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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Indian Street Food - Vada Pav (Spicy Potato Patties in a Soft Roll) With Dry Garlic/ Chilli/ Coconut and Cilantro/ Mint Chutneys

Winter's here in earnest. Halloween was (thankfully) warm(ish), but come the first of November, the snow's started, and yesterday we had almost a foot of snow. Now I'll be the first to admit that winter is not my season... but then I am grateful that it didn't start early this year like last year, where it was so bitterly cold in October. Winter this year is also mitigated for me, as I count down the days when I am heading to India for Christmas with Adz. + 28 C has never sounded so good!

That said, I know I haven't posted for a few weeks here. For the first time in almost four years, I was really really sick. The flu's been around for a while, but I've never felt this sick in a long time. Its taken me almost two weeks to get back to normal, and I still have the odd twinge here and there along with a lingering tiredness which is incredibly frustrating. Add that, and a whole slew of other things, and its not been a great month one way or another. But thankfully, I am now feeling much better and normal service is resumed.

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Indian Classics - Pandi Curry (Coorg Style Dark, Rich Pork Curry)

Coorg, or the Kodagu district in Karnataka, is a beautiful little hill town on Eastern slopes of the Western Ghats. Its intense green hills are lush with coffee plantations and the fragrance of citrus and spice is one of its best known characteristics. Its hard not to be totally captivated and fascinated by this small, magical piece of India, and its also one of the country's best kept secrets.

Coorg is heavily reminiscent of my childhood. Growing up, I went to a private school, which also had a boarding school attached to it, run by nuns. The boarders were usually girls from Coorg, and two of my best friends were girls who hailed from this lovely place. I saw Coorg through their memories and descriptions, and when I went there to see for myself, I was not disappointed, it was a beautiful place, made even better by the wafts of fragrances that I spoke about.

The first time I ever went to Coorg was, weirdly, for a debating tour. A friend and I took thelate evening bus from Mangalore, and we reached the capital of Coorg, Madikeri (or Mercara) at 3 AM in the morning. And holy (word) was it ever cold there. Both my friend and I had no idea how cold it can get in Coorg, coming from hot and humid seaside Mangalore (that said, now that I have experienced the Edmonton winter, I laugh at our feebleness) The temperature was about 18 or 19 degrees, and we had no sweaters or blankets or anything remotely resembling warm clothes. We actually wrapped ourselves up in our Indian shawls, called dupattas, and huddled into a dingy bench in the bus station. As we'd reached there at a silly hour, there were no buses to get us anywhere to where we wanted, so we had to stay in that bus stop till almost six in the morning. Both my friend and I were so grateful when the chaiwallahs (or in Coorg's case, coffeewallahs, more on that in a bit) started their lilting tunes... we must have gone through gallons of hot, milky coffee to keep us warm. 

We finally managed to grab another bus at 6 AM, which took us to the college hosting the debate. I still vividly remember the beautiful morning mist that we drove through, and the dew still cold and wet on the coffee plants in the estates. Early morning students were already up and about, and we were soon fed and ready for the tournament (we won, in the end... made that journey worthwhile :)) We then spent the rest of the afternoon at another friend's place and we were taken on a tour of her coffee estate, before finally wending our way back home.

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