Easy Chilli Paneer

 

It is intensely cold in Edmonton, as I write, and all I can think of is hot, comforting street food from India. I decided to put a call out on Facebook, asking people what they would like to see next on here, a spicy chilli paneer or beef biriyani and the winner was the chilli paneer. I'll get around to the biriyani, I promise, but it is the time for the chilli paneer to shine. 

 

One of my favourite memories of chilli paneer are from a roadside stall in a tiny locality in Delhi called Ber Sarai. Right next to the border of IIT Delhi and JNU (my alma mater), this little self-contained strip mall had a bunch of internet cafes that we used to use... remember, my student days were well before the internet was commonplace in India, and internet cafes were a bit thing. Oh, and Netscape Navigator and Internet Explorer, remember them? I used to trudge to Ber Sarai almost every other day to check my email, and meet up with my community on Harlequin online (oh, man, I really am going down a memory rabbit hole here). Harlequin online was the online community chat devoted to Harlequin romances of which I had a pile, plus I used to read their online and weekly stories pretty much everyday (for longer than I care to admit, mind). Their online chat community was pretty active, and was a massive part of my life growing up, and I still have find memories of the ladies on it helping me through my teenage and early twenties angst.

Back to chilli paneer, though, Ber Sarai was also where I went to cheap Chinese-style Indian food. There was a street vendor right outside the internet and the printing cafe who made the best noodles and chilli paneer, and it was to this taste I turned to when I was developing my recipe. I wanted to keep this recipe super simple, as roadside chilli paneer is not complicated. My version does not faff around with cornstarch and deep frying, instead relying on a simple combination of sauces and some high heat wok frying to keep the dish simple and uncomplicated. I use Maggi chilli sauce in this recipe, as that's what the Ber Sari chilli paneer man used to use, but you can substitute Sriracha instead (note, this will make it a little spicier, but you can add more ketchup to balance). If you do want to use Maggi, then you can find it at any Indian or Asian grocer. Just use the classic red version. I also use dark soy sauce, the darker the better for the depth of salty flavour to this paneer. The other difference in my version is I skip deep frying the paneer first, as I find it an unnecessary step. Using the paneer fresh will make it fray a bit, but if you use a high enough heat, it should caramelize the sauces and the paneer will absorb the sauces better than if you deep fried it. 

So there you have it. My little ode to the heat of Delhi summers and the joy of eating fresh noodles and chilli paneer right there from the roadside dhaba.

Easy Chilli Paneer 

 

2 tablespoons neutral oil 

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 inch piece of ginger, grated

1 small hot green bird’s eye chili, chopped

1 medium onion, chopped

1 green pepper, chopped 

400 g paneer (1 pack) cubed

2 tablespoons chilli sauce (I use Maggi, use Sriracha if you don’t have this sauce)

2 tablespoons dark soy sauce

1 tablespoon ketchup (2 if you're using Sriracha)

Small handful of fresh cilantro, chopped, to garnish

 

Method: 

 

Heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a wok, or a large frying pan. 

 

Add the garlic, ginger, and bird's eye chili, and saute for a minute. 

 

Add the green pepper and onion, and stir fry for a couple minutes. 

 

Increase the heat to hot. Add the paneer and the sauces. 

 

Stir and fry together on a high heat, for an additional 5 minutes, until the paneer is hot and soft and gently fraying around the edges, and the sauce has thickened and coats the paneer and vegetables. 

Serve hot garnished with fresh cilantro. 

 

 

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The Most Amazing Butter Chicken Recipe (The Only Recipe You Will Need)

 

This is the only butter chicken recipe you'll need. Yes, I know that it is a strong claim to make, but seriously, I have been working on perfecting this recipe for over five years now, and I finally think I have nailed it. I used many references when working on this recipe. I started working with the Moti Mahal's tandoori chicken recipe as my base recipe to start with (from Monish Gujral's - the grandson of the founder of Moti Mahal, Kundan Lal Gujral - book 'On the Kebab Trail'). I played around with this recipe for a long time, perfecting a tandoori chicken spice mix that is now very close to my butter chicken spice mix.

The Moti Mahal is where butter chicken originated. Cooks tossed leftover tandoori chicken marinade with butter and tomato to make a thick creamy sauce, which envelopes tender pieces of chicken that literally melt in your mouth. I visited the Moti Mahal as much as I could (I was a poor student, remember, and eating out all the time, or for that matter even visiting Daryaganj, was not always in my budget). The other place I went to a lot was a little dhaba-style cafe in my university called KC (Kamal Complex). Quraishi, the owner, made the best Mughlai food. JNU students will remember KC fondly, though, they will argue over which dhaba made the best butter chicken and naan. For me, it was Quraishi's KC's butter chicken, and I naturally turned to that taste for inspiration when I was developing this recipe. 

 

Eagle eyes will have already noticed a butter chicken recipe on this website, and you're right, and that one is also a winner. But this one has a few elements different to it. One, I make a butter chicken spice mix, which once made, makes your life so much easier, and makes for the best butter chicken. Second, this recipe is actually a lot easier, as it utilises a few little shortcuts like using passata and cashew butter to add the authentic flavour without all the work. And finally, the older recipe was written while live blogging, so it can be a little confusing at times, but this one should be a lot more straightforward and easier to follow.

Essentially this recipe is two recipes in one. First you'll be making a tandoori chicken, with the marinated chicken. Then you mix the grilled chicken with the butter sauce, and voila! Butter chicken. The key is getting the spicing of the butter sauce just right. It has to be deeply savoury, but with a hint of sweetness, fragrant with fresh spices, just a titch tangy, rich, with a full flavour from the cream and butter.

 

Here's the thing, this recipe might look long and complicated to make, but in all honesty, once you make the spice mix, it literally takes less than 15 minutes to prep, and less than 45 minutes to make. It really is that simple. The best part is that it tastes even better the next day, gently warmed up with splashes of cream to loosen the thick sauce, so you can well make it in advance.

 

PS - Here's a little cheat tip which will make your life and this recipe even easier. If you don't feel like making the butter chicken spice mix from scratch, then use shop bought tandoori masala. Just keep an eye on the salt levels, as shop bought masalas tend to be already salted. I recommend Everest Tandoori Masala, if you can find it. Just remember, it won't taste the same as this one (okay, promise, I'll stop guilting you).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Butter Chicken Spice Mix 

 

8 mild long red Kashmiri chillies
2 tablespoons whole coriander seeds
1 tablespoon whole cumin seed

1 teaspoon whole black pepper
1 teaspoon whole cloves
½ tablespoon whole cardamom pods (use half pod of black cardamom instead, if you wish for a smokier flavour)
1 teaspoon whole fenugreek seeds
3, 2 inch sticks of cinnamon or cassia bark
1 teaspoon dried ground ginger
1 teaspoon dried ground garlic
½ teaspoon grated nutmeg
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
3 - 4 tablespoons plain paprika (for colour)

Toss together the first eight ingredients, one by one, in a hot, heavy pan, for between 30 seconds - 1 minute, until each of the spices smell fragrant. Remove to a bowl and let cool completely.

Transfer to a powerful blender or a spice grinder, and add the remaining ground spices.

Blend to a smooth powder. Transfer to an airtight spice jar, and store in a cool dark place.

 

Butter Chicken 

 

Chicken and Marinade:

12 skinless, boneless, chicken thighs, cut into 2/3 pieces (about 1.5 kgs)
3 tablespoons butter chicken spice mix 

1 teaspoon, or to taste, salt

1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons canola oil

(Mix the spice mix, salt, lemon juice and oil, and marinate the chicken pieces in this for at least half hour, or overnight)

Sauce:
2 tablespoons canola or grapeseed oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 small onion, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1 inch piece of ginger, peeled and grated
¼  teaspoon ground cloves
¼  teaspoon ground cardamom
¼  teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 tablespoons of butter chicken spice mix
1½ cups of tomato passata (or crushed tomatoes, that have been blended to a paste)
½ cup chicken stock
½ cup hot water, as requuired
2 tablespoons cashew butter
½ cup whole milk
¾ teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon dried fenugreek leaves (kasuri methi)
¼ cup coffee cream (18% cream) or whipping/ heavy cream
Salt to taste
Small handful fresh cilantro, chopped, to garnish

Preheat oven to 400F. Line a baking tray or cookie sheet with aluminum foil and spray with oil. Place the chicken pieces in one layer on the sheet and bake for 20 minutes, turning once. You can also grill the chicken on a barbecue for extra depth of flavour, if you wish. Grill for 15 - 20 minutes, turning once. 

To make the sauce, heat the oil and butter in a pot, and add the onion. Fry for 7 minutes on a medium high heat, then add the garlic and ginger paste. Fry for 1 minute, then add the cloves, cardamom, cinnamon and spice mix.

Fry for 30 seconds, then add the tomato sauce. Season with a little salt, stir and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring, until the mixture is thick. Add the chicken stock, stir well, and turn the heat down to a low simmer. You might need to add the hot water as well, to loosen the sauce a bit.

Whisk the cashew butter with the milk - you might have to heat it up in the microwave a little to loosen the paste. Add to the sauce and stir.

Stir in the sugar. Taste and season with more salt and add the dried fenugreek leaves (kasuri methi).

Add the grilled chicken pieces to the sauce, scraping any charred bits or juices into the sauce too. Stir, and season to taste again, if required.

Simmer on a low heat, stirring every so often for about 10 minutes, until the chicken is fully cooked and tender, and the sauce is thick and creamy.

Add the cream and cilantro, stir and serve. 

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Pulled Turkey Vindaloo

There is nothing like the heat of a vindaloo to take you straight to the beaches of Goa. One of my favourite memories of Goa is heading down there with all my friends and eating deliciously spicy food right on the beach. The heat of the food, with spiced rum and port wines that Goa is known for, along with the cool breezes off the beaches were always a sensation to be savoured. Vindaloo is probably one of the more popular Indian dishes known in the West, but it can also be one of the more misunderstood ones. In the West, a vindaloo is pretty much known for straight heat and spice, but in truth, a vindaloo is probably one of the most nuanced Indian dishes that I know of. 

 

Of Portuguese - Goan origin, just like me, I like to joke, a vindaloo is an Indian adaptation of the classic Portuguese 'Carne de Vinha d' Alhos' (meat with wine and garlic), and known as a traveller's dish. Traditionally made with pork, it has been adapted to be made with pretty much all kinds of meats. When Canadian Turkey (check out more of their fantastic recipes here) gave me the brief for this post, South Asian flavours, I knew almost immediately that I'd be making a turkey vindaloo. Turkey, after all, is a meat that absorbs flavours perfectly, and is just the right texture for this dish. 

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Tehari-Style Kofta Biriyani

Last week as I was browsing through Facebook, I came across my old school friend Heena's picture and post about this delicious Bangladeshi-style tehari biriyani. Being a biriyani fiend myself, I had to beg Heena for a recipe, and she shared a YouTube video on the making of the recipe, and I was intrigued, as well as suddenly very nostalgic and hungry. 

 

Tehari style, in Bangladesh refers to rice and meat (mutton, beef, lamb, or chicken) cooked on a low heat, and them mixed together to make a flavourful rice dish. It's a cross between and pulao,  in which all ingredients are cooked together, and a biriyani, in which ingredients are cooked separately and then layered. In India and Pakistan, tehari refers pretty much to a spicy rice and meat dish. 

I have called my dish a tehari-style dish, as I use the tehari technique of cooking the meat in a flavourful sauce (and this can be pretty much a separate dish in itself), and then layering half-cooked rice on top, and finishing in the oven. So strictly, this is an adaptation of the method. I also substituted cream for yogurt, as I didn't have any, and made a few tweaks, to adjust to my family's spice tolerance. i had homemade biriyani spice mix, so I didn't need any additional mixes, other than some extra nutmeg to give the dish its characteristic fragrance, but a traditional tehari style biriyani will have more spices. 

 

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Sharbat Stories

Before we get to the sharbat part, the stories need to be told.I've always spoken fondly about our summer vacations in our grandparents' home in the village. The village is about a couple hours give or take from my home town, and used to be a quiet, sleepy place that only came alive during it's annual church festival. Every summer though, after the report cards were delivered to the house, and the usual congratulations/ recriminations were doled out, mother packed us up that weekend, and off we went to the crowded, dusty bust stand. Various drivers and conductors added to the cacophony of the stand, yelling out destinations and times, and fares, honking their horns to indicate a determination to depart, whether or not you got on board. There is no rhyme or reason to the bus stand. You just have to catch a bus, and hope it takes you to where you want to go. My mom, of course, being the expert, bundled us into the best (and fastest, shudder) bus, and off we went, my sister and I fighting over who would get the window seat. An hour and half later, the bus screeched to an almost halt, dumping us off on the side of a deserted village road, from where we we found our way to our grandparents' home.

It was about an hour's dusty, hot walk there, or joy of joys, we found an autorickshaw who would consent to taking us till the churchyard close to the house. On the non-rickshaw days, we trudged along the road, hot and annoyed and bugging my mom no end, covering ourselves in copious amounts of red dust along the way. If my mother was feeling generous, we cut our journey in half, as she led us through the cooler forest way, as opposed to the road.

The forest way was certainly an adventure. You had to know the right place to leave the road and climb the hills that blanketed the side of the road. Then follow a faint trail, that led to a larger trail. once we hit the larger trail, a few minutes later, we had to find the right place to turn into the forest again, and this was always my favourite part. The trees were scrubby, but dense, cashew trees, mango and eucalyptus, playing in the faint breeze, canopied and so much cooler. We knew our way through the trees, following the right shaped ones though the forest floor.

Every so often, if the time was right, there was a brilliant flowering tree, right at the edge of where we turned off to head into the path that would take us to the house. This tree, it had a veritable waterfall of bright yellow flowers. We gazed longingly at it, until my mom gave us permission to climb it, and gather handfuls of the flowers. I remember my mother one time, that cynically ruthless, practical woman, turning back to look wistfully at the tree. When I asked her why she looked back, her face softened, as she muttered, "it's such a beautiful tree"... this look of my mom's made her so much more human than the superhuman mother we were used to, that I still remember that moment, thirty odd years later.

When we finally made it to the house, all hot and sweaty and so thirsty, we plopped down on the cool stone verandah, fans blowing air all around us, and listened for my grandmother, whose voice told us to get into the kitchen and drink the sharbat waiting for us. Oh that cold, tangy, sweet drink that soothed our parched throats and gave us the energy to start exploring.

Now I am not going to handing out recipes for sharbat. Every Indian worth their garam masalas knows that sharbat is a form of long, cold, non-fizzy drink. Ideally, made with some sort of home made or shop bought concentrate, not fruit juice, mind - though, there have been mutterings about lime juice being a sharbat - but otherwise, anything goes. In our grandparents' house it was made with bindan concentrate. Bindan, a fruit similar to the rambutan, but without the spiky exterior, grew wild in the woods behind the house. Every so often, an enterprising cousin would knock down a load of fruit with a stick and a hook. We ate the creamy interior fruit, and kept the smooth, plum coloured shells. Grandmother would dry the shells with sugar, then boil them down to a thick, sweet/ tangy syrup, which then became bindan sharbat, when mixed with sugar and the cold spring water that fed the house. When the bindan syrup was not available, we had cold, sweet lime juice instead. Served in cold steel tumblers, every sharbat was a delight to all the senses, as we slowly got used to the cool, dark interior of the house we would spend summer in.

Roohafza, on the other hand, is the more well known shop bought version of a sharbat, though, families had their own recipes for this drink, debates to be had on whether or not you should add lemon to it. My mom never did, but I have, and I find that the citrus cuts through the almost overwhelming floral nature of this syrup.

The other popular addition to sharbat, was basil seeds. We had basil seeds growing wild on the roadsides, and every so often, we would go and shake out a bunch of dried seeds that we could plop into the sharbats, watchins, as they grew fat and fuzzy, similar to chia seeds. They were considered fairly cooling and healthy, so a handful was almost always kept on hand to add to cold drinks.

I debated whether to add a recipe to this post, honestly, I did. I mean, how hard is it to add concentrate to water and make a sharbat? Not hard, right? So, sorry, no recipe, but more of instructions.

Recipes: 

Add lime juice to water. Sweeten with sugar and drink cold.
If you can find it, add bindan syrup and sugar to water, to taste. Stir and drink cold.
Add a teaspoon of Roohafza to cold water. Stir in a teaspoon of lime juice and drink chilled.

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Prawn Sukka (Spiced Coconut Prawns)

One of the few regrets in my life is that I never had the opportunity to cook with my grandparents. My paternal grandfather passed away before I was born. My paternal grandmother was in the USA for a lot of my life, and though she is still alive today, she is not good shape right now, being all of a 105 years. Both my maternal grandparents were alive for a long time, but it was mostly in my teens and early twenties, when I was naive enough to believe that they would live forever. Or at least I would get to see them often enough, that I could get recipes and instructions from them, and cook with them. But this was the arrogance of youth, to think that they would wait forever for me. 

My grandfather died when I was in the UK, in the first three months. My grandmother survived a lot longer, and I was lucky enough to talk to her and get some of her recipes over the phone and through my mother and aunts. She got too old and too sick very soon after though, and I never really got to cook with her. When I went searching for her 'samadde', her hand carved wooden spice box, it had already been given away. I was still lucky enough to have a little of her jewellery, but let's face it, no one really wears that much jewellery here in Canada. They're still my heirlooms though, so I keep them, in the hope of passing them on my daughter sometime. 

I am luckier than most though, because after all said and done, I do have some recipes and a lot of memories of my folks' cooking, and those are memories I treasure. Whether it is making boti, or climbing mango trees, or spending summers at my grandparents' house, they are there, and they will be there with me.

The reason I went down memory lane with my grandparents though, is that my recipe today is inspired by another grandmother, my friend Rohan's Nana Betty. This is her, in the below photograph.

Nana Betty, photo courtesy Rohan Gonsalves

Rohan, an old school and college friend of mine, is a lucky man. He has been quarantining with his grandmother in Mangalore, and one of the things he started doing was posting photo recipes of his grandmother cooking. You can imagine that went down rather well with the grandparent-parched generation all over the world. Not just mine, but strangely, also the generation before and after mine. The request for recipes became so numerous, that Rohan had to actually create a Facebook page for Nana's Recipes (you have to be a Facebook member to access, sorry), where he posts picture journeys of the recipe with his grandmother, and collection of aunts and uncles. 

I call Rohan a lucky man, because, had I had the opportunity, this is exactly what I should have done with my own grandparents. Granted, recording recipes is very different today, with our camera phones, and social media, as opposed to frantically writing everything down as fast as the spices would go in. But even then, what he has with his nana, is a dream a lot of us have had, I would imagine. To cook with our parents, or aunties, and relatives, it is a dream that is not always possible in today's world where a lot of us are away from our families and building our own families. It is a familiar pain, but then Nana Betty (or rather, Rohan) would post a new recipe, and for a while Nana Betty stands in for our own grandparents and everything is okay for a while. And in today's world, we need it.

This recipe is a result of inspiration from Nana's Clam Sukka, or spicy clams with coconut. I wasn't able to go out for clams, but I did have a bag of raw prawns that were perfect for this version of prawn sukka. These prawns can be served as a side dish with rice and vegetables, or as a finger food with toothpicks stuck in them. Either way, they are delicious, just as I imagine Nana's clams were.

Recipe: 

250g shelled prawns
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1 tablespoon neutral oil (I use grapeseed) 
1 small onion, finely diced
1 inch piece of ginger, grated
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 tomato, diced
1 teaspoon (or to taste) bafat spice mix
Salt to taste
1/4 cup unsweetened dessicated coconut

For the seasoning: 

1 tablespoon neutral oil
1 sprig (5 - 6) curry leaves
1 clove of garlic, bruised, but left whole

Method: 

Place the shelled prawns in a bowl, and sprinkle over the turmeric. Keep aside.

In a shallow pan, over a medium heat, heat the oil and add the onions. When the onions are golden around the edges, about 5 minutes, add the ginger and garlic. Saute for a minute, then add the tomatoes and the bafat spice mix.

Cook this mixture for about 5 - 7 minutes, until the raw smell of spices disappears. Add the prawns to the pan, and cook together for about 5 minutes, until the prawns have cooked through.

Season with salt to taste, then stir in the dessicated coconut. Taste and adjust seasoning.

In a small pan, heat the tablespoon of oil, then add the curry leaves and garlic. Sizzle everything together for a minute, then pour the fragrant oil and seasonings into the cooked prawns, and stir in.

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Baingan Dal (Charred Eggplant with Lentils)

I will not talk about isolation. I will not talk about isolation. I will not talk about isolation. I will not talk about isolation. I will not talk about isolation.

Dang it, I did. 

And it's all because of them lentils. Other people hoard toilet paper. Apparently, I hoard lentils. It's the Indian in me. If everything else fails, there is always rice and dal. So it is a good thing that the family likes dal, because lately it's been dal with everything. 

I never really had dal when I was growing up, per se. We tended to have the much lighter version of lentils, a soupy concoction called 'saar', which was a much tangier, watery version of the thick lentil dal that was usual in the North of India. It was either saar or rasam, which was a much spicier and brothier version that was traditional to Tamil Nadu and the South Eastern coast of India. 

My taste for thick, creamy masala dal developed from my university days in Delhi, where a version was served with every meal in the hostel mess, as well as from my dad, who preferred this version from his army days. He described those days with a hint of nostalgia - the terribly cold nights when they staggered into camps at the very end (dad was an electrician in the army), carrying their heavy packs, huddled under thin blankets that barely kept out the biting mountain cold, the hard, snowy ground  under which they made camp, the tents that did nothing to shield them from the cutting wind, the army days were not a good memory for my father - but he did describe the dal, straight from steaming cauldrons, eaten with rotis, a taste my dad has kept to this day.

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Moroccan-Style Spiced Ground Beef and Lentil Stew

I just realised that after almost twelve years, this blog took a mighty long break for a while. It has been the best of years, and the worst of years, but we have survived them, reasonably healthy, reasonably happy, and reasonably whole. I've been busy, raising a really active and full on three year old, and an absolutely wonderful tween. In the middle of these years, I've been rediscovering the joy of cooking again, cooking for my family, my friends, teaching people the intricacies of Indian and Thai cuisine, and reading and cooking from my massive cookbook collection. I've been baking, volunteering, cheering for my soccer team and trying this thing called living offline. This doesn't mean I've been completely abandoning my online life, as I have been an activist on Twitter, an artist on Instagram, a friend on Facebook, and a worker bee on LinkedIn.

I played soccer with the metal band Iron Maiden, and turned forty. I went to Montreal on a whim to watch my all time favourite band Dream Theater. I watched Slayer and Disturbed wedging myself into the front row at a metal concert. I don't do these things, normally, but I lived.

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Spicy Turkish Okra Sauté and Robyn Eckhardt's Istanbul and Beyond (+ A Signed Copy Giveaway)

Who would you consider your food hero? This is a question I've been asked many times, particularly when it comes to the food world. Who do you admire? Who do you want to be like? Who is your inspiration?

Most of the time, I never really have an answer to this question, because, simply put, I like to follow my own path. But if I had to pick a food hero? My usual answer would be, I don't know – because I like different people at different points in my life. My grandfather, the wedding chef, for example, is one of my enduring food heroes. My mom... well, sometimes, when she's not wildly experimenting, as is her new hobby, with recipes off the internet! Yotam Ottolenghi, and Richard Bertinet, at other times.

But for the past few years, if anyone has asked me who my food heroes (and inspirations for life, in general) are, I would, without hesitation, say Robyn Eckhardt and David Hagerman. Several of you have probably heard of them. Robyn writes the popular blog, Eating Asia and has featured publications in some of the best newspapers and magazines in the world, as has her photographer husband, David Hagerman. David's photos of India were the inspiration behind my own pictures when I went home. I look forward to Robyn's articles and pieces, and devour them when they are published.

If you ask me to put my feelings towards these two remarkable people in a sentence, I'd say that Robyn and Dave are who I want to be when I grow up.

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Indian Classics - Aloo Gobi

This week actually marks the tenth anniversary of this blog. However, somewhere along the way, in the past year and a half, I seem to have lost my way a little. My pregnancy with Baby Sky wasn't the greatest, and all I wanted to do was sleep, as opposed to cook or eat, or feed anyone else, for that matter. I think I might have survived on ginger biscuits and mangoes.

Ennui comes in many forms. As someone who has struggled with being motivated, it can be a death knell for the creative side. It doesn't help that I work a job in real life that fulfills me professionally and financially. It has just made it easier to not nurture the creative side of me. I was also so disappointed with internet algorithms. All these beautiful niche recipes that I had carefully worked on were now disappearing from search results, in favour of generic recipes from sites like Genius Kitchen or Allrecipes. I mean, what's the point in continuing to compete in such a lopsided market with zero motivation for smaller bloggers? All that work, developing recipes, cooking, styling the food, taking photographs, writing, coming up with a cool SEO friendly title, marketing non-stop, social media, submitting to food porn sites... and it all disappears down a deep, dark black hole because large sites with unlimited marketing budgets know how to fuck you over with their fancy SEO shite and manipulation of search algorithms.

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Indian-Style Saffron and Cardamom Crème Brûlée + Diwali with The Real Canadian Superstore

My birthday is at the end of September. Growing up, I hated the timing, as it pretty much always fell bang in the middle of mid-term exams in the school year. Mid-terms were really important exams, and the whole middle school would be crammed into the gigantic assembly room to write them. I did get to hand out chocolates to the kids, but my poor folks had to spend way more, as I usually had to give them to the whole of the middle school (some five hundred kids) as opposed to just my class.

Thankfully, October was round the corner, and we had the entire month off, to celebrate Navarathri, Dusshera and Diwali. We take our festivals seriously in India, and different states have differing festival schedules, although, Diwali tends to be universally celebrated. Calcutta, and West Bengal (in the East of India), for example, celebrated Durga Puja, Maharashtra in the West had Ganesh Chathurthi, Assam has Bihu, and Kerala has Onam. Karnataka, my state, celebrated Dusshera all October.

Being kids, however, the story of the festivals mattered a lot less to us, and the whole joie de vivre of the month was more our jam. We spent the month eagerly planning decorations, little diyas (clay oil lamps), stringing lights, enviously checking out our neighbours' fancy clothes and sampling sweets, finding the best fireworks in the 'hood and waiting for the huli vesha to come to our yards. It was a magical time of the year and we loved every second of it.



After I moved to England, though, Diwali was one of the few festivals I celebrated at university (mostly, because we lived so close to Wembley and Southall). The expat Indian community in London is huge, and always had a bright, light and colour filled celebration, with so much food that we'd roll back to residences so full that we could barely move. 

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Classic Chicken Biriyani and A Visit To Sunworks Farm

What came first, the biriyani or the chickens?

I have never been squeamish about knowing where my meat comes from. My grandfather and uncles made sure of that, and I have killed chickens and watched pigs being slaughtered and methodically broken down to be distributed among family and friends. In childhood, it was rare for us to have any meat that didn't come from a known and trusted source, be it from my aunt's farm or a local neighbour.

There was a practicality to the killing of animals for meat, though. Animal welfare was not at the heart of it, and it was rare that humane killing was even a consideration. Animals were food, not friends. And while they were taken care of in the farms, they were never considered anything more than food sources, and this informed the whole philosophy of animal husbandry. It was a philosophy that trickled down to my generation. There was no sentimentality associated with eating meat from animals we'd raised or seen being raised. And while a huge portion of the country was vegetarian, it was down to religious beliefs and not necessarily animal welfare. It seems like a heartless way to look at meat-eating, but when you have a country of billions, it is a practical way of living.

As a child, I didn't think much of it. Eating meat was a way of life in my Catholic family, and every Sunday, we religiously ate our chicken, pork and mutton curries. A quick look at this website will give you an indication of our love for meat. Every recipe had memories associated with it, be it our traditional pork curry or the more 'exotic' chili chicken, or North Indian taar korma.

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Introduce Baby to Spice - 10 Easy, Delicious and Unusual Recipes

There is so much advice out there on weaning babies, and every generation has its own rules and regulations. These rules might be always changing (the advice on feeding babies peanuts, for example), but when it comes to babies, I've always held by my mother-in-law's advice that mommy knows best. Yes, mommy might need a bit of help from Dear Mother Google, but by and large, we are always aware of our babies' needs and the best way to fulfil them.

When it comes to food, babies are such a blank slate, but at the same time, pretty strong minded. Adz, for example, never ate potatoes as a baby. I remember feeding her a pilau once that had the tiniest bits of potatoes, and when I looked over, that child had picked out every since scrap of potatoes (from rice!) and put them aside. Baby Sky, on the other hand, is a little food monster and will gobble up everything you feed him, and then whine for more. Adz and I thought we would have a little bit of fun with him, and gave him a slice of lime one day. That little creature sucked the entire lime, and then looked at us with a big smile and went, mmm!

So, considering that he seemed pretty happy with experimenting with food, I decided to start spice early on. I am Indian, after all, and spice is a huge part of my life and cooking. I came up with quite a few combinations to include spices in his everyday food, and the ten recipes below are an unusual, yet, perfect spice primer for your little gourmet.

If you need more information on any of the spices I use, I write The Spice Box column on FBC, which has  information on every spice and herb you need.

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Tales From India: 10 Tips For Driving In India

You stop for the exhibitionists.

Ah, the joys of driving in India. Once upon a time, I had no compunction jumping in and out of buses, sometimes even when they were moving. In fact, I spent half my life on the City Bus Number 5, first going to school, then pre-university, then college. Bus stops are for wimps and hanging out of dangerously swerving buses is the life.

Man, how things have changed. The last few times I've been to India, all I've been doing is stomping my foot on an imaginary brake. And wearing seat belts. How the mighty have fallen! And I told the conductor on City Bus Number 5 to stop, hold it, come to a FULL STOP dammit, then gingerly wiggled my way down. At a BUS STOP. Shame on me.

This time around, I took a road trip with my family. Oh the joys of a road trip with an Indian family. Everything from packed tiffins to constant arguments to toilet stops in random places. Yup, I missed that. The experience was so profound that I was moved to write these tips for driving in India. You know, as you would.


Please to stop for the cows and related bovines.

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"Are You The Nanny?"

 
Adz and I (2014) Photo: Pritham D'Souza (Photosynthe)

"Are you the nanny?" 

If I had a dollar for every time I was asked this question when I was out with Adz, well... I'd be about twelve dollars richer (yes, I keep count.) I understand, I really do, that it can be a bit jarring to see a white child with a brown person, though in this day and age it shouldn't be surprising. At the same time, however, should the automatic assumption be that I am the nanny, rather than the mother? It is a question I've asked myself several times, usually after one of said encounters.

Being part of a mixed race, mixed culture relationship is not easy. As an Indian woman, born and brought up in India, I was indoctrinated into my own culture and it was an abrupt transition when I first moved to England for graduate school. I met and fell in love with my partner within the first few months of school. I didn't plan on falling in love with a white Canadian man. I kept it to myself for the first couple years. It was only when I realised that this relationship was serious that I opened up to my mom. I told her I was seeing someone. When she asked, I might have lied stretched the truth and told her I was dating an Indian boy. Exactly how I was going to pass off my very white, redheaded, blue eyed boy as Indian was something I hadn't even thought about. It was after we'd decided to move in together that I confessed to mom. Surprisingly, she took it quite well, though I did have to go through some snarky comments about white Indian men from her. The rest of my family also took it reasonably well, though with some mild racist attitudes.

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Global Recipe Swap - Beef Kheema Pav (A Mumbai Street Food)

I've been quite silent over here at The Tiffin Box, and first, I just wanted to say thank you to a few of you who have emailed me and asked me if things are okay. The internet is a funny thing. I don't know all my readers personally, yet so many of you messaged me, worried about me. It gives me this unbelievably warm feeling of being connected and cherished and so thank you again. 

I am fine. To be completely honest, at first, I was just burnt out. Last year was an interesting one. After almost nine years of being an only child, Adz was going to be a big sister. I found out that I was pregnant and while we were quite unsure about this whole thing at first, we decided to roll with it. Unlike with Adz, where I had an incredible pregnancy, this one was quite hard. Maybe it was just me being older, but the last thing I felt like doing was cooking or eating, or even writing, for that matter. I'd sit in front of the computer, and I'd just be blank. I'd have ideas, but I couldn't seem to get them out on paper. I didn't even pick up my camera for a while, with zero interest in doing anything. My mother was visiting, thankfully, and she picked up a lot of my slack, and after a few visits with my doctor, I gave myself permission to take a few months off without the associated guilt. 

I gave birth to Baby Sky in September. He's a gorgeous little squiggly handful of a guy, full of personality right from the moment of birth, and so very different from my mellow, easygoing Adz. Now that we have him, it is hard to imagine life without him. Well, technically, life is generally harder with him, seeing as I'd completely forgotten what having a new baby was like, but despite the complete lack of sleep and general zombie-esqe pattern of life (eat, play, nap, yowl, expel, and repeat) yes, life is better with this new little person. 

It has been almost six months now, since Baby Sky was born, but despite all my bright ideas and thoughts, I still wasn't ready to write. Like before, I'd sit in front of the computer and have all these thoughts, but no desire to tap those keys and put them in writing. Now, I haven't been accepting a lot of projects recently. Partly because I just haven't had the energy to do anything, but also because I am a bit of a perfectionist, and I give my best to any project I take part in. I didn't think that I would be able to offer anything when I was still burning out. 

Last month, however, I accepted a project from Merkato, a global recipe swap, rethinking beef recipes. The reason I accepted this project was the concept. I would be creating a recipe based on my cultural background, and swapping a recipe with another Canadian blogger, Shel Zolkewich whose recipe I am featuring in Part 2 of this post) 

But in truth, there were other factors behind why I decided to break my blog silence with this project. 

I went to India to visit with my family and introduce them to their newest member in December and January. Baby Sky was introduced to his great grandmother and a huge number of his extended family. We had an incredible time, and I reconnected with some family that I hadn't seen in well over ten years. It brought back to me the importance of connections and being there for each other. Maybe we hadn't seen each other in all these years, but as they say, blood is thicker than water and we fell back into our easy relationships with each other, just like we had when we were children, running back and forth from each others' houses. Social media has definitely made being in touch easier, and with Facebook, we are able to keep up with our lives, even though we live so far from each other.

I digress, however. 

Family is certainly important, and my life has been shaped heavily by my own family, both in India and here in Canada. 

But it was what happened on the way back from India that led me to write this post and take part in this recipe swap. 

Adz, Baby Sky and I were connecting to our Canada-bound flight in Frankfurt airport. We had a few hours to kill, and while waiting for our flight to be called, I noticed that the gate agents were calling out these Muslim sounding names. When the people came up, there would be a hushed conversation, and then what sounded like people getting upset with lot of arm waving and some tears and general confusion. I wasn't sure what was happening, so I opened up the news on my phone. 

That was when I saw the mind boggling news from the United States, banning people from seven Muslim majority countries from entering the States. I realised that the airlines were informing people from these countries about this ban and to be honest, I couldn't even comprehend what was going on. On one hand, I was just so grateful that I wasn't transiting through the States and was going to Canada instead. On the other hand, I could completely sympathise with these people who were travelling to the US, being tolday they couldn't travel for whatever purpose they were going there for. Having just come back from India and having had such an incredible family trip there, my heart was bleeding for these people. I could not imagine how they must have been feeling. I know that I would have been devastated, had I been told that I wasn't able to visit my family back in India, for whatever reason.

Since last November, since that ill-fated election in the States, my anxiety levels have been extremely high. I am a brown immigrant to Canada, and my children are mixed race. While racism is not a new concept to me, having faced it in England as well as to a smaller extent in Canada, the sheer vitriol coming from supporters of that person (I am sorry, but I just can't say his name without heaving!) against immigrants and people who were different was scary. 

My experience of being an immigrant, twice, was much easier than others. I am not ashamed to say this out loud, and I am one of the lucky ones. In England, my path to naturalisation was easy, having been there as a graduate student, and then working there. When we came back to Canada, my path to residency was still easy. I didn't choose to fall in love with a Canadian, but the fact that my husband was Canadian helped ease my way. I was also lucky that I was so well versed in the Western world, that integrating into English and Canadian society was natural for me. I speak good English, I know pop culture inside out, I am abreast of news, and I listen to Blue Rodeo*. 

But while my life as an immigrant is easy, to the point where a lot of people I know don't even see the colour of my skin, as long as I am able to keep up with conversations around hockey, or sport or music or sociology – this does not mean that I am unaware of how precarious my status in this country is. When people on the street look at me, they see a brown woman with white children and assume, a lot of the times, that I am the nanny. Some people talk slower to me, like they feel that I am not able to understand English. Some people are shocked by my lack of accent (see here). And I have been accosted on the street and told to go back home. It happens to all of us, those of us who appear different. 

But to actually see the level of hate against immigrants that has manifested in that person being elected? I am truly flabbergasted and yes, it makes me anxious for my future and the future of my mixed race children. I'd like to say that such hate is not usual in Canada, but I would be wrong. Just a look at newspaper forums will tell me otherwise. People will tell me that those forums are not representative of what Canada is like, but then that's what we thought about the States. People will also tell me not to look at these news stories or engage with them, but it's like watching a particularly gruesome incident, and my morbid curiosity won't let me disengage. While both Canada and the States are countries founded on immigration, the rhetoric today has changed. Today, we are ruled by fear of difference. And when fear takes hold, hate is not far behind. 

And that was one of the reasons why I took up this project. The people swapping recipes in this project are all people who have different cultural, national and religious backgrounds. But what we all have in common is that we are all Canadians. 

I am going to be upfront with you all. I am not a nationalistic person. I've lived and travelled in too many countries to be the kind of person who believes that 'my country is the best' rhetoric. I love living in Canada, sure, and I adore the people I live with and all my friends, but I would be happy living anywhere else in the world, as long as I have my little family with me. Maybe this is an antithetic view of the world, but this is me and I won't apologise for it. 

My recipe for this global swap project is inspired by one of my favourite Mumbai street foods. When I was in India this year, I took a little street food jaunt with my friend Addie, and we hit up this little Parsi cafe in Bandra where the food is tinged with Iranian influences. It is, and rightly so, famous for its kheema pav. 

Kheema is a generic term in India for ground meat, and a good, spicy, salty kheema curry can have any kind of meat, with lamb and mutton being the most common. Beef, however, is also quite common in many communities in India, particularly the Catholic community. While it can be harder now to find beef in India, several places do have it, and this cafe did (or at least assured us that we were eating beef kheema). 

There is nothing fancy about kheema pav. This is street food at its simplest and most filling. You get a steel plate of curried minced beef, a soft, cheap white bun and a wedge of lime. You squeeze some lime juice on the meat, and use your fingers to tear the pav and scoop the kheema into your mouth. The flavours are an explosion on your tongue, your mouth being assaulted by salt, heat, tang and the fragrance of spices. You take a sip of sweet chai, and then mop up the last bits of curry with some more pav. 

For me, this dish brings back memories of my time in Bombay as a student. I was forever broke, but also hungry all the time. Many of us hunted out the best street food joints in the city, and we would travel in the horrific Mumbai traffic to head down to Sardar's for the best pav bhaji, or to small Punjabi joints for delicious tandoori chicken. The Catholic cafes had great seafood, and every colony in Bombay claimed that their pani puri wallah made the best version. 

That said, my recipe for kheema pav comes from my aunt's cook, Christine, she of the delicious pork sorpotel.  Her recipe is simple and uses minimum spice, but can easily rival any of those from these famous street vendors. Add my recipe for fresh pav, a squeeze of lime juice and a pat of butter on top, and voila! You're on the streets on Mumbai, taking in the unique flavours of the ordinary Mumbaikar.

Thankfully, my recipe swap partner Shel loved it too, and her photographs are so much better than mine, so check them out. I also adore the fact that she made them for Hockey Night in Canada. Now how much more inclusive do you get than that? 

* I know you are dying to hear my Blue Rodeo story, yes? Well, when I was first dating Kay, my Canadian boy, he took me to see blue Rodeo perform in this tiny underground pub in London. Goodness, I think the entire Canadian population of London was there. I was only a couple of feet away from the band on the stage. After the performance, the band members all came and mingled with the audience, and I said hello to Jim Cuddy, who gave me a hug and asked me if Blue Rodeo was big in India. Well, I said, they were definitely popular with one particular Indian. Me.  

--> Kheema Pav
(Printable Recipe)

A Mumbai Street Food Recipe

Pav (Bread Rolls)

1 tablespoon active dry yeast
¼ cup warm water
1 cup milk, scalded
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons butter + a little extra
1 teaspoon salt
3 ½ cups sifted all purpose flour
1 egg

Preheat oven to 375 F.

Soften active dry yeast in warm water.

Combine milk, sugar, butter and salt. Cool. Add 1 cup of the flour and beat well with a wooden spoon.

Beat in softened yeast and egg.

Gradually add remaining flour to form a soft dough. Knead the dough (around 7 - 8 minutes) until soft and pliable, then shape into a ball and place in a large oiled bowl. Cover and let rise in warm place until doubled in size (1½ to 2 hours)

Lightly turn out the risen dough on to lightly floured surface. Pat down and shape into 12 small balls.

Place the dough balls next to each other in a baking tray, then cover and let rise for another hour.

Bake at 375 degrees F for 15 - 20 minutes, until the rolls are golden. Brush a little extra butter on the crusts while still warm.

Kheema

1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander seeds
1 teaspoon garam masala
½ – 1 teaspoon mild (or hot) cayenne pepper, to taste
¼ teaspoon aamchur (dried mango powder)
2 tablespoons canola or sunflower oil
1 tablespoon ghee (optional)
1 cup, finely diced onion
4 garlic cloves, crushed
1 inch piece of ginger, peeled and grated
1 – 2 hot, green bird’s eye chillies, finely chopped
1 cup, finely chopped tomatoes
500g ground beef
½ cup water
½ cup fresh or frozen peas
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Small handful fresh cilantro, chopped
Fresh pav, softened salted butter and lime wedges, to serve

In a small bowl, mix together the cumin, coriander, garam masala, cayenne pepper and aamchur. Keep this spice mix aside.

Heat the oil, and the ghee (if using) in a heavy based sauté pan, and add the onion. Fry on a medium heat for 7 – 8 minutes, until softened and beginning to brown on the edges.

Add the crushed garlic, ginger and chillies and stir together for a minute, until fragrant.

Add the chopped tomatoes and the spice mix to the pan and season with a little salt.

Fry, stirring often, for 10 – 15 minutes, until the mixture is thick and the oil is beginning to shimmer around the edges.

Add the ground beef and fry for 2 – 3 minutes. Add the water, cover the pan, and let the kheema simmer for about 15 – 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, blanch the peas in salted, boiling water for 2 minutes, then drain.

Uncover the pan, and add the peas to the kheema, and continue to cook for another 5 – 7 minutes, until the mixture is on the dry side. Season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Take off the heat and stir in the chopped cilantro. Serve with the pav, butter and lime wedges.


Disclosure: This post was sponsored by Think Beef. 

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