the potato filling is made with a mix of potatoes, chillies, cilantro, turmeric, mustard seed and various other yummy spices, depending on who is making it. Stuffed parotta (or paratha/parantha) can be filled with a minced cauliflower mixture (Gobi), with herbs, or anything else you have around the house. I suspect, like many of the world's great foods, stuffed parottas were originally created as a way to deal with leftovers. And what a yummy way to clean out the fridge! These are one of the tastiest foods we've eaten and the whole family agrees that a week without Alu parotta is not a good week.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">I've made them at the house a couple of times and they are no where near as difficult to make as the Kerala parotta. That being said, I still prefer the one's at The Punjab House. I suspect they add a heck of a lot more ghee than I'm willing to add with good conscience. A perfect example that what you don't know can still clog your arteries...</p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-42515342862548487882009-04-11T23:11:00.000-07:002009-04-12T09:29:31.776-07:00"You Say Parrotta, I Say Parantha..."<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVpDH9B__duLVTHPZepWn5KUTtHw4HUzmPNB3vIfzuywUrzLyqAb3vqS7njlhGgpXcJwC53T7lSHAK9Egzu4-2-g-w2JcmR3A_E6IQZ0A_2bLN436krnwMYFnof-xf8GfRyhU69qoiZw/s1600-h/Street+Parotta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVpDH9B__duLVTHPZepWn5KUTtHw4HUzmPNB3vIfzuywUrzLyqAb3vqS7njlhGgpXcJwC53T7lSHAK9Egzu4-2-g-w2JcmR3A_E6IQZ0A_2bLN436krnwMYFnof-xf8GfRyhU69qoiZw/s320/Street+Parotta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323686129768235042" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj328_i-UcC73Oed0rdRqKwdDPAoTnFJu2TW4xAd86P5l0gvX6D3LNF_Q7sGzExwB47oREakdrAF-Jk5f0OjOYJoeq7m0I4YhMWkxIivNpU-ubvVlCXrC03k7Lf3X2H6iwQMFY5rP2DvBU/s1600-h/Trichy+Style.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj328_i-UcC73Oed0rdRqKwdDPAoTnFJu2TW4xAd86P5l0gvX6D3LNF_Q7sGzExwB47oREakdrAF-Jk5f0OjOYJoeq7m0I4YhMWkxIivNpU-ubvVlCXrC03k7Lf3X2H6iwQMFY5rP2DvBU/s320/Trichy+Style.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323686130268254514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMZ8IET8beOXiBMM9DPsktHbJJE3EgfThqkahy4YBfVcrDwCXSgY3jIK00zmyBMT4E_QUTRhhxEKyAUjqQFC7Ajir_JAjMt6ersxtweoheld06XV1kbgkbdqai3kMIxAktocdxMWwM6g/s1600-h/Trichy+Parrotta+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMZ8IET8beOXiBMM9DPsktHbJJE3EgfThqkahy4YBfVcrDwCXSgY3jIK00zmyBMT4E_QUTRhhxEKyAUjqQFC7Ajir_JAjMt6ersxtweoheld06XV1kbgkbdqai3kMIxAktocdxMWwM6g/s320/Trichy+Parrotta+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323686125739547218" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiW_qMcmzA4LrotTpFvhMgLlBkOJHmbd7yVbfWjyOpb8Z5ObTk-zM-WqfqkS1uZWy30hVv2svvn6tpEVsiPF7tVLNd1Gqr2pGpnLzeT1YEb0W0UKXmAsQoeXADFqNNo1wjCNv45tDFgS8/s1600-h/Street+Chef.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiW_qMcmzA4LrotTpFvhMgLlBkOJHmbd7yVbfWjyOpb8Z5ObTk-zM-WqfqkS1uZWy30hVv2svvn6tpEVsiPF7tVLNd1Gqr2pGpnLzeT1YEb0W0UKXmAsQoeXADFqNNo1wjCNv45tDFgS8/s320/Street+Chef.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323685212468610978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoW1z2NUoxBksR9dOlYu48DPtyW7RjXzBT63TwtZT4JMaxg50RjngXSgH2cfP1wJgvM-Q_453wqynvXcbsKv7SsnpzsyWRpwsdQEK2ru1AVarL3cYpPEi_mfLonnA-ifSSHJgjK6A969Q/s1600-h/Sizzling+Parrotta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoW1z2NUoxBksR9dOlYu48DPtyW7RjXzBT63TwtZT4JMaxg50RjngXSgH2cfP1wJgvM-Q_453wqynvXcbsKv7SsnpzsyWRpwsdQEK2ru1AVarL3cYpPEi_mfLonnA-ifSSHJgjK6A969Q/s320/Sizzling+Parrotta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323685208432513042" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLucZAjypX29KyWKFteufFa4LN1suEeq61-9tHbyO6ezEXkUQTDV2yuzoW0gRKJ4oPW1LcGOdi8NMAVBC5SdWxz23CWS754qsjpUnTDspPxCkFQw-OsK0w0vAJtDOc3eR0thfY1PAXkMU/s1600-h/Parrotta+goodness.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLucZAjypX29KyWKFteufFa4LN1suEeq61-9tHbyO6ezEXkUQTDV2yuzoW0gRKJ4oPW1LcGOdi8NMAVBC5SdWxz23CWS754qsjpUnTDspPxCkFQw-OsK0w0vAJtDOc3eR0thfY1PAXkMU/s320/Parrotta+goodness.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323685203935682770" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifUQ01EI_nww__rA4WFgMSvyuwWkvcM8_hbFIWLMl-6F-tocQkrUI2gklYN2re27ZIhfeCw-tue0oeZqoi6DQJjEVSKcMpKvBXxM2jw8FkjDylHoSn4BlJ8jCk4e1-9EUWvgS3SRapHT8/s1600-h/Parrotta+and+Egg+roast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifUQ01EI_nww__rA4WFgMSvyuwWkvcM8_hbFIWLMl-6F-tocQkrUI2gklYN2re27ZIhfeCw-tue0oeZqoi6DQJjEVSKcMpKvBXxM2jw8FkjDylHoSn4BlJ8jCk4e1-9EUWvgS3SRapHT8/s320/Parrotta+and+Egg+roast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323685202634398642" border="0" /></a><br />My request for sustenance was greeted with a blank stare.<br /><br />"Parantha, please", I said in my most polite just-landed-must-be-extra-nice-to-everyone tourist voice. It was way back in December, and we had just arrived in Cochin, Kerala. After schlepping 12 bags of clothing, camera, and audio equipment up to our "budget" room, and seeing our tired kids and their nanny/teacher off to bed, I was hungry, so Laurel and I headed down the block to a place she knew from her previous visit: The <a href="http://www.indiancoffeehouse.com/">Indian Coffee House</a>. I could see from the tables around me that the great flatbread that I had come to know during my previous visit was available here in great abundance. I took Laurel's recommendation and ordered an "Egg Roast", along with two parantha. Or so I thought. The waiter, dressed in a rather elaborate headdress and soiled tunic, gave me my first taste of the Notorious Head Wiggle, which looked as if one or two crucial vertebrae have suddenly gone missing from his neck, causing the skull to oscillate madly on a bed of squishy cartilage, eventually returning to a point of stasis. This now familiar gesture can mean anything from "I understand you completely" to "Your daughter's pregnancy brings great joy to our village". It can also mean, as I discovered in this case, "I have no clue what you are saying". I pointed to a neighbouring table and repeated my order. "Parantha. Two please". "Parrotta!" came the sharp reply. Another brief wiggle, the meaning of which I am sure was derogatory, and he was gone, leaving me to wonder what I had done wrong.<br /><br />Laurel clarified it for me. In our last trip, I had only been traveling through the North regions of India, where this flatbread is referred to as "Parantha", or "Paratha", whereas she had spent a couple of months in the South of India. In the South, after being being run through the Malayalam filter, "Parantha" has been mutated into "Parrotta". or even "Porrotta". It's kind of hard to tell exactly how it's supposed to be spelled, especially when we items like "Sweat and Scour", "Chineees food", "Chickin Manchoorian" on the local menus. Fortunately, no matter what it's called, it's pretty much the same critter. Parrotta are sort of like pizza, not only in shape, but also in the sense that even when they're not brilliantly made, they're still kind of okay. When they are brilliantly made, they are transcendant. Paired with a simple dal or curry, they make a delicious meal. Just about every culture has a staple flatbread, and this one is a high expression of the art. It's actually very similar to a Malaysian dish called Roti Chanai. We've become really addicted to them.<br /><br />Like all things in India, parrotta are a study in contrasts. They are at once flaky and chewy. Flat, yet stratified. Light, yet filling. Reticent, yet tenacious. And so on... They are deceptively simple in composition. Although the recipe varies, they are basically white flour, water, a bit of salt, and some oil. Now if you were to merely combine these items and heat them, you would end up with a whitish lump about as appetizing as albino elephant dung. It's all in the technique. The dough gets kneaded really thoroughly to release the gluten in the flour. After the dough rests for a while, it gets cut up into little balls (see previous post). These little dough balls are then put on an oiled surface and flattened into about an 8 inch disk. Pretty simple so far, right?<br /><br />Now comes the tricky bit. Using a technique that would make any New York pizza purveyor bow down on his knees and genuflect with a hearty "We're not worthy!", the dough is quickly flipped several times, the centrifugal force of the flip stretching the diameter of the disk by a factor of at least two. This paper thin bit of dough is then sliced into 3 equal strips. The strips are then rolled up in much the same way as a cinnamon roll, and left to rest for a while. When its time to heat them up, the cook grabs one of the rolled up dough bits, and slams it down hard onto an oiled surface. At this point, the rookies use a rolling pin to flatten them back out into about an 8 inch disk (again), but the real pros just use their hands. We've seen guys who can make several hundred of these things in a day. Every day.<br /><br />The newly rolled out parrotta are then placed on a griddle until they get golden brown on each side. Upon removal from the griddle, there is one last step. The cook will stack up 4 or 5 of the freshly cooked parrotta and then sort of crush them together. This breaks the breads up a bit, and makes it easy to pull them apart in large flaky strands. When they're done right, and served fresh off the griddle, they are the perfect snack or meal. The thing is this: it's incredibly difficult to do well. Laurel is a truly great baker, and although she's come close in her few attempts, it will obviously take many more sessions before our homemade ones approach the ones made in the local food stalls. Much like a golf swing, something that looks simple can take a lifetime to perfect.<br /><br />There is a good stall near the boat jetty that serves the ferry travelers between Ernakulam and Fort Cochin. It's a blue plastic tarp covering an ancient propane grill and a stainless steel work table. There are a few broken plastic chairs if you choose to sit. Not me. I'll pony up my 18 rupees and get two piping hot parrotta, served on a metal plate with two hard boiled eggs in a spicy chili/onion/tomato gravy. Standing with my fabulous wife in the shade of the tattered blue tarp and eating with my hands, using the bread to glean the last drop of gravy, I am convinced that at that moment there could be nothing better on the planet.<br /><br />My request for sustenance has been granted.Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-73468067367265908272009-04-09T11:02:00.000-07:002011-02-08T17:29:27.910-08:00Ahhh, Nuts...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU2FSna4GDyid_oUI4Se8dIHLIZA0WFKpnKqqAVYx1cDQeRacNwmLj53FtH1t_Q9e2DOKL4K54mdLL3MU2xDE9i-FTRadCXEpPkQactUopTLt-EP7X8LyhRhCmiXsOkYxWN4LWhJMoec/s1600-h/Goat+Balls.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU2FSna4GDyid_oUI4Se8dIHLIZA0WFKpnKqqAVYx1cDQeRacNwmLj53FtH1t_Q9e2DOKL4K54mdLL3MU2xDE9i-FTRadCXEpPkQactUopTLt-EP7X8LyhRhCmiXsOkYxWN4LWhJMoec/s320/Goat+Balls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322761431275626850" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFGjd77R5Xob-ZfbPkVkByrBz9K5QfEeoUIf4bzk3tth0_dKWV71yd-ngABJtkm2F7ursvpEsGqgRkq9TCeLf92202iL8IZJzzes1sZ1Y-SPe9xx6u08AdQlNuf_eGM8bxVac9WNErUY/s1600-h/Simmered+Goat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFGjd77R5Xob-ZfbPkVkByrBz9K5QfEeoUIf4bzk3tth0_dKWV71yd-ngABJtkm2F7ursvpEsGqgRkq9TCeLf92202iL8IZJzzes1sZ1Y-SPe9xx6u08AdQlNuf_eGM8bxVac9WNErUY/s320/Simmered+Goat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322761428967251746" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9lVUpNv0nSMz_fHmxllzLEzWTjKqKQN3Cyu5ykZxrCd62YkiOtOf9rMV6fhK1P5a09nJprqHV-xGHsWuE43zFHcJ8eRQ3CI53k_F5OshFKJSBQqVli3DsTU-bOlBuSfxyr07K47vMrs/s1600-h/Garlic+Peel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9lVUpNv0nSMz_fHmxllzLEzWTjKqKQN3Cyu5ykZxrCd62YkiOtOf9rMV6fhK1P5a09nJprqHV-xGHsWuE43zFHcJ8eRQ3CI53k_F5OshFKJSBQqVli3DsTU-bOlBuSfxyr07K47vMrs/s320/Garlic+Peel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322757955884133218" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMUh7Q1nfrdQCuxvKYlW9aa-q4Gn_i7apQwlp9USxnx-ocDTyYyTJT4E7PIi-B11X2f9TDe8leBNWfu4DhD3TqPekV94m996bwJjmKJwZgTtjDRdbKpl3e1BibGvbVLvIOIFjAx46cVU/s1600-h/Masala.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMUh7Q1nfrdQCuxvKYlW9aa-q4Gn_i7apQwlp9USxnx-ocDTyYyTJT4E7PIi-B11X2f9TDe8leBNWfu4DhD3TqPekV94m996bwJjmKJwZgTtjDRdbKpl3e1BibGvbVLvIOIFjAx46cVU/s320/Masala.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322757951081522722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4tiGT4bgAI0sO-sS-FRRvkhEnSQOMTHRK082qWoysxySUUmirtHZN5yAGlXWGl_AuIwqrYpbpLbH-Jwxg2PXcjtY7OessJR1YILzvbrPmkYJ0rjup3vHHCU6AmWXzxApvqNXe5ceI0p0/s1600-h/Final+Assembly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4tiGT4bgAI0sO-sS-FRRvkhEnSQOMTHRK082qWoysxySUUmirtHZN5yAGlXWGl_AuIwqrYpbpLbH-Jwxg2PXcjtY7OessJR1YILzvbrPmkYJ0rjup3vHHCU6AmWXzxApvqNXe5ceI0p0/s320/Final+Assembly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322757950220970434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jaxr5LnWEzKy5AShk5gpXwnE3Sqk3gSJBN9JK8YkmBIDVK63bngJ8kBncc-6cPfHd8DST-u5UA_i1WmqcQEl7Vne5-sQEiN2_zDqU4fPe-86-rUpbpG_91aBcLZMJTLzS4XmNLvrTpE/s1600-h/Cooked.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jaxr5LnWEzKy5AShk5gpXwnE3Sqk3gSJBN9JK8YkmBIDVK63bngJ8kBncc-6cPfHd8DST-u5UA_i1WmqcQEl7Vne5-sQEiN2_zDqU4fPe-86-rUpbpG_91aBcLZMJTLzS4XmNLvrTpE/s320/Cooked.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322757947793070194" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRO1PFRdu0IsuaPN5Mv8MfaptEYSyk-u6OdpS2WnQ0dDATJI2jd12QyR_cbDqvIPqeA8BMp6KzuxKsA1kQBqnaIX5zJ0WSVWqFikfnI1GSqQAz0qwlR6A7iCmzkUVbg7Ba2yYtDXIoKg/s1600-h/Served.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRO1PFRdu0IsuaPN5Mv8MfaptEYSyk-u6OdpS2WnQ0dDATJI2jd12QyR_cbDqvIPqeA8BMp6KzuxKsA1kQBqnaIX5zJ0WSVWqFikfnI1GSqQAz0qwlR6A7iCmzkUVbg7Ba2yYtDXIoKg/s320/Served.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322757943887877410" border="0" /></a><br />What is it about goat balls this week?<br /><br />Earlier this week, an old friend of mine posted a bunch of ancient band promo pictures, mostly from his band, on FaceBook. This was circa 1976, and yes, it's true, in those dark days there were many crimes against fashion committed. One of the pictures featured a great guy I used to play with who, for the purposes of this tale, must remain nameless. My friend passed away tragically in an accident many years back, but he is remembered fondly by all who knew him. A great singer and front man, he was also known for two very prominent physical attributes: he had a truly immense afro, and also perhaps the largest scrotum known to man. His nickname in the band? "Goat Balls".<br /><br />You might well ask, "How do you know this?". I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm a musician, and I've spent a lot of time on the road. When guys in bands get on the road, it can get a little stifling. Travel. Play show. Eat bad food. Repeat as necessary. Sometimes you need to blow off a little steam. According to my friend Joe Alvaro, who played bass in the band, our singer friend had a very special way of blowing off steam that he had been known to do on at least two documented occasions.<br /><br />After a gig, when the usual bevy of party girls and hangers-on had found their way back to the band's hotel for the inevitable after party, our hero would wait for an opportune moment to sneak into the bathroom armed with a roll of duct tape, a section of newspaper, and a lighter. While all the other guys in the band were furiously trying to get lucky, and the local boys were trying their best to pick up the surplus girls, much like remoras looking for edible crumbs around a shark's mouth, <span style="font-style:italic;">he</span> would get busy in the bathroom. He would remove all of his clothes, and then carefully fold his enormous scrotum up over his unit, covering it completely. Using the duct tape, he would judiciously apply a strip of tape so that the monster sac was then attached to his belly, thus completely obscuring Mr. Johnson from sight. The whole package bore a stunning resemblance to processed poultry skin, and therefore earned the name "The Cornish Game Hen".<br /><br />The public unveiling of "The Cornish Game Hen" to stunned partygoers was only phase one of the operation. Phase two is best related in a private message, but suffice to say that it was a spectacle of dance that even now is only spoken of in hushed tones of awe by those who have seen it and lived to tell the tale. Years later, I actually played with this singer in a band called whose name is best forgotten. When I mentioned the Cornish Game Hen and the accompanying sacred dance, he blushed a little. He never denied it. He was a great guy, and I miss him.<br /><br />Later this week, our new friend Gee, who is also on FaceBook, proposed that despite my porky faux pas of the previous week, we return to his friend Anwar's farm in order to film a special dish, "Mutton Dum Biryani". Sajna, who is Anwar's charming wife, is an expert at making this very special dish, She was kind enough to let us into her kitchen to document this amazing recipe. It takes about 4 or 5 hours to prepare, and while not technically complicated, it is a great example of what the Italians call "insaporire", which loosely translated means "flavour" or "taste". It really means so much more than that. It means giving each ingredient the proper time and attention it needs when cooking in order to develop the maximum flavour. Sajna gave us a master class over the course of almost 5 hours.<br /><br />First of all, you need to have mutton. About three kilos worth to feed the 25 people that had be invited for lunch that day. Mutton is a mature lamb or young sheep in European and North American parlance. In India, mutton means goat. Yes, I'm talking about those all-pervasive, pellet pooping, poster-eating, city dwelling horny critters. Notice I am no longer talking about the band here. Sajna had a few kilos of goat meat on the bone already cut up waiting to be cooked in the pressure cooker.<br /><br />As Laurel asked questions and I manned the camera and recording gear, Sajna took this huge plate of mutton and slid nearly all of it into the pressure cooker, along with some spices and a little yoghurt. I did say nearly all of it, right? Bits of liver, kidney, and heart were tossed into the pot. There were two somewhat suspect chunks left on the plate. "Why aren't you putting that part in? What is that?", Laurel asked innocently. Sajna did not answer immediately. I began to have my suspicions, but I kept them to myself, as I involuntarily crossed my legs. Sajna sort of blushed a little and pointed in a southerly direction. She silently mouthed the word "<span style="font-style: italic;">Balls</span>". "You mean testicles?", Laurel asked. Sajna quickly nodded and pushed the plate aside and locked the pressure cooker up tight. "Goat Balls", I thought to myself. Twice in one week.<br /><br />Sajna prepared the masala, or spice mixture, for the biryani by sauteing onions for nearly an hour over low heat until they were meltingly soft. Then she added large amounts of garlic, ginger, green chili, tomatoes, and spices. Each ingredient was cooked for at least 20 minutes before the next one as added. The cooked goat meat was finally added and left to simmer, along with cilantro and mint.<br /><br />Outside, a fire was lit with coconut shells and wood, and a massive volume of basmati rice was cooked and then drained into a wicker basket. In a large pot, the goat masala was put in, and then a layer of rice was placed on top. Then came some crispy fried onions, raisins, and cashews. More rice, then onions and nuts again. A splash of rosewater and then nearly a pint of ghee, or clarified butter was drizzled over the top. Then came the "Dum" part. The dum is a simple flour and water dough that is applied to the lip of the pot, so that when the lid is placed on it, there is a very complete seal created. No moisture or steam can escape. The huge pot was then placed on the fire, and some coals from the fire were heaped on the metal lid, effectively forming an oven. The whole mixture was left like this for about an hour, until the coals died completely down.<br /><br />Guests arrived, drinks were poured, children played, and spirits were high as everyone anticipated the arrival of the biryani. And with good reason. It was truly amazing. Rich and flavourful, the meat just melted off the bone. Laurel and I agreed that this was the finest biryani either of us had ever eaten. It was a real thrill to document the whole recipe from start to finish, and a real pleasure to watch a true master at work. Sajna made cooking for 25 people look easy.<br /><br />Good thing 27 people didn't show up...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-10720577038009352662009-04-02T23:02:00.000-07:002009-04-03T06:04:13.867-07:00Bark, Bites, and Bozo...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJlBRPrMywKL0Bk7vA6kiTZDbs1Xs9F-T_P2QtFGIMPlWFa7RMUQGl7NIa9oXmtiYnviqdbPsDk0lm2YJCZ9ag7Cmdmdn_OwbzTLfDg06kz8O4I02WyndXsaS68-LMEqS2GXKz_ujaPA/s1600-h/Wicked+Chili.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJlBRPrMywKL0Bk7vA6kiTZDbs1Xs9F-T_P2QtFGIMPlWFa7RMUQGl7NIa9oXmtiYnviqdbPsDk0lm2YJCZ9ag7Cmdmdn_OwbzTLfDg06kz8O4I02WyndXsaS68-LMEqS2GXKz_ujaPA/s320/Wicked+Chili.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320343798256769938" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd_QUi8iDixIZgbXDuYBVThnmJ93Kffsq17z1otNejwICKYK9bVEPzwRVWLXS-_jffBAO33AQ5PzT38ob4Na6jIZgVneTGEWd6sIaNsShO1oM9raiuLZEWznWug5HY5xdcPRxxHSxj6vc/s1600-h/Tapioca+raw.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd_QUi8iDixIZgbXDuYBVThnmJ93Kffsq17z1otNejwICKYK9bVEPzwRVWLXS-_jffBAO33AQ5PzT38ob4Na6jIZgVneTGEWd6sIaNsShO1oM9raiuLZEWznWug5HY5xdcPRxxHSxj6vc/s320/Tapioca+raw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320343551755006050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiET3d-mX7ti-ghzpbABqNVRZ4EfqYPYqb-xLNkm9N5qK77OtarJ3sd1SMAv_9hEOsevN94lAacevfiKGhDEbT3Wflu1tKgO0aQBFWDllUUDrnxh1Vmmg3DeWKoQNeFmBBmgZZJw0Gjh1s/s1600-h/Tapioca+cooked.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiET3d-mX7ti-ghzpbABqNVRZ4EfqYPYqb-xLNkm9N5qK77OtarJ3sd1SMAv_9hEOsevN94lAacevfiKGhDEbT3Wflu1tKgO0aQBFWDllUUDrnxh1Vmmg3DeWKoQNeFmBBmgZZJw0Gjh1s/s320/Tapioca+cooked.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320343547543856034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAefQKI2lJYBB6URtaBts553C7IuO-7P1_cTrXoHdkCR7mPS8NkoXAtR8LsvC8CEJZxegrtW7X0rCMBNre7eF_0lIbhRP1z7XgGtfE0I6gjgwgM8aWHe-QtwgCKMXbWx8xjMDUajAfcEA/s1600-h/Tamarind+Pod.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAefQKI2lJYBB6URtaBts553C7IuO-7P1_cTrXoHdkCR7mPS8NkoXAtR8LsvC8CEJZxegrtW7X0rCMBNre7eF_0lIbhRP1z7XgGtfE0I6gjgwgM8aWHe-QtwgCKMXbWx8xjMDUajAfcEA/s320/Tamarind+Pod.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320343544879815698" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNK2uYYraqqoU28C_8RKtGbjH3tmQv518tQyGs4Wp5edcat6TmKeakb_oUjhQ6fsOenYPPGqCGjowUeZVOCqdjuRWrUHd1HvONyxgPB87LLnwrsnkvFzTocc-UgoqWGlpaeavUtUvhABk/s1600-h/Soursop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNK2uYYraqqoU28C_8RKtGbjH3tmQv518tQyGs4Wp5edcat6TmKeakb_oUjhQ6fsOenYPPGqCGjowUeZVOCqdjuRWrUHd1HvONyxgPB87LLnwrsnkvFzTocc-UgoqWGlpaeavUtUvhABk/s320/Soursop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320343548299893154" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDI8X8WfLgxMvAnLfaz9CVQvIT5aAMjEID8D7poq2l-t2uT_G9C0C5vrDfkaUeHKq1dfl82yI1KFpfOSHrbqbrvYWGk48E-5Pzia29dQJXlSvsOUDjr9tODIkvXmvke0tgWllAXCC394/s1600-h/Curry+Leaf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDI8X8WfLgxMvAnLfaz9CVQvIT5aAMjEID8D7poq2l-t2uT_G9C0C5vrDfkaUeHKq1dfl82yI1KFpfOSHrbqbrvYWGk48E-5Pzia29dQJXlSvsOUDjr9tODIkvXmvke0tgWllAXCC394/s320/Curry+Leaf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320343543488540594" border="0" /></a><br />I have a big mouth.<br /><br />Not a big mouth in the physical sense. I could never give Mick Jagger or Julia Roberts a run for their money. Actually, I wish I had their money. I mean a big mouth in the sense that for most of my teen and adult life, I could almost always be counted on to say the wrong thing at the most inappropriate time. "So aside from that, Mrs. Kennedy, how did you enjoy the parade?". Where gaffes and epic lapses of taste once sprang from the youthful desire to be a smart ass, age has brought on a brand new root cause for foot-in-mouth disease: plain stupidity.<br /><br />A short time ago, we told our good friend Gee that there were still lots of spices that we wished to capture on film in their native habitat, and so he introduced us to his friend Anwar, a local businessman. Anwar is an extremely affable gentleman who, despite having only just met us, was more than happy to show us his farm on the outskirts of Cochin. Gee set up a visit for Friday afternoon, and drove us out to the farm in his new white Honda CR-V. This was a good thing, because if we had been left to our own devices, we would never have found the farm. For almost a half hour, we snaked through labyrinthine unmarked country lanes. Gee had spent about ten years living in the area, so he knew it like the back of his hand. On the way, Gee told us a bit more about Anwar. They were old friends. Anwar was doing very well for himself and owned several properties. Gee also mentioned in passing that he was a Muslim. I should have paid more attention.<br /><br />We arrived at Anwar's very comfortable country place and were ushered inside to get out of the midday heat. Wireless mics and transmitters were quickly affixed to Laurel, Gee, and Anwar. I set up my camera gear, strapped on my field pack containing the audio mixer, wireless receivers, cables, and headphones, and followed Anwar out into his garden, which was steaming in 43C heat. Anwar had many amazing things to show us. A large curry leaf bush was growing just outside his door. This leaf is absolutely mandatory in many South Indian dishes, and there is no effective substitute. The plant was in it's dormant stage, and we were told that in the rainy season it would grow much larger and more lush.<br /><br />Next to that was a tree that he called "allspice". It wasn't the allspice berry producing plant, but rather a tree whose leaves embodied the aromas of 7 different herbs and spices. More than halfway to KFC. They said it was sometimes used in curries. We had never even heard of this before. We crumbled a dried leaf and sure enough, there was traces of cinnamon, clove, and a host of other scents, all coming from one leaf!<br /><br />Next we saw a neem tree, whose bitter leaves have great medicinal value. Next to that was a very unusual tree bearing clusters of what looked like oversized oblong grapes. It's called <a href="http://www.tradewindsfruit.com/bilimbi.htm">"bilimbi", or "prawn tamarind"</a>. The fruits are slightly sour, and go very well with prawns. As if on cue, Anwar's wife appeared with a tray of glasses of cold bilimbi and lime juice. Gee told us that it was an extremely healthy drink, and he was right. It was extremely refreshing, if only for about 30 seconds. It was hot outside!<br /><br />Adjacent to the bilimbi were a couple of large tamarind trees. Some of the tamarind pods were ripe, and had fallen on the ground. Tamarind is essential for providing the necessary "souring" in a well balanced curry, and it's used not only in South Indian cooking, but in other Asian cuisines as well, such as Thai and Vietnamese. Moving on through the property, we came to the cinnamon tree, and Anwar's farmhand peeled off several strips of incredibly aromatic cinnamon bark for us with his machete. We have since dried it, and used some for cooking. It's nice to know where your food comes from! Next was a soursop tree, which yielded a large thorny tangy fleshed fruit like a football. Jackfruit. Mangoes. Guava. Several kinds of chillis. We were in heaven!<br /><br />On a nearby piece of property he also owned, Anwar showed us his tapioca plantation, where Laurel and the farmhand pulled up a massive cluster of this tuberous staple. Tapioca, also called cassava, is a very common starch round much of the world, but largely unknown in North America. A fast growing thin stalk hides a cluster of large sweet potato like growths just under the soil. It's bland, but a perfect vehicle for sauce. We took some back to Anwar's kitchen, peeled it, and pressure cooked it until it was tender. Anwar's wife, who is another great cook and a truly gracious hostess, made an awesome chutney from back yard chillis, shallot, ginger, salt, coconut oil, and yet another kind of tamarind, the smoky "fish tamarind".<br /><br />Before we knew it a sumptuous meal was placed before us in Anwar's beautiful dining room. Two kinds of fish curry. A beef curry. A prawn dish. A plate of tapioca with chutney. Then beers magically appeared, and subsequently began to flow. Anwar sat down, all sweaty and somewhat chuffed at his first foray before the cameras, and surprised us by producing a bottle of whiskey, which he used to fortify his glass of beer. More beer. More whiskey. We began to talk of food. He surprised us again with his familiarity with Nigella Lawson, the British TV presenter famed nearly as much for her prodigious foundation garments as she is for her food. At the mention of her name, I outlined a large hourglass shape with my hands and mimed two large mounds on my chest. Anwar laughed and nearly spat a prawn through his nose. More beer. More whiskey...<br /><br />The conversation moved to the importance of maintaining old ways of doing things relating to food. Somewhat emboldened by the 6 gallons of cold Foster's I had ingested at this point, I ventured off on a monologue about the glories of pork. "Sometimes I get a whole pig, and butcher it myself. We get it all ground up and make our own sausages and everything! ". My enthusiasm ramped up. "We even cure and smoke our own bacon, use the feet for soup stock, and eat the kidneys!!! We use everything but the squeal! Yup, God has never created a more perfect creature than the pig!". Not content with that graphic description of butchery, I sipped my beer and went on to describe our annual pig roast barbeque. "We stick that bad boy on the spit at dawn, and slow roast it all day. About a hundred people show up, and inside of an hour and half, the whole pig is pretty much gone! God, we love pork!!!!"<br /><br />It was only on the ride home, bathed in a beery glow and grinning a satisfied grin from the day's shooting, that the epic scale of my cultural insensitivity struck me. I had just been hosted by a Muslim family for the day, and been invited into their home to share copious food and drink with them at their table. Naturally, any reasonable person would see this as a golden opportunity to launch into a half-hour long lecture on the glories of pork. It was later agreed by all that entirely new levels of stupidity had been reached by yours truly.<br /><br />A dubious honour, but after a lifetime of this kind of thing, I was used it. Like I said. I have a big mouth...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-73878448948905896652009-03-30T05:12:00.000-07:002009-03-30T05:35:56.018-07:00May Contain Nuts...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrbKgzapz1hzLnuVrJtiPmVBFO2g9G3qzm4BIvUQejiI5JCCNnnqInMKThW_T9jx_1ZHPNtcDMbDIgEUyxq3uoMr6E20nt_m4u1wdkDU-CDFVtPZfLMdfjZf4arjiaudT5Qi8yF82_f4/s1600-h/PMS+Agencies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrbKgzapz1hzLnuVrJtiPmVBFO2g9G3qzm4BIvUQejiI5JCCNnnqInMKThW_T9jx_1ZHPNtcDMbDIgEUyxq3uoMr6E20nt_m4u1wdkDU-CDFVtPZfLMdfjZf4arjiaudT5Qi8yF82_f4/s320/PMS+Agencies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318958418528293170" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5d9wZUw7lxu3wpysYhlbljtFcLsNcM2PUuo782f4YAI9byUyLTIROf2-v9liDCs58kbtv0ttLPuFledjEulaIWQTt9VYxtgifb-eWzZep9zAA5VNiPfQTv8Fu8a0Bt8uaU1xnQfd1t0/s1600-h/Seamen+Drinks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5d9wZUw7lxu3wpysYhlbljtFcLsNcM2PUuo782f4YAI9byUyLTIROf2-v9liDCs58kbtv0ttLPuFledjEulaIWQTt9VYxtgifb-eWzZep9zAA5VNiPfQTv8Fu8a0Bt8uaU1xnQfd1t0/s320/Seamen+Drinks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318958417585429138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboLCSDW2b02X0X3ebEtXwVjnE0v2vwcMVGVNonNEkJMIpF668MDCn-khyphenhyphenjlWibOvJRlCFUPbrb2vpDprfwom96naxwcDaprSOZMDglDzMZofSvtvj6m_WH0F8wt42JJd05nsE99DvAo4/s1600-h/Boney+Dresses.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiboLCSDW2b02X0X3ebEtXwVjnE0v2vwcMVGVNonNEkJMIpF668MDCn-khyphenhyphenjlWibOvJRlCFUPbrb2vpDprfwom96naxwcDaprSOZMDglDzMZofSvtvj6m_WH0F8wt42JJd05nsE99DvAo4/s320/Boney+Dresses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318957363328485874" border="0" /></a><br />Okay, without a doubt, this is unabashed filler.<br /><br />We have a good excuse. We have been so busy filming and collecting recipes in the last week and a half, that there has been no time at all to write about what's been going on! I guess that's a good thing. However, with over 10,000 loyal readers (okay, it was mostly us checking back to see if anyone was looking at the blog at all...), we feel an obligation, nay, a duty, to post up something for entertainment value. Hence, this dollop of filler.<br /><br />In the last week and half, we've been to more spice farms, more kitchens, and visited the neighbouring state in an effort to confirm or deny the claims of Cochin natives who say that Kerala food rules, and everything else kind of blows. Curiously, when we travelled to Tamil Nadu, they said the same thing, only in reverse. We've seen cinnammon being peeled off trees, tapioca roots being plucked from the soil, curry leaves in the wild, and tamarind pods fresher than you can imagine. Rest assured that all those adventures will be posted up, complete with photos as soon as we catch our breath, which even now, is strongly scented with garlic and chillies.<br /><br />In the meantime, I'm going to leave you with some pictures that we have taken of amusing signs. This was originally going to be part of a larger post with more pictures, but bugger it. I'm inherently lazy, it's 6PM, and the gin in the freezer is calling my name too loudly to ignore. So here they are in no particular order...<br /><br />Seamen Drinks - The name says it all. Avoid the milkshakes.<br /><br />Boney Dresses - Perhaps the only store in the world that caters to "minus" sized ladies.<br /><br />PMS Agencies - The company that asks the philosophical question "If a tree falls in the forest, and a man is not there to hear it, is he still wrong?".<br /><br />Let us catch our breath, and I promise that there will be some actual content in the next post...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-88964401839722171502009-03-23T22:36:00.000-07:002009-04-05T06:45:08.201-07:00Squid Pro Quo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-Ce-eVwntPPmThKTM7Zj2PFRl9LGDtVlP6wV0SgodzG1RG6yOphlf-64eAOfPOk-36zfT9EiOg98qgPZYRfd-S4CJLEChiXVVVK_YKEljqJGzN3iU2HWmBwjr9DWoz0v9VHzISV5spU/s1600-h/Squid+Market.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-Ce-eVwntPPmThKTM7Zj2PFRl9LGDtVlP6wV0SgodzG1RG6yOphlf-64eAOfPOk-36zfT9EiOg98qgPZYRfd-S4CJLEChiXVVVK_YKEljqJGzN3iU2HWmBwjr9DWoz0v9VHzISV5spU/s320/Squid+Market.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316655158870032690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjbkxn1eDMyHUZ1asYPwSUXK9PBme1-sIgDUuUGsQnH1WI3fg6cv9QEKjSfjMkhYxSB0MUw_kFrKrlR40RmJoVS-d-qFY4RcgLEpDmQaiyq6vgH8_-CwSm8_TrfJHC5gdvDgU6WwDA6I/s1600-h/Squid+Quill.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjbkxn1eDMyHUZ1asYPwSUXK9PBme1-sIgDUuUGsQnH1WI3fg6cv9QEKjSfjMkhYxSB0MUw_kFrKrlR40RmJoVS-d-qFY4RcgLEpDmQaiyq6vgH8_-CwSm8_TrfJHC5gdvDgU6WwDA6I/s320/Squid+Quill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316654887572987314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHvgZ6W9QcVZ3Q28uEPya70ccX9JAutaCkxu3LBU_BLe72EeWbbK-yE5CMBv-oCBe5B0XX2F5QqhakeLFMRNoARaeU8Gy0sc_U39nA5loxrVLu95Z5j3uvqgBCHhq7Rku83mk3myOlYo/s1600-h/Sliced+Squid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnHvgZ6W9QcVZ3Q28uEPya70ccX9JAutaCkxu3LBU_BLe72EeWbbK-yE5CMBv-oCBe5B0XX2F5QqhakeLFMRNoARaeU8Gy0sc_U39nA5loxrVLu95Z5j3uvqgBCHhq7Rku83mk3myOlYo/s320/Sliced+Squid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316654880517951490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9t-l3aYvemRdGAZWmUt6XxgH2iNCEJlar_-Ypwz-qDZdyriu494FOINFywEd0KFSVYbdoIGebnHcKbew-nUp2hsmwerCw8oLCkuGkmM5UPKjlT8MAtuEtBhNERUroJjm-rpEBlwxDh5s/s1600-h/Dredging+Squid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9t-l3aYvemRdGAZWmUt6XxgH2iNCEJlar_-Ypwz-qDZdyriu494FOINFywEd0KFSVYbdoIGebnHcKbew-nUp2hsmwerCw8oLCkuGkmM5UPKjlT8MAtuEtBhNERUroJjm-rpEBlwxDh5s/s320/Dredging+Squid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316654878732634514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEX52LF5g7tw8yn75bQsIqgzYqSA1Zr_-zJsskIjLZTTaF6PRfX0y-ea730lzzxE8NQ2sTOqPTT3OMX4aJnpknljcguhbR6XWmD5tWA112UBtM5Dt53VUTfbVNDyNQkdHX2Y04o8aSd0/s1600-h/Squid+Fry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEX52LF5g7tw8yn75bQsIqgzYqSA1Zr_-zJsskIjLZTTaF6PRfX0y-ea730lzzxE8NQ2sTOqPTT3OMX4aJnpknljcguhbR6XWmD5tWA112UBtM5Dt53VUTfbVNDyNQkdHX2Y04o8aSd0/s320/Squid+Fry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316654873551584690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWrA1OgpWs_rCR51GApZyEcOcF1fpNxbtDkz-ASim_CYakLfBclT_hBOcHeJ5fxd8CMx4XybUWh6KSHB71uphThoHrDCTYdBjKWu4zUCxPHzC_FAbWSfXh4XRuWeB3YFhhSR6-5el9IU/s1600-h/Yummy+Squid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWrA1OgpWs_rCR51GApZyEcOcF1fpNxbtDkz-ASim_CYakLfBclT_hBOcHeJ5fxd8CMx4XybUWh6KSHB71uphThoHrDCTYdBjKWu4zUCxPHzC_FAbWSfXh4XRuWeB3YFhhSR6-5el9IU/s320/Yummy+Squid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316654866530393122" border="0" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">A lot of people find squid daunting and I guess that's not too surprising. They don't have a very recognizable anatomy - unless you're into cephalopods - they don't look like mammals, fish or crustaceans. And really, what other food has tentacles?<br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">But sometimes life's finer things require just a little research and a slightly larger leap of faith to reap amazing results. So for those of you out there in your cyber-kitchens thinking that you just might be ready to take the plunge and start cooking with marine mollusks (a much more daunting one can be found <a href="http://robandlaurel.blogspot.com/2008/10/doc-octopus.html">here</a>), follow me into the wonderful wriggly world of Squid 101.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Whether you call it squid, kalamari or ika, it's just plain yummy. I grew up in a neighbourhood in Vancouver that used to be predominantly Greek. Fried squid and squid or octopus braised in a tomato sauce were common dishes in the local restaurants and homes. Most countries with coastal areas have some form of squid in their diet and for good reason. High in protein, low in fat and relatively inexpensive. What's not to love? The only thing you need to remember if you want to cook with cephalopods is that they need to be cooked either quickly (1 or 2 minutes) or for a very long time (braised for an hour or more). Raw is another tasty option but I'll leave the details of cephalopod sashimi to someone else for now.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Cochin, being on the coast of Kerala and the beautiful Arabian Sea has an amazing selection of seafood. A few days ago we were at the main Ernakulam market taking some still photos and looking for some dinner. Our local Kaloor market has a good stock of seafood (as well as fruit, veg and fresher-than-you-can-conceive-of meats) but the Ernakulam main market takes edible consumerism to a whole new level. To a theme song of "Yes, Madam", "One picture please" , "Coming from...?" and vendors sucking air between their teeth, we moved through the labyrinthine streets and buildings that comprise the market and found ourselves standing in front of some absolutely stunning squid. There were cockles and crabs and the biggest kingfish we've seen to date but it was the glistening pinky-purple squid that called out to us for dinner. How to purchase squid? Fresh squid should not be fishy smelling just smelling faintly of briny sea water. Most of the tentacles should be intact and the bodies should not look wilted or dried out. Squid is best kept on ice.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">So we bought 1.5 kg (which turned out to be two meals worth) of this slippery goodness, picked up a few more supplies and headed home with kalamari on the brain. Speaking of brains, time for a squid anatomy lesson and the art of cleaning squid. When you look at a squid it looks like it has two sections, a long tube-like piece which is the body and a squidgily tentacle/eye piece that appears to be barely connected to the tube. Step number one in cleaning a squid is to separate the two pieces. Grab the tube end with one hand and the tentacle end with the other and gently pull apart. Put down the tube for a moment and with the other piece cut off anything north of the tentacles: meaning the eyes, the beak (which is nestled where the tentacles come together and is a hard pyramid shaped thingy) and the tentacle-like gooeyness that had been attached to the tube. Set the tentacles aside, discard the other stuff and pick up the tube piece. Have a look in the open end of the tube and you will see what looks like a translucent bit of plastic on one side, this is the quill. Pull it out and discard it. Then, starting at the sealed end of the tube, pinch your fingers and run them up the squid body as if you were trying to get that last bit of toothpaste out of the tube. Do this over the sink or a plate because gooey stuff will squish out. Discard the gooey stuff. Ink may also come out at this point, if it does, just give the squid a rinse under the tap. If the squid has a purplish coloured membrane on it , then the tube needs to be peeled. Run your thumb along the surface of the tube and you should notice the coloured membrane roll off under your thumb. If it doesn't start to roll, apply a little more pressure or try to run your thumb in a different direction along the tube. All the coloured purply-pink stuff just rolls off easily once you get it started. Discard the membrane. You can run the squid under the tap, or not, depending on your comfort level. Rob thinks the squid taste better if you don't run water over them. I haven't noticed a difference and it's easier to work with if you rinse them. You may find as you are cleaning your squid that you discover whole little fishies in the bodies - we found two on this batch - that the squid didn't have time to eat before getting scooped up in a net. We discarded the fish but I suppose you could fry them up with your squid and eat them whole.</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">Once you have the cleaned tube and the de-beaked and de-eyed the tentacles, you're ready to start cutting. The squid we had were fairly small so we didn't bother to cut the tentacles at all, but you can if you like. When making Chinese food we often slit the tubes open and cut a cross-hatched pattern onto the flattened tube which makes them curl up and the extra surface area allows them to catch all sorts of yummy flavours in a stir-fry. You can go Mediterranean and stuff the bodies with grains, breadcrumbs, herbs, spices and little bits of nuts or bacon. But we were opting for Greek style fried squid so we sliced the tubes into rings and dredged the rings and tentacles in a mixture of flour, salt, pepper and a bit of chili powder. Once lightly coated with the flour, shake off any excess and carefully fry the squid in small batches in a couple of inches of oil. Fry for about one minute, then using a slotted spoon, scoop the fried squid onto a paper-lined plate to absorb the excess oil and sprinkle with a bit of salt while still hot. Serve with sliced red onion, lemon or lime wedges and tzatziki (yogurt, grated cucumber, chopped mint, minced garlic, salt and black pepper) for dipping. What a feast!</p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">A note on the oil: Rob decided to fry in coconut oil since that is the main oil we use here. At home we would probably use peanut or canola oil. What a surprise to discover that squid fried in coconut oil taste astonishingly similar to bacon! A bit smoky, a bit porky and a lot tasty. We were all so surprised - and pleased - we haven't had any pork in over 4 months and Rob's home-cured bacon is a Bailey family favourite! </p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">So, how hard was that? Next time you see a glistening pile of fresh squid at your local market or fishmongers, don't skip over them! Squid just want to be loved. Is that so wrong?</p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-61964810094449918822009-03-22T09:25:00.000-07:002009-03-22T09:46:46.299-07:00Courier Sauce<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGAHfImkYXMfqt8wJ0tzJNP8R_A7N_PkPdbr4ahnMLu_lxih174mTCvNKbPu25xLCN0QYLGW8DcTjsqoDWQBRp4PMYtn5v5JabzwCqUAgnDRs8_UO2g2fHY__Lz8UmJx65V4s8G9NTik/s1600-h/Courier.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGAHfImkYXMfqt8wJ0tzJNP8R_A7N_PkPdbr4ahnMLu_lxih174mTCvNKbPu25xLCN0QYLGW8DcTjsqoDWQBRp4PMYtn5v5JabzwCqUAgnDRs8_UO2g2fHY__Lz8UmJx65V4s8G9NTik/s320/Courier.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316050998699971778" border="0" /></a><br />I don't understand my son.<br /><br />I love him dearly, but I don't understand him. Miles will be 8 in a couple of weeks, and for the last few months he has become increasingly obsessed with Pokemon. It all started innocently enough. A few trading cards at school. Then a growing collection of Pokemon cards at home, with which he would have epic "Pokemon battles" with his younger brother Isaac, who was too little to fully comprehend why he would always get whooped in these strange bouts of ritualized childhood combat. Don't kids play marbles anymore? Then came Christmas, and Santa, in his infinite wisdom, decided to bestow upon the boys a pair of Nintendo DS handheld gaming systems. Miles, much to his delight, received a deluxe Pokemon game cartridge to go with it. I believe that psychotherapists refer to this behaviour as "enabling".<br /><br />Both Laurel and I could really give a rat's patooty about Pokemon. If you had asked me last year what a Pokemon was, I would have been certain that you were referring to a Jamaican proctologist. Now it's different. Our son bursts into our room several times a day like a hurricane to announce that "My Dialga has just evolved into a Frenobulax!!!!", or some other equally incomprehensible phrase that obviously brings great joy to him, but leaves us wondering about each other's contribution to his DNA. Is this boy the brilliant product of years of evolution, or was our offspring scraped from the mold growing in the shallow end of the gene pool?<br /><br />Mind you, his achievements in the domain of Pokemon are actually quite impressive. He has methodically created a stunningly detailed mental map of every Pokemon character, and there are dozens, if not hundreds of the little bastards. He knows all their names, their origins, their habits and attributes, and the ability or inability of each one to evolve into other Pokemon types, along with the conditions that must exist to allow for such metamorphosis. In short, he has become a Pokemon bore of the highest order, in much the same way that he was a Harry Potter bore last year. Harry Potter was sooooooo last year.<br /><br />So when asked what he wanted for his birthday this year, he didn't skip a beat. "Pokemon Ranger: Shadows Of Almia". He said this with a speed that seemed to indicate that he had been thinking of nothing else for months. Laurel and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. But hey, I was 8 years old once, and my ability to endlessly obsess over a particular toy is more than merely dimly remembered. A glance inside my studio would reveal that it has actually been parlayed into something resembling a career. So out of solidarity, I set to work tracking down this elusive Pokemon game. Nobody on eBay in North America seems to want to ship games to Asia, so I created an account on eBay India, and went searching there. I found but one copy of the sacred game in Singapore, and lo and behold the vendor would ship to India. Actually, Laurel, the Queen of Google Search found it, but for the purposes of this narrative, let's pretend that I did everything. I then created an account with "PaisaPay", which is the Indian equivalent to "PayPal", clicked on the "Buy It Now" button, and hoped for the best.<br /><br />I must say that I was deeply impressed. My inbox was soon inundated with messages from eBay. "Seller has received payment". "Seller has shipped item". "Here is your tracking number". "Expect delivery no later than...". and so on. I breathed a sigh of relief, secure in the knowledge that the purchase of the birthday present was handled and that my son's geek factor was about to increase exponentially. The delivery date came and went. I thought I'd give it one more day before complaining. Then two days. I had a bad feeling. Finally, I logged back onto my PaisaPay account and actually cancelled payment for the item, figuring that it had somehow crawled off to die in that special place inhabited only by single socks and election promises. PaisaPay says that if anything changes over the next 5 days, I should cancel the cancelling. Discouraged, and facing the prospect of having to find some other kind of present that would be nowhere near as appreciated ("A cheese straightener. Uh... thanks, Dad"), I did the only thing that any self respecting parent in my situation would do. I went to buy beer.<br /><br />Returning from the beer store, where I have become such a good customer that my flower garlanded portrait now hangs on the wall of the shop between Nehru and Gandhi, I felt a stirring in my shorts. This time, it was not impure thoughts responsible for the stirring, but my mobile phone. I didn't recognize the number, but took a chance and took the call anyway. A distorted rapid-fire burst of machine-gun Malayalam greeted my ear, in much the same way as that old Far Side cartoon, What Dogs Really Hear ("Blah blah blah Ginger. Blah blah Ginger"). "Blah blah blah Robert Bailey blah blah blah DHL blah...". I had to stop the gentleman on the phone and confess my complete inability to understand Malayalam, with the exception of the words for "water", "thank-you", and "mother******". Thank you, Rajesh, for that last one. "English only, please", I said into the phone in that careful, slow and loud way seemed to indicate I had no business owning a phone in this country. "What is your location please?", the crackly voice asked. I then described my address on Ponoth Road, along with the nearest cross street. "Uh, uh uh...", came the response, which I recognized as being Malayalam shorthand for "Gotcha". The line went dead.<br /><br />I continued home with my bag of beery goodness. I was nearly at the front door when a motorcycle pulled up to the intersection. The driver looked around, as if trying to get his bearings. I smiled in greeting as I walked past. His gaze narrowed. "What is your good name please sir?", he asked. I get asked this question several times a day. "Robert Bailey", I answered. His eyes lit up, and he reached into the satchel on the gas tank of his bike. "Package for you, sir". A little stunned, I signed for the package in the middle of the intersection, receiving a polite head wiggle at the conclusion of the transaction. He then sped off into traffic. Shaking my head in wonderment, I looked down at the package labelled "Top Most Urgent", and thought to myself, "Only in India...".<br /><br />I still don't understand my son, but he's getting the Pokemon Ranger Shadows Of Almia...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-35404025839117019742009-03-16T02:17:00.000-07:002009-03-16T09:07:52.966-07:00Gone Fishin'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2bkjmmhnU5Bf6e8KYFcZHBrKSNhtRvOQG0d1iXdy0-Xv1gwGsmra4iCaA4MZOJTS6QFFzDn1AV0rvLQMfXVcKPsEDM-YpQwzbDa1wFaHf3r25oaPtfGMaJvBp3J3u8RgmRqlARxuW3M/s1600-h/Mise_En_Place.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2bkjmmhnU5Bf6e8KYFcZHBrKSNhtRvOQG0d1iXdy0-Xv1gwGsmra4iCaA4MZOJTS6QFFzDn1AV0rvLQMfXVcKPsEDM-YpQwzbDa1wFaHf3r25oaPtfGMaJvBp3J3u8RgmRqlARxuW3M/s320/Mise_En_Place.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313714486888883410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzI7itrObn3UQjR47CcSSRzbVuz2SHh_7YtjKVFkqKaCab6yzIKch2dlV3VHxR00vS9d6sv0QfexKCluKhziFq5U0hG1WxMK_8zxV8ebyCnm0FllQaZO60wLzA827tOsf_yZtIUAjEA4g/s1600-h/Camera_Guy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzI7itrObn3UQjR47CcSSRzbVuz2SHh_7YtjKVFkqKaCab6yzIKch2dlV3VHxR00vS9d6sv0QfexKCluKhziFq5U0hG1WxMK_8zxV8ebyCnm0FllQaZO60wLzA827tOsf_yZtIUAjEA4g/s320/Camera_Guy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313714484590246066" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4oJwA4aI6_idVTZOGBEyN5cpphIwIovu9LMy35ZRMkQALBHOxcM4o_C5qEA61ASWZPOFT9pV0wuz2TWh60yuC-gMzaYf_GCHzoSGYvF0UMf0V_RTcQV1TihyphenhyphenyyAuBJfSTrXV6D3MA73M/s1600-h/Fish+Mango+Curry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4oJwA4aI6_idVTZOGBEyN5cpphIwIovu9LMy35ZRMkQALBHOxcM4o_C5qEA61ASWZPOFT9pV0wuz2TWh60yuC-gMzaYf_GCHzoSGYvF0UMf0V_RTcQV1TihyphenhyphenyyAuBJfSTrXV6D3MA73M/s320/Fish+Mango+Curry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313714483610381250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh335fzFWnBnhF9bvofhoihbeHWNtW36x7ZEXPwBqtZMm10IS5kZ7LigAErRsm06XMVuL0XB7QNVI1oDGD7H5zhw-v5gcZG4amwaknJvRMOPD-218ltsgpo0B-xf1uqH9anpX0hxSi9yHo/s1600-h/Karimeen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh335fzFWnBnhF9bvofhoihbeHWNtW36x7ZEXPwBqtZMm10IS5kZ7LigAErRsm06XMVuL0XB7QNVI1oDGD7H5zhw-v5gcZG4amwaknJvRMOPD-218ltsgpo0B-xf1uqH9anpX0hxSi9yHo/s320/Karimeen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313714483284862338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLVy0R8nXAwcv5k4W76HtdNc7wICkYeL9v6lIgsxDDxc_DZo9PMFR46nE30s8bQ1dR_TMGwzUm0q7SpaAGuNocQVKCguhKw35MpAtr-iJ8fr4VwbhmiThqdd4iL-dECzVI_e_sQthLeM/s1600-h/Pollichathu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLVy0R8nXAwcv5k4W76HtdNc7wICkYeL9v6lIgsxDDxc_DZo9PMFR46nE30s8bQ1dR_TMGwzUm0q7SpaAGuNocQVKCguhKw35MpAtr-iJ8fr4VwbhmiThqdd4iL-dECzVI_e_sQthLeM/s320/Pollichathu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313714474993201234" border="0" /></a><br />This morning I saw my neighbour fishing. In the sewer beside his house.<br /><br />The disturbing thing is that after three and a half months here, it did not strike me as odd. "Buddy is fishing in the sewer. Well, that makes perfect sense". As I walked out of the house this morning with the whole family, the first thing we saw outside the gate was our next door neighbour, whose name escapes me. Clad in a lunghi and a once-snazzy shirt, he was poised expectantly beside the open sewer that runs around both sides of nearly every street here. The ditch is filled with some sort of liquid/solid amalgam. An ever changing soup of mosquito larvae-ridden grey water and human effluent. My neighbour dude had fashioned a fishing pole from a 3 foot stick, and tied some fishing line to it. The other end was submerged in the water, presumably tied to a hook, although it was impossible to tell, given the thick crust on the surface. In another setting it could have been some sort of absurdist performance art, where some black-clad bohemian dangles a line into the toilet of a SoHo loft, while reciting poetry about their miserable childhood, whilst the surrounding hipsters nod their heads approvingly. This was different, though. I passed up the temptation to ask "Catching anything?", and the five of us walked on at a zippy pace. 20 yards later we looked at each other. Was he really fishing in the sewer? Yes. I made a mental note to decline any subsequent dinner invitations.<br /><br />I should point out that this was not my landlord and neighbour Stanley indulging in his piscean passion. Stanley is a bit of a connoisseur of fish, and any and all invitations to dine at his table are gleefully accepted. His wife, Gigi, allowed us to film her creating two Kerala classics "Fish & Mango Coconut Curry", and "Fish Pollichathu", which is fish coated in a spicy paste and then wrapped in banana leaves to finish cooking. All of these recipes will eventually be posted after we go through and review the tapes and transcribe and test them.<br /><br />But first, one must have fish! After briefly considering it, I decided against my other neighbour's approach to fish acquisition, and instead, grabbed my cloth marketing bag and hopped on the back of Stanley's motorcycle for the short trip up to the local market. I've written a bit about this market before, but it's amazing to me how my relationship to food has changed as a result of living here and using this market. I shop every single day, and I only buy what is fresh and in season. I bring home no plastic packaging or canned goods. The selection of meats, veg, fruit, and fish is staggering. I'm going to seriously miss this when I return home. To go from a daily selection of 25 different species of fresh fish glistening on a tarp to eyeing dusty cans of tuna on the shelf at the Bowen General Store is going to be a major culture shock.<br /><br />Under Stanley's watchful eye, we purchased several Karimeen, or "Pearl Spot" fish for Gigi's preparations that day. These fish are very popular here, and its easy to see why. They grow in the brackish backwaters in large numbers. Karimeen are a little bony, but the meat is very sweet tasting. They are curried sometimes, but when deep-fried whole, the wee bones become crunchy and edible. There are several women that sell Karimeen and prawns at the market. They are a boisterous bunch, and the competition for customers is stiff. There must be some sort of target painted on my shirt, because as soon as I show up in the market courtyard, there is a noisy commotion and a series of frantic hand gestures, most of which I interpret to be friendly, in an effort to attract me to their particular pile of oceanic offerings. The woman that we bought the fish from set to work expertly separating the scales from the skin using a rusty looking, but extremely sharp, knife. She cut away the gills of the Karimeen, giving the poor buggers the appearance of a permanent goofy smile. Much like my own. How these women crouch like this day after day in the heat, surrounded by a growing halo of flies amidst a heap of rapidly ripening seafood is truly beyond me. Yet there they are, day after day after day. These people are tough.<br /><br />Once back at Stanley and Gigi's, we went to work. I set up all my camera and sound gear, while Laurel helped Gigi on with her wireless mic. Once all her prep was done, Gigi excused herself for a moment. She soon emerged from her room, absolutely festooned with gold jewelry, and looking quite lovely in her green sari. Inside of a couple of hours she had completely assembled two delicious dishes, and I nipped next door to collect our taste testing crew. Miles, Isaac, and Emma arrived, and we all sat down to a fantastic lunch. Real home cooking, or as they call it here, "homely food". Made with love and care. Traditional. Fresh. Local.<br /><br />Well, maybe not quite so local as what my other neighbour was hoping to catch...Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985478245559471215.post-33160838519856391292009-03-13T03:17:00.000-07:002009-03-13T08:23:05.331-07:00Fish & Fruit Curries<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu4akllzLnQ9xgWuwXCskZlYpBRTb7lVx20d0LzCTLu6v7XQOORdlwlVM2gXl2NcqNyj-1BPr5sRMrpo7j2kuk95J8XOm-XNj7GhM9KVAXhJPgeragvHPNfzCnswW5X4nLb1TFBL5Jck/s1600-h/Sweet+Mangoes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu4akllzLnQ9xgWuwXCskZlYpBRTb7lVx20d0LzCTLu6v7XQOORdlwlVM2gXl2NcqNyj-1BPr5sRMrpo7j2kuk95J8XOm-XNj7GhM9KVAXhJPgeragvHPNfzCnswW5X4nLb1TFBL5Jck/s320/Sweet+Mangoes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312616395792574242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWh0P1rTS5gASgcve1BkRYhkoNK6eUf7UIWkjnL9WNUmsbMkfZmwOYt5XtkD9G_NZHJm8qOVa8Um3vs48xZ6ywscuC7677yXX9OGIgKM8Fkn2aZD9-feQmrOCgKgzZjl3dxjSZ4qAmvg/s1600-h/Mango_curry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWh0P1rTS5gASgcve1BkRYhkoNK6eUf7UIWkjnL9WNUmsbMkfZmwOYt5XtkD9G_NZHJm8qOVa8Um3vs48xZ6ywscuC7677yXX9OGIgKM8Fkn2aZD9-feQmrOCgKgzZjl3dxjSZ4qAmvg/s320/Mango_curry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312616395584257618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDhIE3JD-UB__YQbIOlv-aVqJddKfFpZDvF6e-q0oiqOxG5zHXSat9rhxW7jg4zBwp2YCGs1-0wGlczOEPFCLmDJRv1mAuYJNwIQBDodb3EYdZMPInkv5-2oDMW0Zh5eGG44L7Z80qP0/s1600-h/Hot_Fish_curry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDhIE3JD-UB__YQbIOlv-aVqJddKfFpZDvF6e-q0oiqOxG5zHXSat9rhxW7jg4zBwp2YCGs1-0wGlczOEPFCLmDJRv1mAuYJNwIQBDodb3EYdZMPInkv5-2oDMW0Zh5eGG44L7Z80qP0/s320/Hot_Fish_curry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312616392516929650" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ys5VhLmh_lrZviu2KWEEJLdLv1FuJW2ywxSoDhVFGkR7MWDwLdS3ippwNgcd4SbrzYWTExXHDswKn0WRlc3uDx0WExuHbauHuUe480wAfMq8-HDEUBiaUOxWD_LfZxVh8gZXsREyvx0/s1600-h/Dried_Prawn_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Ys5VhLmh_lrZviu2KWEEJLdLv1FuJW2ywxSoDhVFGkR7MWDwLdS3ippwNgcd4SbrzYWTExXHDswKn0WRlc3uDx0WExuHbauHuUe480wAfMq8-HDEUBiaUOxWD_LfZxVh8gZXsREyvx0/s320/Dried_Prawn_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312616389307729570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVBpMHNd-rWRrdA3uyUBXxwyvg75IR9ap5G0xCnAnxSQ3aj9yzd9cyDbfJ5K9iC9lNIG7ElAKf8sicEeogE0qIn4GGv6yoJXEjp-fgO3B2Z2GiE8hMr4MdrLJL348ak2qCkcqqxbVFnY/s1600-h/Finished_Prawn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVBpMHNd-rWRrdA3uyUBXxwyvg75IR9ap5G0xCnAnxSQ3aj9yzd9cyDbfJ5K9iC9lNIG7ElAKf8sicEeogE0qIn4GGv6yoJXEjp-fgO3B2Z2GiE8hMr4MdrLJL348ak2qCkcqqxbVFnY/s320/Finished_Prawn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312616390082132258" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We've been eating an awful lot of fish.<br /><br />Karimeen. Kingfish. Snapper. Pomfret. Squid. Prawns, You name it. If it swims, it's terrified of us. Cochin is truly one of the best places in the world to eat seafood. There is just such a huge variety of it, and it's always available fresh daily at the market. There's even an extensive network of fish home-delivery men that ply their trade in residential neighbourhoods. They creak and wheeze down the potholed back lanes on wobbly-tired vintage pre-war bicycles that have large plastic containers filled with ice, fish, and ancient rusty balance beam scales strapped to the back. They honk these distinctive little air horns attached to the front handlebars to let the residents know that a fish dinner is within their grasp. If Harpo Marx sold fish, this is how he would do it.<br /><br />I took advantage of this service for the first time last week. I was having my morning chai when I heard landlord Stanley's voice outside. "Robert!" he intoned. "Stanley!" I shot back, by now used to this kind of exchange. He calls me by my first name, thinking it's my last, and I call him by his last name, thinking it's his first. "Come!" he said. I wandered outside to meet him. We shook hands in greeting. I looked at him expectantly. He simply said "Man come". I interpreted this as an instruction to await the arrival of someone very important. A few minutes of awkward silence, punctuated by the odd head wiggle, and then the Prawn Man pulled up on his bicycle, the melting ice dripping out of the back of his large blue plastic container so that he left a trail like a slug.<br /><br />The Prawn Man pulled a beat up blue tarp from the back of his bike and spread it out on the ground, revealing a plethora of fresh prawns nestled in chunks of rapidly meting ice. The store was open. I decided to step back and let my homeboy Stanley deal with the negotiations. A couple of minutes of rapid-fire Malayalam later, and I was left holding 2 kilos of fresh prawns that I had exchanged for about 260 rupees. The Prawn Man pedaled, squeaked, honked, and dripped his way further down the lane. "Cool!" I thought to myself. I didn't even have to make a phone call. Telepathic prawn delivery.<br /><br />Later that day we went to film another great cooking episode with our friend Chitra. Chitra has just started her own catering company called "Mayden Treats", and has moved her cooking facilities to a rented apartment that is in the same office complex that her husband Gee occupies with his Ayurvedic "relationship enhancement" business. That's a hard business to be in when your market is mostly soft. Chitra was making a spicy red fish curry for us, and also another regional specialty: sweet mango curry. Her kitchen is small for a commercial operation, but if her cooking is any indicator, she will soon occupy the whole building!<br /><br />The mango curry is very simple. Freshly peeled small raw mangoes, which are just coming into season now, are simply cooked with a few spices and curd. I'm embarrassed to say that I was so busy filming and watching sound levels that I don't remember the recipe precisely. I would have to go and review the tape to provide the whole thing accurately. That will come later. All I can tell is that it was very fast, and very very good! Savoury, sweet, and a bit sour all at the same time.<br /><br />The fish curry was a great version of a true Kerala classic. This was made in a "mud pot", which is a thick ceramic pot you can place directly on the flame. It definitely adds to the taste of the dish. Once again, the accurate recipe will follow once I review the tape, but suffice to say that lots of red chili powder and turmeric are mixed with a little water to form a thick paste, which was then cooked with onion, coconut oil, fenugreek, black mustard seeds, and curry leaves. To this was added some coconut milk, water, salt, and the real star of the show, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garcinia_indica">Kokum, or fish tamarind</a>. This is a special kind of tamarind that has been dried and smoked, and it's actually a different plant than the usual tamarind that we cook with. It's a souring agent like the regular kind, but it's the smoke that gives a very unique kind of flavour to the dish. It's as different from regular tamarind as a fresh jalapeno pepper is to a chipotle chili. The dish will simply not taste authentic without it. Once everything gets cooked up, the fish, in this case snapper, gets gently placed in the pot so that it gets basically poached in the fiery smoky red sauce. Like everything Chitra makes, it was unbelievably good.<br /><br />The unexpected star of the show, however, was a little snack/condiment that she quickly whipped up. Dried shrimp cooked with onion and curry leaves. Rinse a couple of cups of small dried shrimp to remove the excess salt and dust (shrimp are dried outdoors on large tarps or cement). Fry a couple of sliced small red onions in some coconut oil until they start to brown. Sprinkle a spoonful of turmeric and a spoonful of chili powder over the shrimp (maybe some black pepper too if you're feeling bold). Fry the shrimp with the onion and a handful of curry leaves until the whole thing dries out a little and the onions are nice and golden brown. Let them cool in a bowl, and serve as a condiment. It's great as a snack with a glass of cold beer too!<br /><br />By the time all the food was done, I could hardly wait to sample everything. The smells were enough to make me barely be able to concentrate on filming. Chitra made some simple rice to go along with everything, and we all tucked in for a hearty lunch. Chitra kindly gave us a little care package of each item to take home and share. Then it was back home to cook the prawns I had bought the same morning.<br /><br />Oi, such a lot of fish!<br /></div>Rob Baileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14623826373005263992noreply@blogger.com0