how to

Can’t live without happiness Thursday + Roasted red pepper sauce

May 9, 2013 by Edlyn

I think it was 2005 when the big flood hit Bombay. Rain that didn’t stop for a whole week and all I remember of it was a week off from college. That and some of my friends were forced to A) Walk hours through flood waters to get home B) Camp out in South Bombay, the part of the city that saw nothing of this so-called flood. I fell into neither of the categories because I lived in South Bombay, like a non-snob (promise). I was there as a paying guest in a nice little house, the kind that is the stuff of urban legend today.

Unable to completely understand what was bringing this beast of city to a standstill, I made no effort to go out and see it for myself. It was raining and I’ve always believed the one thing I don’t like about moisture-laden clouds is their ability to make my feet feel alien. “Rain shoes” were only part of my vocabulary until my mother bought them for me. After that, it was “whatever-I-can-find-under-the-cupboard shoes”, which were never my shoe(s) in the first place.

Landlady and us roommates got the daily flood reports of places 30-minutes-away-by-train from the TV. Everyday – assuming A. Myra was not taking Jassi waaaayy too seriously – we’d turn on nondescript Hindi news channel and see images of a lot of filthy water, flooded homes (many of them makeshift) and people…having…fun?

And smiling?

And playing silly games?

All this over the voice of a news anchor sitting in a studio trying to sound like the opposite of what was happening. Apart from the people who were living all of it, the rest of us were all detached from reality and unable to see that the only people whose lives really sucked at the time were the ones that were truly happy.

Happy.

In all that uncertainty, confusion and really inconvenient living arrangements, the moving images that moved me the most was their joy. Their faces did not match the headlines and it made me feel like an idiot for missing out on all the fun. I used to have this grand idea as a child of blocking the space under the doors and turning on the tap in the bathroom. So you know, I could turn the house into a swimming pool. I never accomplished that and the images were as close as I could get to being 7 again…minus all the parental drama that could’ve been.

Happy.

I want to be that happy amongst that much sad. Because stupidly, I feel like I can handle it. We live in a world with constant expectations and being damn near (pick a number!) 25 never makes it any easier. We choose our paths and create ideas of how we’re supposed to be but it’s never any of that. It’s always more. It’s the part of you that practices saying “I’m a photographer”, when you’re not sure if you really are/can/pretend to be one. Or the girl that wants to have an uninterrupted 8 hours of just plain creativity in the hope that it one day be paid for. In the middle of it all, we just want to be one thing, even if it means an unscheduled glass of life-changing grape juice.

And to be that girl in a flood because her life is not over and HEY, she finally has her own swimming pool.

Think of this as a “how to” because based on this, I have a lot of non-throw-it-over-pasta recipes swimming in my head. I tried out one today in a hurry since I had to feed my little animal before I went out into the world. I let him finish up the bits and ends so I’ve yet to taste it. If it’s good, tomorrow will be the day!

Ingredients

3 red peppers
4 cloves of garlic (more if you love garlic)
1 cup of yellow onions (or red/purple)
Salt and pepper to taste
Olive oil

Pre-heat the oven to 425 degrees F, which in this house take 5 years and I’ve hired a personal chef in the future so why are we doing this again?

Slice the red peppers down in the middle and get rid of the seeds and the stalk. If you’re the seed-preserving kind, you can do that as well! Place them cut side down on a baking sheet lined with foil. I forgot to grease the foil. I don’t know if you’re supposed to but it didn’t matter. I know this because it didn’t stick. Peel and smash the garlic with the back of the knife and place it among the cut peppers. Lightly sprinkle the peppers with salt and put them in the oven for 45 minutes of until parts of the top get slightly blackened.

Once this happens, don’t freak out because this is how it’s supposed to be. Let the peppers cool completely and then peel off the skin and keep aside. You can save the non-blackened parts of the skin if you want to use in the sauce. It’s no big deal either way. Throw the peppers and (possibly) rock hard garlic pods into a blender or food processor and mix it until it turns into a paste/sauce.

In the final part of the process, heat about a teaspoon and a half of olive oil in a small pot and throw in the onions. Let them cook until translucent and then pour in the roasted red pepper paste. Add a tablespoon or so of water and turn the heat to low. Once it simmers, take it off the stove and season with salt and pepper.

Food goes here.

March 15, 2013 by Edlyn

I’m so predictable, growing my own vegetables in almost spring like everybody else. Except that I live in an apartment and I have no idea what I’m doing. I read the instructions at the back of those little pouches I got at a co-op and considering that I did what it asked of me, I might have carrots, tomatoes, cucumber and some mish-mash of greens very soon.

Like I said, I have no idea what I’m doing. The good thing about all of this is I want to learn. I want to know how to grow some of my own food so I don’t have to walk around like a paranoid freak in the grocery shop. Me the eternal-label reader with very little trust left, is trying to get some of her funk back. I did well with a partial herb garden last year. I grew some chives and thyme. The basil got weird so I pretended like I didn’t know who he was.

My basil was a he, in case you were wondering. The chives were girls and the thyme is dried up, which is great because dried thyme ftw, right?!

This years crop is my second challenge. If I’m writing about it, I know you’re going to want to know what happens at the end. No problemo because I’m the biggest bragger of my failures. If I fail, I’ll try again…fail bigger and better until I’m making sushi like Jiro.

And you know we all want to make sushi like Jiro.

In a way, this whole experiment is sort of fulfilling my childhood dreams. I was always googly-eyed at the chili plant growing in a pot on my grandfather’s porch and yes, you can’t forget this story. Biology class had my full attention when we learnt the vitamin chart, just like Life Processes II did. I am the biggest lover of food that comes out of the ground and the people who know how to do it blindfolded each spring are my heroes. I don’t plan on getting too technical other than letting them germinate in this warm apartment. After all the messing around we do with them these days, they’ll be very relieved to be left alone. They’ll have their own moods and get to grow exactly how they want. I for one, can’t wait till they’re teenagers, a few weeks from now.

For now, this is just mud. That holds my future food. And makes me feel like that little seed. A small part of the change. In a world I love so much.

Can’t live without paneer Thursday

March 14, 2013 by Edlyn

There were always these mini wars at home any time my father made palak paneer. No daggers were drawn and unkind words never uttered. This was a silent war. A war where you ensured you were the first person to serve yourself food so you could quietly spoon the most skewed palak paneer ratio into your plate. Nobody noticed this masti was going on until all the paneer was gone and my father decided to be vocal about it.

I think it was Gayle.

Paneer is one of the biggest reasons why I’ve become such a spinach fiend. It’s not the other way around. I just realised how true this is after I typed it. Unlike other Indian households that know the exact doodhwala (dairy, but literally translated to milkman) that makes the softest, pillow-like paneer or provides the milk that can aid you in the process, my family rarely did any of this. Paneer was a once in a while, Sunday sort of thing and that made it even more tantalising. Every time it was stir-fried or dropped in a pot of pureed spinach, Gayle was always the first in line stealing all the paneer.

She’ll say no but don’t believe her.

Which brings me to my new kitchen. There’s an “Indian store” some kilometers away that sells paneer like any good Latin-American run Indian store should. If ever I sum up the courage to walk there, I never forget the cottage cheese. I’m a good Indian girl that way.

Last week I wanted to be the best Indian alive. I wanted to make my own paneer, which if any seasoned Indian cook reads, they’re probably going to laugh in my face. I knew when I saw a bottle of milk from the local dairy, all swirling with the fattiest of fat milk I’ve seen in the West, I had to have it. HAD TO. If you’re ever thinking of attempting this recipe, buying the best milk is a good place to start. It’s so simple, and with a little patience, you can be like your friend’s mother who takes restaurant-like orders for food every morning and when you come home after FROLICKING in the 1000 degree Agra summer there’s a freakin mango milkshake and 10 course meal with paneer you press with your index finger because it’s clearly sent from heaven.

If you have no intention of attempting this recipe, that’s okay too. Just leave a comment in the end that says: “You’re the best Indian alive.” “You’re” meaning me.

I think I’ve earned it.

Ingredients

1 litre of whole aka fatty fat milk (4 cups)
1- 1 1/2 tbsp lemon juice

You will also need

Cheesecloth

Pour the milk into the pot and keep it on medium heat. You will now be waiting for it to come to a slow/gentle boil. As it sits there, keep stirring from time to time with a spoon.

Keep a watchful eye on the pot. It should take about 30 minutes to reach a gentle boil. If you’ve ever seen milk reach its boiling point, it doesn’t just do the sissy bubbling that water does. It will rise right out of the pot and on to the burners. Total anarchy will ensue. When all you were hoping for was a cup of tea, you will have a stove that doesn’t light and a whole mess to clean. If you’re going for gentle boil, you do not want this.

While the milk is going along, keep the cheesecloth ready. It should be big enough to bundle and hang. Place the cheesecloth in a strainer or colander.

As soon as you see tiny bubbles come up to the surface of the milk, add the lemon juice a little bit at a time (a teaspoon would be a good start). You’ll start to see slight curdling of the milk. While doing this, keep stirring slowly. You want the milk to separate. Once it does this, it changes colour. I want to call this change a greenish colour but you might have a different opinion. That’s the milk turning into curd and whey. I have a picture to show you what you’re looking for.

You might require more or less lemon juice than stated in the ingredients as every lemon has a different acid content.

Once it completely separates, stir for 15 seconds more and then strain the curd-whey through the cheesecloth. Rinse the curd under cold water to remove any lemon taste and also to cool it so you can squeeze out the whey before you hang the cheesecloth.

You can add some dried herbs like thyme or oregano before you tie and hang the curd if you want to flavour it. I didn’t do that this time but I will try it the next time.

Tie the cheesecloth (with the curd inside) tight with baker’s twine or some other string and let it hang out for 30 minutes. I tied it from the handle to our microwave. Weirdo. Thirty minutes later, put some weight on the cheesecloth bundle to get rid of any extra whey that’s still in the curds. You don’t want too much weight or your paneer will become too dry. Leave it under the weight for 2 hours.

Untie it and voila, guess what we’ve just created? Perfect palak paneer material, that’s what.

Apart from the spinach, of course.