It's me!
If you’re wondering if food justice is disconnected from what you experience on a day to day basis, consider these questions: Who picked the produce you buy? Where do you shop? How many times a week do you eat out? Where do you eat when you do? Who are you sharing your purchasing power with?
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A woman was shopping with a girl in a cotton candy pink dress, the kind I would kill to have to wear to church as a kid. It flared and on her feet were white ballet flats. My church clothes were mostly embarrassing to myself. Hand-me-downs from my cousins, they looked fine but once I started noticing how awkward it was to be me, the clothes might as well have been a clown suit. “Mom,” she said from the cart where she sat, stretching out the one syllable, defining her main relationship, “can I have a gummy bear?”
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Happy International Women’s Day (belated, I was tired yesterday. ). Lots to read about gender equality all over the world right here.
The place I work at is a food blogger’s dream. Their merchandising department is so good at their job that almost any ingredient you see in a top-hit type recipe has a place on our shelves. Even so, there is always something that we won’t sell simply because it’s not trendy enough. Kasuri methi (dried fenugreek leaves) and chaat masala is nowhere to be seem but the haldi (turmeric) and jeera (cumin) jars always seem to empty quicker than they are filled. Whatever I can’t buy after work on Sunday forces me a little out of my comfort zone. During the store’s annual end-of-year spice cupboard restock sale (a name I just made up) last year, I took home some sumac, smoked paprika, ground ancho and chipotle pepper, red pepper flakes and powdered harissa blend, which little did I know, is like buying powdered recheado masala. It’s not the same….
If you want to know what I miss most about living in Goa let me tell you right now that cabbage is not on top of the list. I don’t know what it is about cabbage but I went through a phase where I decided I did not like it at all and that was that. I would force myself to eat it, swallowing it with water not because I had to finish what was on my plate but because I had declared myself the household’s biggest lover of vegetables. Hence my not liking cabbage was downright embarrassing to that title. So I ate it all or asked for help from Grandma, who came from a family of many where wasting food was simply not an option (Gayle had a daily problem with this and would whine off everything she wouldn’t eat to grampsi. Funny how she’s now the chef)….
Here’s what I have to tell you as a blogger who loves food enough to make photos of it and write down a recipe for a post exactly like the one you’re reading right now. Ready? Okay. You don’t need props or the latest wooden utensils. You don’t need to learn Snap Chat. Really. I tried it for a week this year and a week last year and while I had a blast using all the filters (mostly being SIA), I think it’s okay to have a one or zero-dimensional social media presence….
The coming week will mark the birthdays of two of my favourite grandparents, who made a huge impact on my life growing up and still do to this very day. They are no longer alive but I see a little bit of them in everything I do. I remember that joy for life I had and that they nurtured every time we visited them. They let us make-believe till lunch and then make-believe some more till it was time to wash away the dirt. That was true freedom. That’s what I will always carry with me….
I took a bunch – assuming that the collective noun for photographs is “bunch” – of photos for this post and then I spent another pot (I am winning at this grammar, right?) of time trying to make what I felt were the most *perfect* beetroot chips. Are they? Listen to this:
Not even close. So you know, I think it’s okay if the photos are true to the true nature of oven-almost-burnt-but-not-quite beet chips.
The last time or the time before I was here typing words into a blog post, I wrote about light. It’s this thing that takes up a lot of space on my phone’s memory. Every morning, I’ll try to walk through the house and open up all the blinds. Observing how the day looks out the window when I wake up is a ritual for me that has somehow become a comforting part of my morning. It’s just light but it’s moving and I can’t for the life of me seem to figure out why.
I’m going to say the word “spring” now and tell you that I’ve never enjoyed this season more now that I know I can grow things and not kill them. It’s true. It also happens to be the time when the light is at its most life-affirming (“I exist for a reason” “We are all stardust”….really). Most of my Instagram is just photos of be being SO EXCITED about all these light hours and especially so when it’s mellow and turns all the details on food into what can only be described as food seduction. Or leaf seduction…moss seduction? All of it.
I’m not sure who we have to thank for all this (wait for it) spring beauty. It’s there. I notice it and I just can’t help but feel giddy when it rains. None of what I do here is perfect. The real beauty is outside. It’s the only reason I can think of for spending the least possible amount of time EDITING PHOTOS (gahd) and eating more chips while looking outside at some silly dogs who find the best shady spots to watch the backyard and Matt’s lawn obsession come to life.
Beet chip toasts
Notes: When I make recipes like this, the goal is to be as easy on myself as possible by using what I have on hand. Actually, that’s how I always cook. Your biggest task in this recipe is roasting the beets to a crisp. So take your time doing it. Everything else can be prepped in advance. If you want to be an even smarter woman (or guy, hi!), buy some packaged vegetable chips and put everything else together in a snap. Another thing you could substitute: The bread for crackers.
For the balsamic reduction in this recipe, I simmered down 6 tbsp balsamic vinegar and 3 tbsp honey till it reduced by half. I have linked the recipe in the ingredients list. Make more if you’d like because it won’t go to waste. Think roasted strawberries over vanilla ice-cream and the honey balsamic on top.
Ingredients
Place two racks in the oven: One in the middle and one at the bottom. Heat the oven to a temperature of 375 degrees F and line a baking sheet with foil.
Slice the beets to a thickness of 1/8 inches on a mandoline slicer and toss with the salt. Let them sit for 10 minutes and then drain them in a colander. Dab lightly with a paper towel and toss them to coat with olive oil.
Line the beet slices on the baking sheet (some overlap is okay) and place them in the middle rack of the oven. Cook for 10 minutes. Pull out the baking sheet and quickly flip the beet slices over. I recommend using tongs, or two forks. I just use my clean fingers because I live on the edge. Place the baking sheet back on the lower rack in the oven and cook for 7-10 minutes more. Keep and eye on the beets because they go from crisp to burnt very quickly. They are ready when they change colour from their usual deep purple to an almost pinkish-orangeish colour (see photos). Let them cool for them to crisp up. Store in an air-tight container if not using immediately. You may have to do this in batches depending on how big your baking sheet is.
Mix the goat cheese, lemon zest and salt in a small bowl and set aside. If making a day ahead, let it soften at room temperature before using.
Make the balsamic reduction according to the recipe instructions in the ingredients list.
To assemble
Spread the goat cheese on the toasted bread and cover with beet chips. Drizzle with the balsamic reduction and top with fresh thyme and pepper.
On May 27, I was a no longer a cluster of cells in my mother’s uterus. I was a fully-functioning (for all new-born purposes) human. Today, that term means many different, sometimes unbelievable things. Unbelievable because sometimes I can’t fathom how much I’ve changed just by throwing myself into this unfamiliar world a few short years ago.
I am 28 years old. As time moves on, I have become a more passionate admirer of time. Yes, the pace still scares me but I need that slight fear. I need to know I’m doing all that I can to make the most of the fragility of being. A few months ago, I took a selfie – in front of a mirror. No big deal except for me, it was huge. I was looking right into my reflection and making peace with this body. This is the same body that lets me have endless energy to do the things I love. I saw it and I called it what it was – a miracle.
It was never always like this. I too had awkward teenage years. Mine involved being lanky, taller than the other kids, and incredibly ashamed at this person I would glance at as I walked by a mirror. I never looked into one for longer than a second. There was a reflection I had little to be proud of. My short hair stuck up no matter how much water I used to calm it, my clothes were always confusing to me (what do I do with these things?!), my legs looked like sticks and I just generally had no reason to look at myself. I channelled all that insecurity into a dislike for what is termed (negatively) as “being girly”. What does it even mean? I don’t like to comb my hair? Even the “girliest of women” don’t. I didn’t know that then. There are many photographs to remind me of that time and I wish I knew then that it wasn’t permanent.
I would eventually be able to grow my hair out, right ma? I don’t harbour any ill feelings toward my mother for only letting us have short hair as kids. It’s all I want to do with my hair now. Being able to have long hair didn’t change my world. Being me did. I remember vividly when “It will grow back,” became my go-to line for women who complained about haircuts they thought went wrong. Now it’s more like: “You’re an awesome person. It will grow back. Let’s get ice-cream!”
These are the things I’ve somehow taught myself. You might consider me the worst woman to give you advice on body image-type things, but know that we all have our demons. We all have things that eat at us, telling us we’re not worthy. I don’t like it when all you see is my shape and I’m sorry some stupid magazine has you conditioned to think I have it all figured out. I’m not even close.
What I am closer to is a better relationship with myself, a greater understanding of this thing called gender and the infallible ability to encourage (always) the women I encounter or exist with in my diverse circle. I can’t stress how important that last part is to me. I am so damn excited for every chance.
So I took a picture of myself. When I look at it, I won’t see 27 or 28. I’ll see contentment. I’ll see strength and a time of becoming, through me and the miracles around me. I’m doing so much better in my skin now.
Radish and red spinach raita 
Notes: Though it’s far from the traditional raita recipe (cucumbers, onions, tomatoes, cilantro), the flavours and textures are all present. You can eat this as a side with your other curry-based dishes or on its own, as a dip. It’s cooling and it’s something my family in Goa makes a lots once the temperature starts to rise. You can make it a day ahead but it tastes best when made fresh.
You can find chaat masala at your local Indian grocery store or online. I use the Shaan brand here in the American land. You can also make your own at home if you have the long list of spices it requires.
Red spinach is a name I’m giving this type of spinach because it has a stem and ribs that look very similar to what beet greens would have. It’s not the same as red amaranth (tambdi bhaji), in case you were wondering. I used red spinach in this recipe because I loved the pinkish colour it gave the yogurt. Feel free to use regular spinach or any other green you think would go well with this whole deal.
Ingredients
Place a colander over the sink. Fill a medium-sized saucepan with water, salt it and bring to a boil over high heat. Once the water boils, add the spinach to the saucepan and let it wilt. This should take close to a minute. Once it’s ready, drain the spinach into the colander and run cold water over it until it stops steaming. Drain the wilted spinach well and place it on a chopping board. Coarsley chop the spinach into bite-sized bits and add to a large bowl.
In the same bowl, add the cut radishes, red onion and mint.
In another bowl, mix together the yogurt, chaat masala, chilli powder and garlic powder. Pour this yogurt mixture over the cut vegetables. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately or chill before serving. It keeps well in the fridge for a day.
There is this photo on my instagram feed – if you scroll to the very beginning – that I sometimes look at to remember simpler times. Back then, I used my iPod touch to take photos and the 1/2 pixel that I hold so dear today was the same 1/2 pixel that irritated me. The year I started “instagramming” was the year I got married. It was the year I said “OKAY!” to a dude and “heck yes” to having the responsibility of (it’s going to sound silly) a piece of technology I wasn’t quite sure I could handle. I had dropped a phone in water, had one stolen from my pocket, made another disappear at the beach and somehow managed to make one stop functioning after 2 months. But this was an iPod so somehow it was different and just as terrifying.
Matt bought me my iPod the same time he came to Goa to get married. It was my Christmas present. I had asked for it and I was half-surprised to open a plastic bag containing it on Christmas day. I can thank London airport security for fancy (un)packaging. The day I got it, I got instagram. I knew I wanted it since I always loved taking mobile photos. Good mobile photos. Not selfies, though that wasn’t a word in 2011 and I took maybe 8. Or 20.
When I scroll back to 2011 on my feed, I see this and this and this and this. I see living parts of me floating around in a virtual catalogue that I was only too trigger-happy to document. I see my past staring at me and every pixel of it reminds me of the world that exists within. I am this person because of all that happened in between those photos and even before. Defintely before. I am this Edlyn because Gayle brought home a cat and taught us they were animals that belonged in our family. I am this Edlyn because my father would dip his finger into his drink and let us taste the feni because it is and will always be a Goan rite of passage. I am this Edlyn because of Cynthia and Ignatius. But most of all, I am this Edlyn because of the bundle of newspaper-wrapped peas, tied with string, that my mother would ask us to shell. The onions they would cut with their backs facing us as we walked into the kitchen. The sounds, the smells, the interruptions – that stays with me. I will always want that to play back in my mind.
I’m probably making a big deal about a photo but I know why I took it that evening. It reminds me of a life that is uninhibited, brave and necessary, while I’m trying to make sense of being “grown up”. It stirs me from my lethargy and shows me why I do this. It all begins with her – my mother’s hands, shelling peas.
– To the one person who ALWAYS reads my blog. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
Roasted vegetable kale salad with naan and a cheesy-garlic dressing
Notes:
Ingredients
Salad barely adapted from 101 Cookbooks
For the naan
For the salad
For the dressing
To make the naan: Whisk together the all-purpose flour and salt in a large bowl. (And by whisk, I mean use your fingers). Measure out the water and dissolve the sugar in it. Heat the water to a temperature that’s between 100 degrees F to 115 degrees F. Add the yeast to the water and let it sit in a warm spot fro 10 minutes, until the liquid gets foamy.
In a separate small bowl, whisk together the yogurt and vegetable oil until it blends together. Once the yeast foams up, add the yogurt-oil mixture to it and stir once or twice. Make a well into the centre of the flour and pour in the yeast-yogurt liquid. Using a fork or a woodden spoon, stir the liquid into the flour until it forms into a sticky dough. Dust ab0ut a tablespoon more of flour on the top then stir a couple more times. Cover the bowl (I usually use a small salad plate) and place in a warm area.
After an hour, the dough should have risen. The texture of the dough might still be sticky at this point but that’s okay. Before you start rolling the dough, place a heavy-bottomed skillet on the stove on medium-high heat. Flour the surface where you will be rolling out the dough and dust your palms with some flour as well. Separate the dough into 3-4 balls. Take one ball of dough and flatten it with your fingers. Sprinkle a little flour on the top and flatten it with your fingers. You can either spread out the dough using your fingers or you can use a rolling pin. I found it easier to just use my fingertips to spread out the naan. Roll it to a thickness of about 1/4 inch.
Pour a teaspoon of ghee to coat the skillet. The cooking surface will be hot already so it won’t take too long for the ghee to heat. Give it 15-30 seconds and then carefully place the naan on to the pan. Cook on one side for about 1 minute or until it starts to puff up on parts of the dough and turn brown to dark brown in parts. Flip it with spatula and cook for another minute or less on the other side. Place the cooked naan on a plate to cool. Repeat the same cooking process with the rest of the dough.
Once the naan has cooled, tear it up into smaller pieces. These pieces will go into the salad.
Cooking and assembling the salad: Heat the oven to 375 degrees F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Remove the ribs from the bottom half of the kale (they will be tough and difficult to chew) and cut the leaves into 2 inch parts, along the length. Set the chopped kale aside in a large mixing bowl.
Cut up the carrots, leeks and break up the brocolini florets from the stems. Since you will be using the stems of the broccolini as well, chop them into a size that’s almost that of the florets. Place all the cut vegetables on the parchment paper-lined baking sheet and coat with olive oil. Sprinkle the spices on the top, along with the the salt and pepper. Toss the vegetables using your hands and place the tray into the oven for 15-20 minutes. The vegetables should be tender but still have that crunch (taste the carrots for this). Put the vegetables in a small bowl.
To make the dressing, whisk together the olive oil and lemon zest + juice in a small glass jar. Peel the garlic and bruise it by smashing it with the back of your knife. Once it’s bruised, sprinkle a pinch of salt on the top and chop it up roughly into fine pieces. Grate the cheese into the dressing, add the chopped garlic and sprinkle pepper on the top. Whisk the new ingredients into the olive oil-lemon juice and taste for salt. Add more if required.
Assemble the salad by adding the roasted vegetables on top of the kale. Place the torn bits of naan into the salad and then pour the dressing on top. Toss well, using your hands until the kale absorbs the dressing. Let it sit for a few minutes and the serve topped with pumpkin seeds and a little more cheese. Because cheese is a wonderful thing.
Did anybody notice we’re in a new year yet? Just checking. I mean my insides feel like I should’ve climbed a mountain already but who are we kidding? I ain’t got no bucket list.
Speaking of buckets: Every Indian house has one. Not one. Three. Minimum. When my sister and I lived in Bombay and when I lived in Bombay by myself before that, I had my first experience of living without running water. We had water in case your brain is forming any “oh that’s so sad” ideas. Stop. We were privileged in a very different sense of the word. Water ran for 1 hour every day and at 5-5.30 in the morning. Every single bucket was filled. I rarely experienced the ritual because we/I lived with people who would do it for us. See what I meant by privileged? If we had to bathe, we would warm half a buket of water on the stove and fill up the rest with cold water. That’s all we got. Sometimes we didn’t get water at all and that’s when we were glad for such a thing as bucket back-ups.
New years always make me (more than usual) nostalgic for a life I’ve lived in the past. I was such a different person. So naive and unconcerned about worldly injustice. Sometimes I wish i could reach out and be back there for a second. I’d mingle with my friends, we’d spend way too much time at the canteen feeding our faces and the mean cat Fried Rice. It would turn to early evening and somebody would order many aloo-parathas and tea. Somebody would also complain that the food sucked and we should come to *insert North Indian state name here* and see what real food tasted like. I would go and eventually agree but right then – being among those people, worrying about nothing – it tasted just fine to me.
It tasted like home.
As for mountain climbing, I looked out of the bus window today and saw there are still plenty. I picked one last year and I’ll do it again this year. Tomorrow is going to be another mountain for Matt and I right here on the ground. Metaphorical ground. There is happy and sad news on its way. If anything, today is testament to life in the year that’s here. I’m making my peace with it. Hug the people you love extra tight and be present in every moment with them. Phone calls count. And love the love + recognise it with emphatic high-fives because it exists: my parents will be married for 30 years on this very day.
We got this, 2015. Team effort.
Always.
Happy New Year!
“If you’re lost and alone
Or you’re sinking like a stone
Carry on
May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground and
Carry on”
– Fun.
Aloo-paratha with fried egg + roasted pomegranate seeds and a simple spinach-carrot salad
Making aloo-paratha has been on my list of things to do ever since I knew what it was. The only difference is back when I had it for the first time, I never needed to make it because I could get it for free from really (now I realise how) valuable friends. Please read the notes before going through he recipe as it is a guide on what to expect. I’m not calling this recipe authentic because I left out some spices. However, through much trial and error, I’ve learnt that food from the parts I call home feel like home because of the flavours – not sticking to every step of a recipe. You make it perfect for you and that’s what’s important.
Notes:
Ingredients
For the potato filling
Boil the potatoes in generously salted water using your favourite method. Mine is to place the potatoes in a pot completely covered in water and going over the top of the potato by 2 inches. Bring the water to a boil on medium heat and then reduce the heat to a simmer for 15 minutes. The potatoes are ready then a butter knife can be easily inserted through the centre. Once the potatoes are ready, carefully pour out the hot water and replace it with cold water to stop cooking. Let them cool and then peel the skins off. Mash the potatoes in a medium bowl.
While the potatoes are boiling, dry roast the cumin seeds. This shouldn’t take long since the quantity is small. Add the cumin to a small pan and place on medium heat. Let it roast while constantly stirring. This prevents it from burning (as tasting terrible!) and roasted evenly. There are a lot of variables but you will know the cumin is ready once it starts to get fragrant (you might have to stick you nose close to the pan) and get slightly darker on the outside. This step is optional and purely for my flavour-playing enjoyment.
Add all the spices, including the cumin seeds (if using) to the bowl with the mashed potatoes. Grate the garlic and ginger on top. Add the chopped chili and salt to taste. Cover and set the bowl aside while you make the dough.
For the dough
Mix the flour and salt together in a large bowl using your fingers (it’s the best way). Add the melted ghee to the flour and spread it in well. Make a well in the centre of the bowl and add a little bit of water at a time, mixing in parts of the flour wall as you go. Knead the dough for 5 minutes once you’ve used up all your water. If you feel you need more water, add just a teaspoon at a time. It might sound like it’s not enough but it is ALWAYS better to have too little over too much when it comes to water and flour.
Once your dough is sufficiently kneaded, roll it into a ball and let it rest on the counter for 30 minutes.
Making the aloo-paratha
First you need to divide the dough into 7 or 8 balls, rolling them up into well-rounded circles. Place the bowl with the potato filling close by. Dust a working surface with flour (to prevent the dough from sticking) and start with the first ball of dough. Flatten it on the working surface using your fingers and then sprinkle the top lightly with some more flour.
Using a rolling pin, roll out the dough, constantly turning it around and flipping it over so you get a nice round circle to place the filling in. Roll it to about 1/4 inch in thickness.
Take a little more than a tablespoon of the potato filling and roll it into a circle on the middle of your palms. Place it right in the centre of the dough and flatten it just a little. Draw the edges of the dough to the centre to cover the potato filling. I have taken easy step-by-step photos for your ease.
Once you’ve pulled the edge of the circle to the centre, pinch it so that it seals the potato filling and flatten it carefully to seal in the contents. If you notice any openings, pinch them shut or cover with any extra pieces of dough.
Dust the work surface with flour. Roll the dough back up again, pinched side up, using as little pressure as possible on the rolling pin. Start rolling from the middle to the edges. Put most (which is still not a lot) of the pressure in the middle and move the rolling pin lightly towards the edge. If you press down too hard, the potato filling might spill out along the edges. It might do this anyway if the dough feels finicky but it’s almost nothing to worry about. It it’s too bothersome, you can seal these open spots with bits of dough.
Once you’ve rolled out all the parathas, the next step is cooking them. Heat a pan (preferably one that deals well with high heat) to medium-high heat. Coat it to the “happy medium” with ghee: This means you want to coat the surface of the pan and them have a little bit more for extra love. Once the pan is hot (this is important), place a paratha on it. It should start cooking as soon as it touches the surface. In about a minute to a minute and a half, the paratha will start to get slightly puffy and that’s your cue to flip it over. You will notice once you flip that the bottom of the paratha has a beautiful, brown colour in parts. Dab a little bit more ghee on the top and let the bottom cook for about a minute. Again, you might notice it getting puffy, which means it’s ready to get off the pan and into a plate. If you don’t notice the puffiness, just lift the paratha with a spatula and check the colour. If it is brown in parts, it’s done.
Parathas are best eaten fresh off the tawa/pan. To keep them at a warm temperature, place them one on top of another and cover tight with a clean tea towel.
If you are cooking only a few at a time, you can refrigerate them, after or before rolling them out for up to a day. If you’ve rolled them out. Dust each paratha with flour and place pieces of parchment or wax paper between them. Place them on top of each other on a plate and cover with plastic wrap.
To assemble the aloo-paratha breakfast of champions, you will need
Put the hot paratha on a plate and top with the ingredients above in and preferably in that order.
If you have any questions, leave them in the comments and I’ll do my best to answer them. Most of all, happy eating.
