My grandmother's cooking is better than your grandmother's cooking

Every time my grandmother cooks its an event. Not only because the whole family descends upon her place but also because of the kind of stuff she puts together - always meat. Even though she is a vegetarian! Most of her recipes were honed keeping up with the ever adventurous demands of my grandfather. If ever he ate something that took his fancy he would describe it to my grandmother or have her get the recipe - even in restaurants or when they were out travelling - and a recreation would follow. My grandfather wasn't one to mince his words. If it was crap, he would let it be known. Over a few attempts the dish was perfected.

The other thing that my grandfather was notorious for was playing a sort of recipe book roulette. He'd come home, sit around for a bit and then start going through recipe books. Once he'd find something that seemed worth a try, it would be all hands on deck - my grandmother's hands that is. Now the kind of stuff that he enjoyed wasn't exactly the kind of stuff that you can pull out of a packet. And he was a stickler for not cutting corners - if something had to be cooked over a wood fire, that was the way it was going to be. Most evenings were dedicated to the discipline of dinner.

This particular recipe is from our family food bible - a cook book from the House of Sailana. A fairly simple recipe this. Goat meat with lots of coriander, green chilies, ginger, garlic, all put together in an earthen pot and cooked slowly in its own juices over a wood-burning open fire.

Despite the fact that this particular recipe, as well as others, are printed in a book, there exist handwritten notes for each and every one of them. And I'm not just talking about odd scribbles here and there. Besides my grandmother's experience, I am convinced that the pot, which I remember from my childhood, and the wooden spoon, that has more than half a century on its side, definitely have something to do with how good this dish turns out every single time.

This dish goes great with bread.

Ras el Hanout Spit Game

I've been wanting to build myself a spit for some time now. I wanted something simple to begin with - something that could be put into the boot, taken along and set up without much of a fuss. Of course, fairly sophisticated ones with motors, gears, et. al. are available but it's overkill if you ask me. The iron crucible isn't part of the set up - it had to be used to keep the lawn from burning out. It's not particularly large either - a couple of large chickens or a quarter portion of a small goat.

Alfresco cooking is a therapeutic. There's something about an open flame that makes cooking a whole lot better. Not to mention that great charred, smokey flavour that it imparts.

Ras el Hanout is a Moroccan rub that is used on meats or stirred into couscous. Pretty versatile. I don't think there is any one recipe for the rub. It's one of those things that everybody has their own variants to. Mine came out of a bottle. Some interesting ingredients though - lavender and rose petals!

I made a wet marinade using ras el hanout, sumac, orange juice, lemon juice, pepper and vinegar. The vinegar was to tenderise the meat whilst it marinaded. Leave the cut of game to marinade for 24 hours.

Once the meat was put on the spit, I stirred in a bit of honey into the remaining marinade to make a glaze.

With the meat, a simple tomato salad, some green, home-made bread, Hummus and Baba Ganoush.

 

Coorg - Pork Heaven, Piggy Hell

There are few things that are more miserable than a lean piece of pork. Fat makes pork. In fact, fat makes most food. It is the best carrier of flavour. Nothing breaks my heart more then seeing someone sitting across the table, picking out the fat off a lovely portion of pork chops and pushing it to the periphery of the plate. Why? WHY? Don’t like fat? Eat chicken then. Or better, chew on a courgette.

When I was in Coorg I must have gone through ten kilos of pork in less then a week, half of which was fat. And did it make me happy. In fact, in Coorg cuisine, which is basically no more than pork and rice, in one form or the other, fat is prized. But then, imagine, back in the day, a culture of warriors, traversing hills, living in the dense forests, hunting for food – I don’t think a smoothie and celery would have kept them going.

Ask anybody in Madikeri or there abouts  (Coorg is a district, with many hill stations, Madikeri being the most popular) what the best place for local food is and chances are that every body will point you to Coorg Cusinette. A functional place; tables, chairs and a sink to wash your hands. And while the food they serve would have been ‘functional’ to the people is has sustained over the centuries, to someone like me it is nothing short of gourmet. This is one of those place where the food is sold out by 8 pm, so head there early.

The menu doesn’t run into pages and having tried every meat dish on the menu I can tell you that the Pandi Curry (Pork Curry) and the Pandi Beev Barthadh (Pork Chops) are pretty similar. But then they would be; they both have the same magical ingredients – fatty cuts of pork and lots and lots of pepper. Now, I am sure there are subtle differences, barring the cuts used, but the proportions of fat and pepper don’t leave much room for these to stand out. I have managed to get the recipe for a Pandi Curry, not from this place but from the chef at the resort where I was staying, so I will be giving it a shot at some point. The Pandi Malukootunadh (Chilli Pork) was also superb. Dry, sticky, crisp in part, spicy. Basically, fried bits of fatty pork tossed in a spicy sauce. I do think that this is not that traditional a dish as the other two. Or maybe it is, but doesn’t go back that long. I just got the impression that while it sort of made sense on the menu it wasn’t authentic – like Butter, Pepper, Garlic Crab at the Mumbai Lunch Homes.

 

Pork Chops

Spicy Pork

The pork was served with rice rotis and rice dumplings. I apologise for the photograph of my half eaten plate of food. Though I am notorious for not letting people dig in till the time I have got a shot the the food first, I forget all about my camera this time around.



11 o clock to 6 o clock - Pandi Curry, Pork Chops, Spicy Pork, the Rice Dumpling, Rice Roti

 

Of Coffee Beans and Pepper





 

Flame of the Forest - Butea Monosperma

After more than a year, and a stone the heavier, there was a culinary journey really worth writing home about. After almost an hour in an auto-rickshaw, zipping down the slops of the hills around Coorg, through coffee plantations and dense forest riddled with flowering trees, we arrived. This was a smaller plantation relative to the others around; more a summer retreat. The 10 acre property was cultivated with Arabica and Robusta coffee beans, some Cardamom and Pepper. The clusters of Pepper dangled from vines twisted around trunks of the Oak trees, in the shade of which the coffee flourished.



Piper Nirgum

Funny thing about Pepper - Black and White Pepper is the fruit of the same plant, picked at different stages of ripeness. I always thought that they came from different ones - because they taste so different and you often read recipes that call for both together. Black Pepper is allowed to dry on the plant itself, giving it a spicier flavour. Pepper is the original spice in Indian food. Chilies only came to India with the Portuguese, the the 1200s if I am not mistaken (not going to  run a Google check). Of all Indian Cuisines, Pepper is most abundantly used in the South. In fact, Coorg, even Chettinad, cuisine is best defined by their generous use of this spice. Pepper gives you a much more balanced, wholer, heat and this, I think, gives it a stand-out flavour. Not always the case with Chilies.

 

 

 

  

 



Coffee Plant

One major disagreement I have with the way they do things down South is to do with the way Coffee is consumed. I am a 'black coffee, no sugars' man myself and I have a tough time digesting the concept of filter coffee the way they do it. I really don't see the point of harping on and on about how great the coffee from the region is when you are going to bugger its body, flavour and aroma with the copious amounts of milk and sugar. Too sweet for my liking, but I did enjoy a few glasses. More a dessert if you ask me.

 

 

 

Coffee - ready for picking

The Arabica coffee fetches the farmers a better price than the Robusta variety. Not sure which was cultivated more widely. The plants are pretty similar, but spend a couple of days around a plantation and you can tell the difference - something in the leaves.

 

The smaller plantations sell their beans as they are to the larger plantations, that have process plants. The plantations are very clever in their ability to generate cash flows all year around. While Coffee is indeed the main crop the other spices that co-habit ensure that incomes are not only confined to the coffee harvest months. Though I was there during the harvest season, I am told that the plantation in full bloom is a sight to behold, with white flowers splattered till the eye can see.

 

A few hours walking around the plantation is enough to work up a substantial appetite for a feast of Pork! - watch this space.

 

 

 

Ish liebe Deutchland!

I know it's been a month since my last post, and let me assure you it is not because I haven't eaten since. I've been rather uninspired. Bloody bored. But there's nothing quite like Bavarian food to brighten your spirits. Well, the last time I was out for Bavarian food, it involved a whole lot of chanting, dancing on tables, and then spending the next 3 weeks nursing a broken ankle. Wouldn't blame the brew though. Or would I? Can't remember.



I was looking at ze menu and I couldn't help thinking - "ah this is some solid, rustic, wholesome food". Rustic, wholesome, and ze likes, often used to describes food, describes more accurately what ze food is not, rather than what ze food is. In nouvelle cuisine ze main feature is more often than not placed in the centre of the plate, as though drawing upon itself a sort of planetary importance, boulstered by other elements of ze dish circling around like moons. Nice at times, but too perfect most others. You never look at something like that on a plate and think to yourself - "I can't wait to dig in." It's more like - "It looks great. Genius. Maybe I'll look at it some more before I send ze perfectly symetrical, dandy arrangement into a  worm-hole-like chaos." A distraction, in a way, for a glutton like me. If nouvelle cusine is a selection of the best bits from the whole world arranged as a delicate system of balance on a plate, then Bavarian food is ze whole damn universe! And in my mind, in food terms, the whole universe contains, and should only contain two things - meat and starch.

On occasions, when ordering something off a menu, my expectation of how large ze dish is going to be does come into consideration. There is nothing worse than ordering something that is not enough, Not the case with German food. Order even a salad and they plonk a entire garden on your plate. With all the wildlife ofcourse. I ordered a Liver Dumpling Soup to start.

Good soup this. A meaty, marrowey broth. Well seasoned, as all good food should be, sprinkled with Parsley. The Liver Dumpling, no different to a Faggot. Just right considereing what I had coming.

Ze Leberknodel !

For ze main course, it was ze Roast Pork with a Potato Salad. The Pork was cooked to perfection. Ze best hunk of pig I have had in a long long time. Skin and fat left on. Would make a madallion look like baby food. The Potato Salad, good too. Tangy, like most Germany accompaniments. Goes well with the fattiness of ze meat. Had some crispy lardons of bacon on top, just for good measure. It's almost like the more fat they can introduce, to what's already a super heavy dish, the better. I like a lot. Fat's got a bad name. It's the best carrier of flavour. And that's the most important thing about food - the way it tastes.

Duck curry - Kerala Style

In India Chicken is about the only poultry you can lay your hands on without much scouting. Chicken is boring. I will go as far as saying that chicken should be downgraded to the status of a tubor. Managed to lay my hands on a duckling yesterday. Really. Only about 400 grams. The size of a partridge. And how happy it made me. I ate Braised Duck while I was in China last month. And would you believe it, I sat there thinking, as I stuffed my face with the worth-while foul, how it would taste curried. So I decided to find out with my little duckling.

This is a 'nadan' Kerala recipe. Nadan means local - if you are thinking of using the word to impress a Mallu, don't do it. You will never figure out how to pronounce it. It took me about 10 minutes just to get a Keralite to understand what I was saying. - It basically implies that it's a very simple one, nothing fancy. And it's true to the name. Though I want to shoot myself for describing it like this, it is like a very simple chicken curry. Barring the use of coconut oil. And nothing else will do! For that 'Nadan' taste it's got to be coconut oil. That's what the recipe said, and that is what I did.

Skin the duck and if your's is as small as mine - I am referring to the duck - cut it into four pieces. The neck into two. Coat in plenty of salt and turmeric and set aside.

In a kadhai fry one sliced onion and add some ginger, garlic and half a dozen peppercorns when brown. Three times as much ginger as garlic. In 5, add a paste of chili powder, coriander powder and garam masala. Some salt too. Once the paste is cooked whack in a sprig of curry leaves and the duck after rinsing and draining. Cook on medium till oil seperates and then simmer till tender. Add hot water as required. Season. Garnish with fried potatoes. Easy as. And you wouldn't believe the taste.

Down in Shanghai Town

China never fails to amaze me. Order a critter and get served it's blood in a glass along with its man rocks? Classic!

This time round I skipped a visit to the Heart of China in favour of the commercial capital. And I learnt very quickly that the food culture in the two cities is worlds apart. The kind of street carnival-esque setup that I experienced in Beijing is not to be seen here. At least no where near the city centre. So in the hope of some local food I headed, with a friend, to a haunt, not very far from the ex-pat district, that serves up some killer food. Don't ask me the name of the place. I haven't a clue.

The Pickled Monkey Ear Fungus (Auricularia) was an easy one to pick off the menu. I have had this before. But this serving was sharper, with more vinegar. The texture reminded me of the cartilaginous Sliced Pig Ears that I have eaten elsewhere. But with less bite. A texture that you can't really get bored of.

Pickled Monkey Ear Fungus

In the name of novelty - maybe for me, but this is a very popular Chinese snack - I ordered some Pickled Duck Tongues. Now, I am all up for eating everything, but this was probably one of the most pointless things I have every eaten. Almost as pointless as a vegetarian sausage. I think they would have been a lot better fried of grilled with some of that super sticky Chinese sauce. Nonetheless, a first.

Pickled Duck Tongues

Then cometh something that was very close in flavour to the Chinese we get back home. Sweet and Sour Fish. The fish was first deep fried and then tossed in the sweet and sour sauce. Topped with pine nuts. A lot more pungent than the stuff we are used to. Owing to the generous lashings of vinegar again. Quite a superb dish. The frying of the fish made the skin crunchy, adding a great contrast to the gooey, sticky sauce.



Sweet and Sour Fish

And then, a local speciality. Braised Pork Belly. With boiled eggs, which I was told were boiled in Green Tea. Couldn't really taste the tea through all the fat and flavour but the thought of that being true made the whole thing seems a little more special. It is the style of cooking - braising in a heavy iron pan - that makes this dish so characteristic to the region. I had the same dish again in city nearby Shanghai, where once again, it was introduced as the local speciality. The sensible ones, including locals, do not eat all of the fat. I was in considerable discomfort that night for not following suit. But I'd do the same again.


Braised Pork Belly



Pork tagine with bulgur

There isn't a culinary demographic that doesn't have it's own version of a stew. The Tagine is probably one of the most popular stews. With a fancy name of course. Come to think of it, naming food after the utensils used in their cooking or presentation is quite a common phenomenon. You have the Kadhai Chicken/Mutton in India, the Handi too, the Paella in Spain, you have a New York Pot Roast, very different from Roast Beef mind you. And, how could I forget, the very British Balti.

Stew was quite a favourite with I was a student - I don't like the sound of that for some reason. Stewing cuts were cheap - sounds like I lived through a war. And a large pot would last a couple of days. Haven't been stewing much lately. I have had an undercut of pork lying in the fridge for a couple of days and I was struggling a little with what to do with it. Pickling it did cross my mind. But in a moment of better judgement, a Tagine I decided. I do not own a tagine, so it's technically a pork saucepan. But we'll stick with Tagine.

Pork Tagine and Pepper and Tomato Bulgur 

So here goes. This recipe is adapted from about 3 different ones. I dusted 500 grams of pork undercut with a tablespoon of flour with a pinch of saffron and pepper. I think a fattier cut would have been better. Maybe shoulder.

I browned the meat in a couple of tablespoons of vegetable oil and set aside. In the same pan sweat

• one onion
• 3 tbsps ginger
• 1 tbsp garlic

When the onions start to caramelize add

• 1 tsp cumin
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon powder
• some paprika
• some rasins

I returned the meat to the pan, added 2 cups of chicken stock and cooked on a low heat for about an hour and a half. Before adding the stock, I chucked in a quartered apple, which I removed and discarded after about 25-30 minutes. The apple lends it's sweetness to the dish and balances the paprika nicely. Works well in the absence of apricots. Goes without saying - season to taste.

I cooked the bulgur - dalia - with deseeded tomatoes, green peppers and saffron. a little pinch of turmeric to help on the yellow. Garnish the bulger with skinned, roasted almonds.

And voila, you might as well be in Morocco.

Chicken Liver and Pork Terrine, Pickled Red Cabbage

Chicken Liver and Pork Terrine

It doesn't get much meatier than this really. Chicken livers and pork. And bacon. The pork, lean. Undercut of pig. Mince 1:1 of pork and chicken livers. Mince as you like. You can make it extra fine if you want. But I like it a little chunky. For that rustic feel. Season well. The iron from the livers can do with a good dose of salt to bring out the flavour. Whack in some:

• chopped fresh parsley
• ground ginger
• cinnamon

And that's it. Mix well. No measures here. Be sensible. Put the meat putty in a bacon lined bread tin. Smoked bacon if you have. Oven, 170 degrees for about an hour and a half. Till the juices from the middle run clear. Or if you have a meat thermometer, 160 degrees in the centre. Turn the terrine out onto a plate and put in a fridge till cold. If you try to cut it while it's hot, its all going to break apart.

I pickled some red cabbage to go with this. Pickled in a mixture of white vinegar, apple cider vinegar, salt and sugar. Thought the sharpness would cut through the rich terrine quite well. And it did. Also some fig jam. Can't really go wrong with pork and a bit of sweet. Great for a brunch.

Filet Mignon with Red Wine and Vanilla Sauce

Buffalo at it's best

Went and bought myself a 2 foot tenderloin the other day. Not beef. Buffalo. I have been eating buffalo quite a bit recently. Does well in the absence of beef. Though I am sure I could find some with a bit of effort. The best thing you could do to a tenderloin is to make yourself some Filet Mignons. Ideally, they are about an inch in diameter, so best use the tapered end of the loin.

I rolled a segment from the tapered end in some pepper and a bit of salt and let sit for a bit. To cook, I simply seared it in oil, with a dollop of butter and set in the oven at 200 degrees till rare.

The sauce is a good one. Got a nice sweetness. And that goes well with beef. I wanted to use juniper berries but don't get them around these parts.

In a pan, reduce to half:

• a cup of red wine
• the same of stock, beef preferably
• with oregano
• a tsp of vanilla
• a tsp of tomato paste
• salt and pepper to taste
• some sugar, brown preferably
• half an onion
• 2 cloves of garlic, crushed

Once reduced, thicken with a roux.

Served with creamed mash and some beans for roughage. 25 quid on a plate?

Rule Britania

The second Parsi food institution I have been to in the past few months. The first was Kayani Bakery in Pune. For their Mawa Cakes and Shrewsbury Biscuits. Never have I seen such a line of punters waiting outside drawn shutters like that. And when the shutter opened, you know exactly where the term selling like hot cakes came from.

It would have been a bit of a let down if I didn't have to wait my turn to be fed at Britania. Remember watching an interview on TV with the gentleman who still sits at the joint, and supervises his son, who in turn supervises everything else. The name Britania, he said, was given to the place to drawn in the British folk back in the day. Typical Parsi.

It was a good feeding. But a mixed bag. Partly because not everything was up to standard and partly owing to the fact that I was so looking forward to this that no matter how good it had been I would have found something lacking. I was looking forward to the raspberry lemonade, central to any Parsi occasion, as much as I was everything else. Nearly drove right through a red light day dreaming about the stuff. It had been years since I last had my last raspberry lemonade at a Navjot. Over the years I had so romanticised the thing in my head when actually it tastes a bit like cough syrup. The human mind eh?!

The Sali Boti was interesting. It's not like your North Indian Curry. There is the Gujarati influence in there somewhere. The Sali, crispy fried potatoes on top, do add other dimension to the texture, but take away from the flavour, I thought. A little sweet, from the tomatoes. Watery. To be entirely honest this was the let down. Served stone cold, not enough meat. The sure sign of a place cutting corners. And it isn't cheap. I'd at least expect something mildly warm for that kind of money.



Sali Boti

The Mutton Cutlets were exactly what you'd expect.Well seasoned, wholesome and damn oily. A little more care to the oil temperature goes a long way when frying anything. If the oil temperature is right, what you fry doesn't soak copious amounts of oil. Contact with the well hot oil will seal the food immediately. More Sali. A meal in itself.


Mutton Cutlets

The Mutton Berry Pulao is a winner. Iranian I gather. The Berberis makes this dish. They add a certain sweetness and tartness. The caramelised onions, more sweetness. Still, not enough meat. To make up for the meat the Pulao had little meat balls made from the same stuff the cutlets were made of. Cutting corners again? Still worth a trip for the Pulao.

Mutton Berry Pulao

For dessert? My favourite! Sneak a peak into the fridge, on the right, as you enter. The Caramel Custards sell fast. Might have to order yours early. Now that I mention, the Caramel Custard has been my unicorn. The last two times I have ordered it, it's been sold out. Makes this one all the better. Try the Caramel Custard at Trishna, Kaala Ghoda. Great too.

Caramel Custard

The real prawn curry

I first ate such a prawn curry at a friend's place a few years ago. Was cooked by a Marathi women. Was the best Gomantak-type prawn curry I have every had. The prawn curries I make don't come close. For starters, I just couldn't figure out where that red colour came from, and how the gravy, though definitely water based, tasted so coconutty. I used to use coconut milk in my prawn curries. Still do. But the whole dish gets too heavy. I have experimented with different chillies for the colour, but no success.

The last time I had gone to my fish-waali I asked her how she cooked prawn curry at home and happy I am that I asked. This is very like what I had been trying to replicate. No matter how much I had tried on my own I would have never figured it out. The secret to the red colour is a chili used by the Marathi and Gomantak community called Kumti. In fact my fish-waali even pointed me to the shop where she buys her spices from. The recipe is amazingly simple. I am pretty sure it would be quite nice with whatever chili you have at hand. But this Kumti business makes a ton of a difference. While she was rattling the recipe to me in great detail I asked her if I needed to put something sour in it. Gomantak food uses kokum. Or tamarind or a little vinegar maybe. Absolute no, she said. Not for prawns. For fish? Ya, could do.

So here's what I call Macchi Waali's Prawn Curry.  I managed to get hold of about a kilo of really juicy Tiger Prawns. For this recipe I would strongly recommend keeping the shells and heads on. Gives the curry a bisque-esqe touch. Just get rid of the front of the heads and the sand sack. With a paring knife slit the back, through the shells, to get rid of the vein. What would I do without my paring knife?

For the base paste (for about a kilo of prawns this size, or 2 kilos of normal ones):

• 4 heaped tbsp Kumti chili powder. You get two types I am told. Spicy and not so spicy. Go with the not so spicy.
• one clove of garlic
• 2 inches of ginger
• 4.5 tbsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp turmeric
• 1 tbsp garam masala
• juice from a couple of limes

Grind it all with a bit of water if needed.

Also grind 150 gms of fried browned onions and 100 gms of fried brown dried coconut kernel.

In the same oil you fry the onions and coconut in, fry the paste. When the paste is cooked through, throw in the prawns and turn them around in the masala. Don't bash the crap out of them. Once coated, put in the ground mixture of onions and coconut. Stir about. Once coated again put in just enough hot water to cover the prawns. Season to taste. Let simmer till prawns cook through. Adjust water and salt, and you are done.

I think this best goes with an unpolished rice. It's got a wholer, more rustic taste.

Ode to the Rogan Josh

Rogan Josh is to Indian cuisine, what Fish and Chips is to Britain, or a Pizza is to the Naples. An embodiment of sorts. However, the popularity of any dish is often the beginning of the end. An end of what made the dish so great in the first place. You'll know what I am talking about if you've eaten a portion of Fish and Chips at a Turkish joint, at some unearthly hour, in the UK. Frozen fries, not chips, and soggy batter don't do the institution any justice. Same with the Pizza. Any Nepolitano would cringe at the thought of anything on a Pizza other than Plum Tomato sauce, some Mozzarella and Basil. The Rogan Josh is no different.

You can find a Rogan Josh on most meat serving restaurants' menus - if not all. And any meat dish on that menu, with a brown gravy, can pass off as a Rogan Josh. A dish that has been around for as long as Indian Cuisine itself has fallen victim to, not time, but it's popularity. The problem lies in what people have come to expect from a Rogan Josh - a basic mutton curry with a brown gravy. Just as people have come to expect a bread base with a tomato sauce, cheese and whatever else you want on it as a Pizza. Bloody ruined! Gone to the dogs.

Rogan Josh, in the UK - and I mention this here because I may have heard this dish mentioned more times in my 5 years spent there than I have in all the years spent India - has fallen prey to the 'scale of blokiness' that ranges from the 'pussy' Korma to the hairy chested 'Vindaloo'. A very clever marketing tool used by 'Indo-British' restaurants, no doubt, but not very good for the traditional, timeless, Indian curry.

I cooked what I think was pretty close to the authentic recipe a few years ago. It was by a women called Mrs. Balbir Singh, a heavy weight of India cooking in the 1960s and 70s. I can't find the recipe now and the book has become a collectors' item since it went out of print. But yours truly has managed to procure a second hand one from the UK - with a little help of course. The other recipe that I think is pretty authentic is in a cookbook called "Cooking Delights of the Maharajas" by Digvijaya Singh, The Maharaja of Sailana. This book I have. My bible of sorts. Will be pitting Mrs. Singh against Mr. Singh once the book is received from London.

Until then a little lesson in food history. The Rogan Josh was brought to India by Timur in the 1400s. Timur, a high-roller in his times, rolled with his expert cooks on his conquests - the Wazas. The Wazas were the Gods of the kitchen. Wazwan cuisine would make any opulent meal of today seem like a take-away. There were more than 30 courses back in the day. But just as the recipes have changed, so has the theatre of it all. The Kashmiri Pandits make their version strictly without onions and garlic and use asafoetida and fennel instead. I buy into the idea of there being no onion in a proper Rogan Jogh. Both Mr. and Mrs. Singh agree. Wikipedia has some interesting theories on where the name comes from, but I wouldn't take their word for it, especially because they list blogs (very much like the one you are reading) as sources. Fools.

Anyway in my attempt to uncover more about the Rogan Josh, I have come across numerous recipes. Some interesting, others not so interesting. But one thing is for certain - it would be a tall order for anyone to make the claim that they have the original recipe. However, Wazwan cuisine is not just about the food. It's about the processes which lead to the food being prepared, and consumed for that matter. So I can tell you with a certain confidence that the brown stuff you get in most restaurants in not a Rogan Josh.

Watch this space for a recipe that probably is.

The Grill of the Punjab

There's something about the title 'food consultant' that doesn't quite sound right. Gives and impression that someone's career didn't go as planned. Now I don't know who bestowed this title upon Jiggs Kalra but I think food consultant kind of works for him. I get an impression he could fry a pakora with as much finesse as with which he could put together a complex curry. Sure he doesn't cook himself at his restaurants; but consultants are implementers, at least that's what they tell themselves, not doers. There is a difference. Punjab Grill is probably the most talked about Indian Restaurant in Mumbai. Don't think I've visited the city without someone mentioning the place. It's probably old news to be honest, but where do we village dwellers get to prance around in the big city on a Sunday afternoon.

Have a look at the menu and there is no shoo-sha whatsoever. No mention of reductions and emulsions and coulis - stuff that gets squirted onto plates from plastic bottles. But fine-dining nonetheless. Its was great to see a whole load of Punjabi dishes (undivided Punjab that is) that none of us had heard of, and there were 3 Punjabis out of 5. Probably recipes brought back to life after having died a death at the hands of the convenience culture. This the time of 50 horsepower grinders and appliances that only a physicist can understand. I like to think that the good, old-fashioned menu was all prepared using good, old-fashioned cooking techniques. But if not, no bother.

The meat platter to start came highly recommend. A quick look and a sniff, as the waiter dished it out, and a repeat was ordered. Ordering a platter is like target practice with a machine gun. You're bound to be happy with something on a plate of 5-6 different things. Tell you what, I loved the lot. Obviously a lot of care had been given to timing. All the meats were just right. Not always the case at an India restaurant. If the mutton is tender, then the chicken can knock your teeth out. But at PG, all superb. The Amritsari Fish, only second best to Jai Jawan on Linking Road. And it was great to see chops that looked like they came from a very well fed, and slaughter-ready animal. Cuts of meat don't always make sense here. Sorry about the lack of photographic evidence.

I saw a Shorba (just Punjabi for soup. Same in Turkish I think.) that looked too good to miss. Wouldn't normally have one when it 40 degrees outside. But this one was worth the irrational behaviour. Creamy and fragrant. Meaty, of course. Spices so well blended and balanced that it was pretty brain cramping trying to pick out the flavours. A sweet woody flavour from cumin and coriander (I think). And surprisingly light for a soup made from, basically animal fat and cream. A must try if you like lamb.


Paya da Shorba

For the main course I agreed to go with Murg Makhani (Butter Chicken) and Daal Makhani (Butter Daal). Think I regret that now. The Doon School conditions your mind to order exactly that when you don't want to be making decisions.  Both were good. Sorry I can't do either of them justice here with lyrical praise. Butter Chicken and Daal Makhani will always be benchmarked against Prezzi's, and it's difficult when you are up against the best. So 'good' is praise enough. The Rotis could have been better. The Rasmalai was horrendous. Too sweet, and hard. No good.


I'll have the usual please

And then the thing we had all been waiting for - the Paan Shot. A great idea I think. And the only bit of shoo-sha. But needed to cut through all the butter that had been consumed. Cutting butter with cream? Again, I would have liked it a little less sweet. Tasted like there was some synthetic syrup in there somewhere. Maybe just too much sugar.

All in all a great place. Worth the money then? Maybe, if we'd ordered differently.

Punjab Grill by Jiggs Kalra - http://punjabgrill.in/

Fried masala fish - Mumbai Style

You get into the rut of working and before you know it, you've actually managed to survive, just barely, an entire working week eating just chlorophyll and gluten. But thanks to a little glad somewhere deep within the subconscious mind, before I go into cardiac arrest from food boredom, my being starts displaying unmissable symptoms. Day 2 brings on periodic bouts of dismay, followed by that "it's going to be okay soon" feeling. On day 3 the hopeful feeling is been replaced by an "it's the end of the world" sort of thing and the dismay gives way to an aggressive cynicism towards everything. Day 3 is a bad one. There is an anger. But not a destructive anger. It's a "I am so angry that I think a little cry might help" kind of anger. A pitiable state. Day 4 is hilarious. At least it seems that way now. You are going mad and you know it. Yet can't do anything about it. I start seeing life in butcher charts. It's incredibly bizarre. The drive home becomes a little hazardous, stray cows, a cause of distraction. I start playing this game in my head where I rate stray bovine, out of 10, on the basis of muscle distribution, rump cover, rib extension and carcass quality. I'll smile to myself when I think I've spotted a winner. An imaginary blue ribbon awarding ceremony follows. The crowd cheers. The winning specimen bows it's head in humility as a result of this massive honour bestowed upon it. All the other cows moo as the Chosen One is led away by men in hair nets and white aprons, all to the sound of a 12 inch blades making repeated swift contacts with steels. I know ... I told you it's mad! This is followed by a restless night and a feeling of certain doom in event that the sad state of affairs is not dealt with.

This Wednesday was day 4. I hadn't cooked fish in while and I went to buy just that after work. I bought this fish that I always see at the market, but never buy. It's local name is Bakra Macchi. Literally translating to Goat Fish. Goatfish is also a name given to a group of Mullet but I am not sure if that's where the name comes from. If you know your fish, out with it. Even more local names are very welcome.

A basic masala fish is quick, easy and delish. Most regular fish eating families in India would have their own versions. Coriander seeds, coconut, chili, turmeric, mustard seeds, ginger and garlic would feature in most them. Here's a version that I reverse engineered from what I ate in Mumbai over one home-cooked Sunday lunch. The masala used to marinade the fish would also make a decent base for a curry. Just cook it with some water and coconut milk and you have yourself a simple curry to throw some fish chunks or prawns into.

Any white sea fish would do for this. Scaled and gutted, leave the fish whole. Make the customary cuts both sides of the body.


Bakra Macchi

For the masala, whizz in a grinder:

• roasted coriander seeds
• roasted grated coconut
• roasted mustard seeds
• red chili power
• turmeric
• juice of one lime
• ginger
• garlic
• a little bit of vinegar
• salt

Coriander seeds will make the base for the paste so be a little generous. The coconut will take away some heat so don't be shy with the chili. Grind all the dry ingredients first and set aide. Then whizz the wet ones before mixing both together and give it all one last spin. Add water to get a spreadable consistency.

Seasoning a marinade can be tricky. Just remember - season boldly. The marinade has to compensate for the lack of salt in the fish. I read in one cookbook, don't remember which one now, that you can season your marinade about 7% more than what you think is normal to account for the meat. I think 8% works better.

  

Let the fish marinade for some time. Three quarters of an hour should do it. Before shallow frying in a pan coat the fish in semolina (rava). And there you have it.

The messy art of Hot Potting

21st March 2011, Dinner.

Frogs in a Pot

After a traditional Hunan lunch, mild flavours, quite skillful in preparation, it was an adventurous Schewan dinner. I first ate Hot Pot in Edinburgh and it became a pretty frequent ritual. A few of us would go there and order copious amounts of meat with two different broths. A Schezwan one for the one's that didn't mind shedding a tear over dinner and a mild chicken one for the men. Don't mind weeping like a girl now and then.

The pot came with a crimson red broth, with sprouts and millions of little Schezwan Peppers. And had frog feet sticking out (no frogs in Scotland). Frog is a Schezwan favourite and I quite like frog myself. It's a very tender meat, sweet and delicate. The frogs are not like the colourful critters you see on National Geographic, photographed against the foliage in a rainforest. These Bull Frogs are farmed and are the size of a quail. I wanted to dig right in but Hot Potting is a patience-testing indulgence.

Bull Frogs

The cooked frogs, and other meats, were eaten with a sesame sauce. Superbly nutty. And perfect to balance the eye-popping heat. You eat all of the frog, bones and all. Only the larger bones get spat out.

After the frogs, thin slices of lamb went in. The pot was topped up with chicken stick now and again. When the water in the pot evaporates the spice gets really concentrated and you can feel any meat coming out of it burning its way into your stomach.

Sasame Sauce with Lamb

Hot Pot Frog

 

Hot Pot Shrimp and Shrimp Balls and the Frog Graveyard

The lamb was followed by shrimp, shrimp balls, a green leaf which I couldn't identify a 100% (think it was from the spinach family) and tofu. The tofu was unbelievable. The best I've ever had. Probably made on the premises. Oh yes, and a flat potato noodle. Looked like a really wide glass noodle, almost an inch wide. Tasted fantastic when soaked in that sesame sauce.
Like life in China on the whole, there are rules that must be followed while Hot Potting. A separate pair of chopsticks are reserved for the pot. Don't think this would be the case if you were eating at home with family. And there are certain things that don't go into the pot together. Don't ask me why. Maybe to do with cooking times. But I have a hunch it's to do with some cultural significance. Like 'no tofu and that green leaf together in pot', as I was told.

I was a little disappointed to see that the shrimp and the shrimp balls were frozen. But the place was packed with locals and if it's good enough for them, it damn well is good enough for me.

Tried asking for a fork for someone with us and no one knew what the hell I was on about. Proper Chinese then. Everything was finished off with some Chinese White Wine. 60% volume. Wine my ass!