salad Archives

I’m sitting at the table. It’s the kind of table that folds back to a flat piece of nothing. Unless you were hoping to have a floor-style community meal, it’s the kind of table that fades into the background or shows up for the times we want to eat on the balcony like it’s a picnic. Right now, it’s standing on its own. It’s covered in paintings, paints, a glass full of this murky brown water – that earns its colours after constant brush dipping – and of course, there’s a paintbrush. And almonds.

My 4-year-old neighbour came to visit today. I brought her with me to hand her our copy of “Lincoln”. She was supposed to take it back to her parents’ but she changed her mind. “I want to come to your house. I love the puppies!”

“I love to paint.” “I love my brother.” “My little sister’s name is Karthika. I love her.” “I think this puppy loves me.”

If I start this-right-here sentence with “Kids….”, I’m probably going to distance myself from the one thing I still wish I could be. I don’t want to do that. I loved being a child. Just yesterday I made a mental note of all the games we made up as children. The no adults allowed kind of games. Our stuffed toys would talk and if they were on the floor after we awoke the next morning, we would assume they came to life while we were asleep. Then there was mud. Lots and lots of mud became food and leaves were the plate. Dry mud sprinkled on top of wet mud was chocolate pudding, rice, curry, fish, and then some. I can still feel this overwhelming joy that I felt back when I knew my sisters and I were going to play in this small shed at Analise’s house. There would be lots of mud and we could cook for hours, or until A. Pacy called us for lunch. *Groannnn*.

Back then, I never challenged my (what us adults call) creativity. I didn’t know any different. I made up things in my head and I had nothing to worry about because my world was real. Of course, one of us would always try to contest this reality, which would end with a loud “You’re cheating!” and maybe some tears and/or bite marks. “Magenta?! There’s no such colour!” Try telling that to the crocodile, Miss 8-year-old.

I wish it was still okay to bite people especially an imagination that constantly doubts itself. I’d bite a system that gives us ranks instead of measuring our passions. I’d bite the table because sometimes, that seems appropriate. I’d bite the walls that pop up any time I think I have a good idea but have no clue where to go from there. I’d also bite walls, because I like the taste of cement.

TMI.

Just like the 4-year-old with two ponytails, I also love. Puppies and paint and my sisters. I love this writing thing. I love how everything I draw always turns into a tree. I love leaf money and my Peanuts comics. I love to cook.

I have no desire for fame, or money (except sometimes….you know. Boring stuff). I just want this love thing. It seems like something important to a 4-year-old.

“For happiness is anyone and anything at all that’s loved by you”

You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.

To my people in India, I know we don’t get these sugar snap things there so a good substitute for them would be some crunchy green French beans, cut in half and cooked in boiling water just until crispy/tender. They won’t be sweet but yet, they still will…if you know what I mean. You are my favourites. This recipe was inspired by this post on bonappetit.com.

Ingredients

160 gm (1 3/4 cups) sugar snap peas
190 gm (2 cups) sweet potato, cut in 1/2 inch cubes
1/2 cup green onions, chopped/minced…you get my drift
Pepper and/or salt

For the dressing

2 tbsp rice vinegar
2 tbsp lite soy sauce
2 tsp ginger, minced
2 tsp garlic, minced
1 tsp chili-garlic sauce like Sriracha
2 tsp peanut oil
1 tsp sesame seeds
1 tsp brown sugar
1/2 tbsp peanut butter

For garnish (optional)

Roasted peanuts or almonds or sunflower seeds…something nutty and crunchy that you already have in the kitchen, basically.

This should be fairly easy if I don’t eat up half my instructions. Shake me if I do.

Boil the sweet potato cubes in water until tender. As soon as you take them off the stove, shock them with cold water to stop the cooking process. Or tell them they’re fat. String the sugar snap peas and then cut them into 3 parts or 1/2 inch pieces. Put into a large bowl where your final salad will go along with the cooked sweet potatoes and green onions.

Once the veggies are ready, it’s onto the dressing. Apart from the peanut oil and sesame seeds, mix/whisk together all the other ingredients in a small bowl. As for the peanut oil, put it on a pan along with the sesame seeds. When the oil gets hot enough, you’ll notice the sesame seeds turning a darker shade of brown and getting fragrant as well. Watch it closely so it doesn’t burn. As soon as this happens, take the pan off the stove and pour the hot oil/seed mix into the dressing bowl. Mix it with the rest of what’s in there and pour over the vegetable/spud/root i.e. peas, sweet potato, onions. Garnish with garnish. You have options above. I used roasted almonds. Season with pepper and salt (if it’s not already salty enough). If you want to make this dish even more fun, serve with your favourite Asian noodles.

Dinner is served. By somebody else. Not me.

Where salad is another word for “stuff” and “stuff” is poop. If you’ve been reading stuff I’ve written so far, you’ll must already know how much I love doing dishes. I love it so much that I do them at least thrice a day. If I can’t find anything to wash, I make myself an unnervingly complicated bowl of food which requires no less than 83 utensils. Then I sit down and heave a sigh of relief because god knows what I’d have done if I didn’t have 83 utensils to wash.

I would have cried. Hopeless tears.

I’ve observed people around kitchen sinks all my life. Whatever they did while scrubbing blackened pots and pans looked simple enough. Yet, I felt guilt. Guilt that I did nothing to help dirty all those things and guilt that I only washed my own plate. And hand. Because that’s how we eat back in the South of the East. I knew it would eventually catch up to me.

All this love I had for washing dishes wasn’t going to stay bottled up in my big juicy heart forever. It spilled out into a sea of suds and blue scrubbers (many times over) ever since I started writing about my lust for eatable green world. Safe to say, I am overjoyed. I can now wash as many butter knives as I want without the slightest fear that somebody else (let alone a dishwasher!) is going to take away my sink full of dreams.

Butter knives? Sink full? It’s for when I want to study the wonders of natural peanut butter in pockets throughout the day. It’s going well so far, thanks for asking. Use a spoon, you say? Oh.

Studies show that using a spoon is a sure sign of an addiction. One that nobody should be willing to admit unless coaxed by observers forced to take out recycling bins full of jars that say “Skippy”. I speak like I know the truth, but really, all I know is there are certain cooking utensils that I love washing a lot more than others.

Spoons. Those same guys. Three sizes they come in. No idea why, but they’re breathtaking when you let the wonder that is running water caress their backs and it looks like a Vegas fountain. Turn the spoon the other way three seconds later and your face gets a free wash. WOW. Truly amazing.

Those scissor-looking things that people use to flip over bacon on pans and such. What a marvelous idea. I really do not know how my fingers have survived all these years without it. Washing the ends of this device is something I would give my left arm to Science for. And I don’t give things up to Science for nothing, ya know.

Knives. Oh if there was anything in the world that made me value the truth of dish-washing, knives would be it. Right on top. Number 1 and nothing less. How else could I explain the concern knives feel for me when they make me slow down. Pause. And breathe. And cherish the fact that it’s not those scissor-looking things that people use to flip over bacon that care for my fingers. It’s the knives. They love my fingers the most.

Non-stick pans and how little they actually make me work. I just have to blow on them and tuck them into a floor cabinet. Anything more is just too much Mama bear.

Pop yo collar (sometimes exploding) Pyrex. Because nothing makes me value my life more than having to see it all disappear in a matter of seconds.

Glasses where protein shakes once lived. They teach me the importance of soaking, and perseverance if I forget.

You see, I’m truly lucky. Blessed beyond measure. Ecstatic. Over the moon. Crock pot crazy! And if you know me, you’ll know that this is nothing out of the ordinary.

I feel like I’m starting to understand the vinaigrette formula better each day, and understanding it helps me adapt it to my arbitrary taste. I did a simple Internet search for a basic vinaigrette and most of them say that the ratio of vinegar to oil should be 1:3 (1tbsp vinegar:1tbsp oil). I’ve tried that formula and it works for sure but my Goan tastebuds are stubborn and they want more of the bite vinegar offers. You can tone it down if you prefer. I’m sorry if my vinegar-frenzy killed your throat or something.

Ingredients

1 cup black lentils, cooked and cooled
1/4 cup cooked and cooled quinoa (optional. I made this salad when I made those roasted carrots so I just threw in some of the quinoa that I used there)
1/2 cup roasted peanuts (unless you have allergies)
3 cups salad greens (I used a mesclun mix)

For the vinaigrette

2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
3 tbsp olive oil
1/4 tsp sea salt
Crack of pepper
Zest of 1/2 a lemon or 1 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp Greek yogurt
1 tsp honey (optional)

To cook the black lentils, first you have to buy them. Bring them home, scoop out half a cup and soak them in water overnight or for 10-12 hours. The next day, drain the water and put them in a pot of water with salt on medium heat for 25-30 minutes. The lentils should be just cooked through and not mushy. If they are mushy, kick it in the face and use them anyway. Life’s too short to waste good black lentils.

Roast the peanuts on a dry pan on medium high heat until they release their oils and become fragrant. Rinse and dry the salad leaves.

As for the dressing, in a small cup or bowl, mix together the vinegar and olive oil. Using a spoon or whisk, beat it until it combines. Add the salt and pepper and lemon parts and mix. Finally add the Greek yogurt to hold the vinaigrette together with its fattiness. Mix in the honey at the end.

In a medium bowl, bring the greens and lentils. Pour as much dressing as you want over and mix well. Toss the roasted peanuts in and serve cold. Guaranteed to leave your kitchen sink only slightly overwhelmed.

Sweet potato and sugar snap pea salad + Be 4.

Get salad done Monday + Black lentil salad, that is.