——————————————————————————————————————————————————

My uncle told me that chicken curry is one of the most popularly searched items on Google…or was it ‘on the internet’? I didn’t find stats matching that exactly, but I did find that ‘chicken’ is, at present, one of the most searched for on Google in the food and drink category: http://www.google.com/insights/search/#cat=0-71&cmpt=q . And I enjoy cooking chicken curry, it’s the first non-vegetarian dish proper for which I came up with my own recipe and actually made. It’s a favourite with my friends and family, easy to cook in large quantities for large quantities of people – even with large appetites. It has both Bengali and North Indian influences, and is also light enough for a lazy weekend lunch with rice, some salad and beer (or not).

I cooked it for my parents when I visited them in September, and even my non-chicken eating Amma enjoyed the gravy. My 3-week holiday from work was excellent, by the way. I had a fantastic time eating with, and cooking for, people whom I love. (Now I am seriously considering procuring a mini-spice box to carry around in my bag – so I can cook anywhere, anytime, no matter whom I’m visiting! ) That apart, the best thing that happened was the realisation that my relationships with the people I really truly love are everything, and none of the rest of this noisy world really matters.It’s amazing what three weeks of cooking for and eating with ONLY your loved ones (and no one else at all) can do for the soul. I have healed a great deal, and am back and happy again, at peace after a long time.

So, back to chicken curry. This is how I do it usually (please remember to adjust the chilly-heat part of it according to taste and health), when feeding about 4-6 people:

1. Marinate 1 kg chicken (pieces with bone) in 2 tbsp dahi (yoghurt), and a tsp of haldi (turmeric) powder, red chilli powder & salt each – keep aside for up to half an hour

2. In a pressure cooker, heat 3-4 tbsp oil (any white oil or even mustard oil) and sputter some whole garam masala (black cardamom/badi elaichi, green cardamom/elaichi, cinammon, peppercorns, bay leaf/tejpatta, cloves/laung) and jeera.

3. Add 2 medium-large onions (sliced), 1 dried red chilly, 2 slit green chillies, 2 heaped tbsp of ginger-garlic paste – and fry it all for a couple of minutes, till the onions turn pinkish-transluscent.

4. Add 4 small tomatoes (chopped), 1/2 tsp kasoori methi, 1 tsp haldi powder, 1 tbsp of any chicken/meat masala (readymade), 2 heaped tsp salt (or  to taste), and again, mix and let it fry, covered, for 2-3 minutes/till the tomatoes turn mushy.

5. Shake the excess marinade off the chicken pieces and add to the masala, along with 4-5 potatoes (medium-large, halved lengthwise), and fry for 3-4 minutes. This ‘seals’ the meat, basically.

6. Add the remaining marination liquid, and 1.5 teacups of water, mix and put the lid of the pressure cooker on, whistle/weight and all. Let the whole lot cook on high heat until the first whistle goes, then turn the flame low. Turn off the flame after the second whistle goes.

7. Open the pressure cooker after the steam’s all subsided, throw on some dhania leaves, and serve with lemon wedges for people to squeeze over the curry when eating.

Enjoy cooking, eating and/or feeding others chicken curry, and feel its soothing effect on your soul

——————————————————————————————————————————

So obviously, I was always a petu, as our Appa says. I remember that I used to love to watch cooking shows on TV and try to write down recipes in the back of notebooks when I was as young as 6 years old. Then I went through this major phase of cutting recipes and pictures of really pretty food out of newspapers and magazines.

It did however take me quite some time to get over my fear of lighting the gas stove with a match. But I could assemble the bread pudding to be made in the pressure cooker, I could help mix up batters alright, sort through grains for stones/dirt, make tea (as long as someone else was around to help me light the stove). And I loved the tiny toaster oven Amma had. I used to experiment with various toppings on store-bought pizza-base, and make crazy sandwiches, especially under the influence of Dagwood Bumstead of Blondie and Jamie Lawson of Small Wonder. (Ah, those were the days. Seriously.)

Ooh, and also ice-cream sodas and sundaes. I LOVED making those. Every crazy combination possible. I also loved watching Dadu make pickles in the summer.

And then when I was about 13 years old when we shifted to Chennai. And I had to learn to light the stove on my own. Because of my parents’ working hours and no longer having our Mama-bari to run too after school, mainly. I learnt to fry not-too-bad dosais, make thayyir-saadam (curd-rice), lemon rice, savoury upma and dalia, suji ka halwa. This is also when I began to appreciate vegetables, I think. It’s also when I started to understand responsibility, the value of money, concepts like hunger and exhaustion, that there are real bakeries in South India, power breakfasts, and many more.

When I went to college, it was all about canteens and dhabas and hole-in-the-wall eating places all over the North Campus of Delhi University – and beyond. Eating at local guardians’ and day-scholar classmates’ homes – impressing all parents with my capacity to eat and the lack of fussiness about home-cooking. It was also the time of changing the dabba we got for dinner every 3 months, and occasionally cooking on the hot-plate in our shared flat – Maggi with eggs, ham, butter, anything & everything possible, laapsi and khichdi in the months after my recovery from jaundice. It’s when I learnt about various cuisines in earnest, and also learnt how to eat for Rs. 45 a day at the most, and the DMS/Mother Dairy flavoured milk seemed like the most satisfying meal on Earth at times.

This ‘paying-guest’ existence made hostel life on-campus in Mumbai seem like a piece of cake in comparison, and while many others complained about how bad the food was and drowned in homesickness, I luxuriated in the provision of an evening snack, and eggs every morning. Whatever else I may or may not have learnt while there, one thing I really did in Mumbai (then still Bombay) was to seek out good & preferably old eating places all over the city. This was different from when I was in DU and eating ‘out’ was the only choice and was as much about survival as pleasure. Parsi/Iranian, Bengali, South East Asian, Coastal South Indian, proper Maharashtrian food – I saved up to eat and delighted in, along with the long train rides, cool evenings and city lights.

I set up my first kitchen, first household almost immediately after I completed my M.A. – learnt to shop, store, cook, save, experiment, cater to various tastes under the same roof – both with and without a refrigerator. I began to admire my mother and my Mamima far more, for their fantastic and speedy cooking. I was already a food-lover, a real foodie – but I fell in love with cooking then, and this love has remained and only grown. Yes, there was a bit of a falling out, as it were, when I stopped cooking altogether for a couple of months (about 3-and-a-half years ago) because it became a source of severe stress and unhappiness as the process itself became inflicted with all kinds of bad energies of bad relationships. But coming back to Delhi and starting again, it was cooking that healed me, helped me start all over, find myself afresh, and also to fall in love all over again – and this time, for good.

Now food is all I read and watch and think about. I feel I have grown mechanically good at my work; it’s only food and cooking that excites me and hence, occupies my mind all the time. Yes, I’m obsessed with food – cooking in particular.

Will it help me change my life altogether now? This is one of the questions foremost in my mind these days – the pondering of which is on my agenda specifically and with high priority for the coming week. All I want to do is cook and read and write and learn about food only. Nothing else at all. How do I work towards that ideal state of affairs? Any ideas, please?

——————–

Am about 10 days into my holiday and have been eating a lot, cooking some. The picture here is from my trip to Mumbai (sorry about the grainy quality, though), eating fried cheese at the Cafe Mondegar. Yummm!

Basically, I am undergoing a severe identity crisis. I am not living who I am. This is not my life, really. I don’t feel inspired by anything. It’s like I’m fighting to create inspiration, looking hard for the beauty in life, but not actually finding any. Actually, let me correct myself. Nothing is inspiring any real lasting happiness in me. I feel like everything I do, I’m attempting to manufacture some happiness – but all I’m manufacturing is a sham.

The monsoon has hit Delhi properly only this month, my plants are sprouting beautiful purple eggplants, I’ve cleaned up the balcony, reorganised my tiny garden. I’m reading and discovering tons about the movement for frugal living, and square foot gardening, about ordinary people all over the world trying to live more resource efficient and hence as ethical lives as possible in this nasty world. But still, I feel empty inside. In fact, now I feel worse than before. My dreams have taken on clearer shape, you see, in the last few months. The colours in which I see the life I want have grown more vivid, my belief in what my life is meant to be has only grown stringer. And with that, the pain of not having it – neither the present, nor the future – has grown sharper.

I want my own land – just a little, but real earth, where I can grow enough food to feed my family. But look at me – a cultivator without land, just a gardener with a few pots. I want children, a marriage, a loving intimate partner to share my everyday life with. Not just ‘life’, but everyday life. The real thing. In any case, life isn’t only the future, it’s NOW. But again, look at me – a mother without children, a wife without a marriage, a partner without any lasting commitment made to her, a lover without anyone to love (i.e. care for, see, talk to, just be with, everyday).

So I’ve just been cooking more and more. More variety, every meal something different, often something new. I’ve been reading even more about food – about people who’ve successfully left regular jobs to pursue their dreams of food careers in concrete fashion. And then I’ve cooked things I’ve read on their blogs (but with my own twists and additions). I’ve been cooking furiously when I’m scared of sinking any further in this depression, a bit blindly when I’m full of sorrow. In a daze when realisations grow sadder, in a hurry when i’m craving something in particular.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to get back to writing about all the food there has been as a result of the above-mentioned cooking. Or the planting – my garden now has sem (flat bean) plants, bhindi (okra/ladyfingers), chillies, cucumber, sage and thyme, rajnigandha & nargis plants.

And I am ashamed of not having written. A conversation with a dear friend and watching the film Julie & Julia again have reminded me I need to keep at this. Not just for the sake of ‘discipline’, but for my own self. I realise I need to work a lot on my confidence and belief in my cooking and also writing about it – especially as it’s so easy to get demotivated in this which essentially depends on others’ liking/approval. Does it say something about me that this is my real consuming interest – cooking, that depends on others’ expressed liking? I don’t know. I have sooo many things to figure out.

So, I am taking off for a few days.

There have been  some very very good things that have happened only very recently – happiness for family and friends. I am thankful for these good things, and I am thankful for all the help I’ve received in coming through the last couple of months where I’ve been in this terrible internal conflict. But I still need this time, this ‘holiday’ to think, resolve at least some of  it.  I hope this trip will also help me get back to writing about food regularly. Especially since so many exciting things have been happening recently – like the broadcasting of the newest seasons of Top Chef (including Just Desserts), Masterchef Australia, and Nigella Lawson’s new series (Nigella Kitchen). I find her hilariously adorable and I admire her discipline in sharing her kitchen-craziness with others. I talk to myself, too, while cooking.

So I celebrate my return to the writing habit and my week-long trip with this neither-here-nor-there post and a recipe for karamcha (karounda) chutney. I tweaked my Mum’s recipe, and it was a treat to cook & eat these delightfully coloured little fruit (karamcha is a fruit in the Bengali kitchen as far as I know), in a sweet-sour chutney that lighted up my meal of dal-rice-and-bhindi-fry on a rainy day.

2 large handfuls of karamcha/karounda, were slit lengthwise (while watching TV, of course), and the hard seed-shell inside taken out & discarded. Some oil was heated in a small kadhai, and tempered with mustard (small, 1 tsp.) and a red chilli (fresh, deseeded & chopped fine – you could use red chilly flakes/dried red chilly instead). The karamcha & a teaspoon each of salt & sugar were added to the pan, which was then covered and left to cook on low heat till the fruit softened. More sugar (1/2-1 tsp., to taste) and half a cup of water were added, and the whole lot cooked uncovered till boiling. I kept stirring & mashing the chutney in the pan till it reached the consistency I wanted. Then it was done, so I took it off the heat and ate it after it cooled a bit. Next time I may add a few methi seeds to the tempering, too. 

Not sure when I’ll get to post next but I will try to keep notes about what I ate and what I cooked. Holiday-yayy!

Filed under: Food Philosophising, Fruit and Salads, Gardening/Growing food, Recipe, Simbly saying, Uncategorized, vegetarian Tagged: chutney, flowering plants, Food, food shows, food writing, Indian, kitchen garden, marriage, motherhood, quick cooking, quick recipe, recipe, vegetarian ]]> http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/2011/08/16/crisis-catharsis-and-chutney/feed/ 2 P1040176 tarangasr P1040176 http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/2011/05/30/for-my-friend/ http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/2011/05/30/for-my-friend/#comments Sun, 29 May 2011 20:21:43 +0000 tarangasr http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/?p=317 Read more]]> We lost a friend yesterday. To life, in all its lousiness. To this world in its sheer cruelty to the nicest people. I have no way of expressing my grief except by writing about him and for him. He was a really good person, simple, shy and very kind. Slightly austere. He liked plain dal. He was the first to help in a recent hour of need, even though he hadn’t known me all that long. I didn’t even ask him, he just did, on his own. He came to see me, just a couple of weeks ago. He smiled and laughed and talked about regular stuff, sitting on this very sofa. He made me feel better when I was low. And now we won’t see him again. I am not only shocked, I am angry – with everything and everyone. I am angry for the sensitivity of his soul. Why should someone so good and trusting feel like this is the only way? Why him, why so young, why so soon?  I’m not sure about divine retribution and karma and all of that, but I am convinced that the dust storm that has sprung up suddenly is the entire universe raging against his departure.

I was thinking of joining the pottery class he went to. I was planning to ask him to help with my rather basic photography skills. And now all I can think is I wasn’t even able to give anything back, not be of any help, of enough help.

He is one of the few people who took real interest in my plants when he met them. Especially the mixed sadabahar. And the vegetables. So these pictures are for him.

The first tomato sprouting:

The first flowers on the brinjal plant (I remember he asked me: “Why brinjal?’ and I found it really funny at that point):

And the sadabahar – that are in full bloom right now, all shades of pink and white. These are for you and only you. Like their name, you will always be – in my mind, extraordinarily and always gentle and kind. I’m truly sorry we couldn’t make you feel like it’s worth staying. Maybe it’s really not, for truly loving souls. Now I wish I’d had more time to even just try. We pray that wherever you are, you are in less pain now. 

Some part of my family is from East Bengal, and we like to put fish in everything – especially shrimp – in dal, in subji, you name it, we put shrimp in it. And frankly, some sad summer vegetables, like lau (lauki/bottle gourd) really really need it. I don’t like lau, but I loooouwww lau chingri. Just like I love summer, and LML. I’ll be honest, I use the recipe from one of my favouritest blogs – Bong Mom’s Cookbook. The only differences are: (a) I fry all the masalas at first, (b)add the sugar at the end of the lauki getting cooked, (c) sometimes substitute ginger with ginger-garlic paste, and (d) use both slit green chillies and red chilly powder – because me and my best friend J like our food really hot. But then, we are weird that way – a couple of years ago we managed to spend the entire Delhi summer without a working fan in the living room. Maybe it’s because we know that eating spicy food helps beat the heat. As long as it has a cool base, like lau

Any excuse, I tell you LML also loves lau chingri. Here’s a picture:

But you know what summer is really great for? Fruit! I louwwww – muskmelon, watermelon, grapes, litchi, mango (although this year they haven’t been any good), peaches, plum, apricot, figs, cherries, everything!

But melon is the most value-for-money at present. Yes, I know – watermelon should be avoided now. Evereyone is, after the recent sad happenings. But what all will we stop eating because of people ruining food and this world for money? It’s not just about being at the mercy of market forces, even those of us who don’t want to be. I really can’t do anything about it until I can grow my own food entirely. And I can’t do that until I have land. Nor can anyone else. And how will we, given that we’ll never be able to earn enough to do that anyway? No real opportunity, no real freedom, no real choice. Only debt and slaving through summers. Forget about me. This is it for millions. Try and imagine. If you can’t, go visit Kalahandi in Orissa, NOW. This very summer.

Has anyone discoursed about land reform – redistribution in particular – for sustainability? And not just the political-economic kind? I’m sure they must’ve. Please tell me if you know. I’m interested in reading who has said what and all so far.

Meanwhile, I will continue to live my relatively charmed life – which is still of greater luck than most others, and hence in itself, even more unfair. Since I can afford to, is why I even have the notion of ‘avoidance’. So, I will try to avoid watermelon, and continue to try to jazz up the commercially-cultivated fruit I have to buy, a bit further. Earlier this week we had watermelon, cut into chunks and refrigerated with a couple of cinnamon sticks, some mint leaves and some marjoram from my garden. With muskmelon, I sprinkle lemon juice, some cinammon (powdered preferably) and mint leaves, and chill it all in the fridge (I learnt this from my friend in B’lore, thanks Aps!). It is thanda and nice. See:

Filed under: Fish/Seafood, Fruit and Salads, Recipe Tagged: Chingri, Food, Lau, Shrimp ]]> http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/2011/05/27/love-lau-and-luck/feed/ 0 OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA tarangasr OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/2011/05/24/really-real-fears-and-some-really-simple-recipes/ http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/2011/05/24/really-real-fears-and-some-really-simple-recipes/#comments Mon, 23 May 2011 18:49:03 +0000 tarangasr http://tarangasr.wordpress.com/?p=227 Read more]]> So, I think I’ve lost it completely. I’m not sure, but I probably have. Is that in itself proof of madness? When I was little I thought people who are called mad may well be laughing at the rest of us judgemental lot because they probably know that we are the ones that are really bonkers. We probably are. I am really really confused on the question of realities right now. I mean, who’s to say what’s really real, and what’s not.

The decidedly sane ones, that’s who.

But I’m also really scared. That’s real to me. I’ve always been the fearful sort, though perhaps not in obvious ways. My present state is one of all round fear, of all things and people. I’m scared of everything really. Including and especially my mind. And this leads me to tonight’s post subject – the fear of cooking.

Some sweet friends of mine keep telling me that they wish they could cook, too. I think everyone CAN cook. It’s a free world that way. Perhaps they are just scared. And when you are really scared, you tend to spoil things. Like in love. When you are crazy about someone beyond measure, is when you are most likely to ruin it – because you are just so darned scared of doing exactly that. I’ve observed people mess up and take aaages over even peeling potatoes, simply out of sheer nervousness. I just want to tell everyone, it’s not difficult AT ALL. Cooking, I mean. Really. I used to be scared to light a stove for the longest time. And then I had to. And I wasn’t anymore. The truth is, there’s nothing to be scared of, except for your own fear. It’s all instinct, just trust yours. And always remember, less is more.

So I’m sharing a few quick, easy, vegetarian recipes. All 3-5 steps at the most. For those who are a bit scared, like a certain someone who is like a daughter to me For those who tend to just not start cooking/keep thinking about it – like A in Delhi Also for vegetarian friends of mine, like K in Mumbai, with heartfelt thanks for everything For Amma, who is the queen of quick cooking Most of all for my sister – she knows why

Beans-carrot subji:

I made this to go with curd-rice, on a particularly hot day. One needs sustenance, but not the kind that will feel like lead in your stomach.

1. Chop up a couple of carrots and a lot of beans (not the flat kind,but the cluster-kind) into as tiny pieces as possible.

2. Heat some oil in a kadhai, sputtered some jeera (cumin) seeds and then add some garam masala powder, and salt. (As I’ve observed the great Floyd do as well, I wait for the powderiness to cook out.)

3. Throw in the beans and carrots and fried them for a few minutes. Then sprinkle some water, and let them steam, covered, till cooked (which takes all of 10-15 minutes depending on the quantity you are cooking, mine was a kadhai-full).

Enjoi. (Also feel free to add chopped onions, or just a smashed garlic pod or two. Change the masalas. Do your own thing. That is the idea.)

Choulai/mulaikkeerai and aloo subji:

I was very excited to discover choulai at the vegetable vendors’ yesterday. I mean amaranth leaves, in large, purplish red-and-green bunches. It’s very healthy (high on iron) and sustainable (check this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amaranth), and usually available only in the south of our country. It’s really tasty, and probably the only green leafy vegetable I’ve found fit to eat this summer. I was a little trepidous, since I haven’t cooked it before, but again, I went by instinct. Turned out pretty well, and pretty too. (Now I’m thinking how to cultivate it in my little balcony-garden.)

1. Choose a large cooking vessel (because the leaves take up a lot of space before they cook down), heat some oil (I used mustard), and sputter some whole jeera in it.

2. Add some sliced onions (I used 3 small white ones, which were left over from the onion soup making time), 2 slit green chillies, a tbsp each of ginger-garlic paste, jeera powder and dhania powder, salt, red chilly powder (to taste), and let fry for a minute.

3. Add a small chopped tomato and a healthy pinch of hing (asafoetida), mix and let fry covered for another minute.

4. Then throw in some medium diced potatoes (I used about 5 medium ones for a giant bunch of the choulai), mix and let fry for about 5 minutes, covered, on low heat (basically till the potatoes turn slightly golden).

5. Then add the choulai leaves (taken off the stem, though I didn’t bother chopping them, you probably should) bit by bit and mix, till they all reduce and everything fits easily in the pan. Then cover and let cook, stirring occasionally till the liquid dries up and the potatoes are cooked through.

Yummm with ghee and rice, paruppu-podi (that’s dal powder), and/or dahi, and some sliced cucumbers drizzled in lemon juice on the side. I’m thinking you could make a non-veg version by throwing in some tiny shrimp as well.

Simple everyday Bengali dal:

1. Cook masoor (red) dal in water, with a pinch of turmeric and salt to taste. (I use a pressure cooker, but masoor dal will cook fast even in regular boiling.) Mash well.

2. In a deep pan, heat a tsp of ghee (or butter/oil if you prefer), and sputter some kalonji (nigella seeds/kalo jeere) and slit green chillies. (Add/substitute with a pod of garlic/jeera seeds/mustard seeds – have fun basically. Masoor dal is easiest dal to cook with because it takes on flavours easily, I feel.) 

3. Add the mashed dal to the pan and mix, add water if required to bring to desired consistency, then let it come to a boil on low heat. As soon as it starts to bubble, throw on some torn-up dhania leaves and turn off the heat.

Louwly and light.

Minimal-effort baingan fry:

1) Cut brinjals (the small, round/ovalish kind) into half, lengthways, like this:

Best thing is this can be done sitting and chatting with a friend, watching T.V., reading something, just enjoying a spell of good weather in your balcony, whatever. Brinjals are non-messy vegetables. I love them.

2) Heat 2-3 tbsp mustard oil (for 1/2 kg brinjal) in a kadhai, and add jeera powder, red chilly powder, salt, turmeric powder and coriander powder, and let cook for a minute on low heat – stirring to not allow any lumps. (I put a lot of masala, you can put according to taste, please. Also, you must remember that brinjal is one vegetable that requires more oil than others, to cook.)

3) Throw in the brinjal and mix well, let cook on medium heat for about 5 minutes.

4) Gently but firmly turn the brinjal in the kadhai, lower the heat, cover and cook for another 10 minutes or until cooked (depending on quantity of the vegetable) – turning the whole lot with a large, flat-ish spoon every 3-4 minutes to avoid sticking to the pan. You can also sprinkle some water if you feel that it is tending to stick, then just remember to let it cook uncovered for a couple of minutes at the end to dry it up. Sprinkle chopped dhania leaves and serve.

I learnt this last recipe from a dear colleague who lives in the Himalayan hills and cooks fantastically well, but simply – like all of us working women do.

Okay I think mebbe four recipes and sic pictures are enough for one post. I’m still scared of everything, my present, the future, the past, everything. I’m scared to post my recipe for qwickly-make-saambar because my own people may call me a heretic only. Maybe I will overcome this fear and post the recipe some day. Let’s see. Here’s to real lives, real people and real cooking, until then.

I just also wanted to add, that if there is love, then it’s just there. It trusts, always, and stretches itself beyond all imagination easily and sets right all wrongs even if requiring a zillion step-by-step tutorials. Or am I being a morantic fool only? Who cares? It’s just that, love – louuww – comes to me as easily as cooking. So, here goes – to LML, because I just couldn’t wait for you to come back and try this. I was so excited, about it, really. Wish you’d just actually made it here.

___________________________________________________

I LOVE FISH. I REALLY REALLY DO. Sadly, very sadly, I never cooked any fish – except for prawns – until this winter. There’s a slightly depressing story behind why I didn’t cook fish until so recently. Which I’m going to tell anyway.

So last year sometime, I decided to cook fish at home for LML, because he-loves-fried-fish-and-I-love-him. (So what’s new?)

And it was a massive disaster. Because I was advised (well-meant advice of course) to buy rui (rohu) maach. Now that’s a bony fish. I mean, it has tons of tiny, very sharp bones. We Bengalis love it, because we are used to it. But many people don’t like its smell, and even less, it’s profusion of bones. LML didn’t either. Plus I really couldn’t and didn’t fry it right. I was always scared of and poor at frying things. Embarassment, failure, depression, and MAJOR feelings of inadequacy followed.

Then this (2010-11) winter, I craved fish. Sinking in my love-lost depression, I craved it. And, as we all know, vegetables were largely equally expensive as meat and fish for quite some time. And I challenged myself. To learn how to cook fish.

I started with Bengali preparations. But nobody in my household likes too many bones in their fish, either. And all recipes available online or otherwise asked for Rui and Katla. And then I discovered pomfret.

As a friend said a couple of days ago, “It’s a very clean fish.” It has very few bones, mainly a central bone/spine, but it’s also light and delicate like the fresh water fish usually used in Bengali and in some South Indian cooking.

Plus, frankly, it’s delicious. And definitely far more affordable than the surmais and the singharas (Indian sole) available here in Delhi. (An aside: I bought 3 small-medium size ones for about two-hundred-and-fifty rupees. Gave about 12 large pieces, having retained only 1 head. To feed about 4 adults, albeit in the Delhi-appetite-killing-heat. Most others’ appetites. Not mine.)

And then started a new love that has only grown in the last 6 months. The love of cooking pomfret. It is adaptable to most sorts of gravies, as well as frying (though one has to be careful as it is a really delicate flesh).

Plus fish is fantastic for your health, you know.

So here’s to pomfret, and summer, real home economics, and better health.

Please note, (a) I do cook ways other than the Bengali, and (b) this is only a pulusu-inspired recipe. Real cooks from Andhra would probably thumb their noses at me. I don’t care, after eating my dish. I think it’s close enough. For me.

This is also for my parents – who used to love eating fish, and whom I hope to be able to feed this sometime soon. I hope this blog also helps share my daily life with them. 

********

Taranga’s Pulusu-type Pomfret (serves 4-5 people, depending on appetites):

I. Get 3 small-medium sized pomfrets cleaned and cut (Or do it yourself if you do that. I don’t. I go to the fisheries cooperative shop nearby, especially as it’s right next to the metro exit, is convenient on my office-to-home trip and is close to the latter.) How? Down the center and then in half. So 4 pieces per fish. Like this: 

Retain at least one fish-head, for better flavour in your curry.

II. Wash and drain the fish. Marinate in very little salt, haldi (turmeric powder) and a good dash of lemon/lime juice. Keep aside for 20-30 minutes.

III. In a kadhai/deepish vessel, heat some white oil. Sputter the spices – a stick of cinnamon, few pods of elaichi (green cardamom), 2-4 cloves (laung), and a few whole peppercorns.

IV. Add a couple of split green chillies, a couple of medium-large onions, some karipatta (12-15 curry leaves, but you could use less), 1 tbsp. ginger-garlic paste, 1-1.5 tsp each of dhania (coriander) powder, jeera (cumin) powder & garam masala powder, and salt (to taste). Mix and leave to fry covered for a minute.

V. Add roughly chopped tomatoes (4 small) and mix, leave to cook covered. Keep checking till they’ve begun to soften.

VI. Meanwhile, warm up about 2 teacups/1 coffee mug of water, and dissolve tamarind paste in it.

VII. Add marinated fish pieces to the cooking masala, mix and leave to cook (covered, on low heat only) for 2-3 minutes. Retain the juices left behind in the marinating dish.

VII. Mix the the tamarind water with marination liquid, and add to the fish that is already cooking. Give it all a stir and let cook for another 3-4 minutes. Be very gentle in your stirring, or the fish pieces may disintegrate.

VIII. Add some coconut milk (about o.5-1 teacup, depending on your tastes), give one more stir, and leave to simmer for 2-3 minutes more.

IX. Sprinkle some chopped/torn dhaniya (leaves & stems) into the dish and turn heat off immediately.

X. Eat with rice.

This is how it turned out:

I am also growing a mixed sadabahar, 3 small plants and a pot full of flowers:

Finally, there are the succulents – cacti and aloe. Not sharing any pics of the flowering cacti because I didn’t take any that were good enough. Maybe later.

Vera and Prickles. Those're their names.

Aren’t they all beautiful?

I am trying to grow some vegetables – tomatoes and baingan (aubergine/eggplant/brinjal) in particular.

These are the tomato plants, they are guzzlers, and grow so fast, tall and green and beautiful.

Next is pudina or mint, who grows wild and really fast, and has made my summer fragrant and fresh in eating & drinking at least, so far. For now, this is the last one. Am exhausted by the day’s events. Apologies for the abrupt ending to this post. Goodnight. Here’s pudina, the star of everyday.

mint, with marjoram in the foreground