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.