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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(Warm or Chilled) Roasted Red Pepper Soup

 I should have really titled this post 'Ottolenghi Battles the Blue Demons' :) It will become clear soon.

If you've been hanging out with me in recent times, both online and offline, you'll know that I have been struggling a little bit. I realised a few things in the last week or so. First, I completely forgot that it was my blog's sixth birthday last month. Things were so hectic, that it really just slipped my mind. So I decided to go back and look at some of my older posts, and to be honest, I was quite surprised at how far I've come along and how much I've grown as a blogger. For a small, personal blog, I am not doing badly at all. A lot of people visit this website every day, and they come from all over the world. A lot of people like The Tiffin Box on Facebook, and I love getting messages from them, everything from how to make a particular dish, to troubleshooting, to asking for new recipes or offering suggestions, to complimenting me on my work.

Ah, yes. The compliments. To be honest, I do not know how to deal with praise. I have my faults, and one of them is that I just can't take compliments gracefully. I'll always be self effacing and go... 'Oh, thanks, but its not me, its my camera, lens, blogger, cookbook, recipe source, mom, aunty', and so on. I feel like I don't deserve any praise because what I do here is ordinary, and there always better bloggers, photographers, writers, cooks, chefs and I am just a poor imitation of them. This inability to take any kind of credit for my own work has meant that I am almost always really hard on myself, and I have felt that I am not really accomplishing anything. My complete lack on confidence in myself is probably what led to my breakdown in the last few weeks, and I am not ashamed to say that I was not in a good place mentally or physically. And that reflected in my inability to focus, or write or photograph, or just be creative in the many ways I know I can.

Even as The Tiffin Box turns six years old, I have never stepped back, taken a good look at it and actually said, 'Hey, hang on, this is actually me doing all this work, this is me cooking good food, taking great pictures, writing, proofing, testing, learning, teaching... look at that, almost three hundred good recipes, that's not bad at all' 

I've just never done that. And maybe its time I did. Maybe its time I learned how to take those well meaning compliments with a smile and a 'thank you, I am happy you enjoyed that' instead of adding my usual 'it's not me' qualifier to the end. 

Today I read this over on Food Bloggers of Canada.

Then I (metaphorically, of course) kicked myself in the butt. I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself, and just take a moment to feel proud of everything I've accomplished here. I am going to feel proud of the fact that I am a good cook with good training and discipline, that I am a good photographer with an eye for styling and details, and I am also a good writer, with decent grammar and spelling. 

I am also a good wife, mother, sister, daughter and friend. I have great relationships with my family and friends, and they know and love me, and are proud of all that I have accomplished in my life. Instead of being my usual reticent self, I am going to be proud and say, I have come a long way. And I am going to take my passion for cooking, photographing and writing and develop it in different ways and I am going to have fun doing that.

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Easy Chicken Mughlai

  

India, a land of contrasts. Every time I think I have a handle on this extraordinary country, it throws me a curveball. From the first step off a long flight, the smell of wood smoke, chill and the hints of dust in the air... the cheerful faces of relatives, even at the unearthly hour of 3 AM...  the sparkling lights of Christmas time (any excuse for a holiday, here) and of course, the hot food at my aunts, that she prepared for me, even though she works full time.

I loved the feeling of being home with my aunt  Jessie. I've already spoken about my aunt, in this post here, but I have to reiterate, that she's an amazingly simple, elegant, down to earth person, who happens to be a super cook to boot. Lucky uncle and my cousin Jas.

The next morning brought back to me why I miss India so much. As Adz and I, bleary eyed, straggled our way downstairs - jet lagged and exhausted - the aroma of fresh, hot chai floated up and into our grateful insides. Along with sizzling, hot, buttered rotis and a crisp fried masala egg... well, to be honest, that's my idea of heaven. 

I've been documenting my everyday adventures here on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, so don't forget to head over and ogle the beauty of my chais and chapathis :)  

As it turned out, my aunt decided to take the day off, and along with another of my aunts, Aunt Justine and my cousin Jas, we decided to hang out in Bangalore, refreshing my memories of choking traffic and the sheer chaos of riding on roads without rules. I was mentally compiling a list of ten things about traffic and driving in India, and I will definitely share that with you all soon... trust me, it will make for exciting reading.

Meanwhile, when we got back from our meanderings, my aunt Jessie had been cooking all morning. On our way back from the airport, the driver of our car noticed that the vegetable trucks had just started unloading vendors loaded down with fresh greens and vegetables. A quick word to my uncle, and we stopped right there by the roadside, and off they went to grab some bargain fresh fenugreek, cilantro and spinach.

(Note: apparently, as the day gets on, prices go up significantly, so it does pay to be out at 4.30 AM)

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