Burnt Sugar & Cardamom Pot De Creme

(continued) Chapter 5: New York (2012 - 2018)

Sometimes, it’s hard to hit the brakes on your pace of life…

It was summer 2015, my business was at it’s peak, we were traveling a ton, we felt quite settled, and we were happy. Despite all this, NYC never really felt like home. People say NYC gives implants a 2 year grace period - once you’ve been there for 2 years, either you can never leave, or it was not meant to be. We had already been there close to 4 years, so we realised we somehow fell in the second category. We often contemplated moving, and discussed where we would go - would it be back to Hong Kong (as we very much loved it), or would we gamble with a new destination like London. But moving isn’t easy, and it almost always needs a catalyst. A catalyst were graciously given as I fell pregnant in late 2015.

We knew we always wanted kid(s), but having never grown up around many babies, I didn’t quite knew what it entailed. Plus, the thought of doing it without my mum was, to say the least, excruciating. But we were excited of welcoming a new family member - I hosted almost all the way through my pregnancy, and told my guests that I would be back to hosting 2-3 months postpartum. And as for being a parent, I was petrified of a lot of things but very confident that, if anything, I would nail the ability to feed my child.

Wrong on both counts.

Our daughter was born in June 2016. It was a lot of unknowns. A lot of trials and errors. And a lot of self revelations. The biggest being that I was not as patient a person as I had always thought of myself to be. And while I always knew I was a type A personality, I didn’t know the extent of it till after becoming a parent! Feeding a toddler has it’s challenges, and I suddenly found my culinary skills being tossed to the ground. It also took me 7 months to get back to hosting, and when I did, I burnt out in 3 months - hosting till late + barely sleeping to make it for the morning feed was a killer combination - not in a good way. It also suddenly became clear that we appreciated being around family, and wanted our daughter to grow up knowing her cousins and extended family - the push we needed to make our move a reality in the near future.

It was not all rosy, but it was eye opening.

I learnt that rejected food doesn’t make me a bad cook, or being able to finally get out for a ‘morning run’ at 2pm isn’t necessarily a downer. That date nights are so much more incredible when few and far apart, and planning a schedule only to have it out the window first thing in the morning is OK. That sometimes not having control is actually relaxing, and there is nothing perfect about any parent. That it is ok to slow down sometimes….

After summer 2017, I reduced the frequency of my supperclubs and vowed to balance work and parenting. I needed both to have their corners, but both to remain fun. The next year flew by, and by summer 2018, we were deep in discussions about moving. That was our last summer in NYC.

Closing this chapter of our life today with a dessert recipe that I often call bittersweet - quite literally as I discovered it accidentally when I burnt my caramel and it turned slightly bitter, and figuratively as I served it on my very first and last supperclub in NYC. And very much like parenting, it is the mistake and the measured in it, that make it just right.

And those tiny hands you see in the last pic, that are not so tiny anymore, are of that very baby girl who taught me to slow down…

Ingredients

1 cup heavy cream

1 1/2 cups whole milk + 2 tbsp

1 tbsp custard powder or corn starch

1/2 cup brown sugar to caramelise + 4-5 tbsp more

5-6 pods of cardamom, slightly crushed

4 egg yolks

1/2 tsp chai masala (optional)

Method

Grease a small non stick tray and keep aside. Add 1/2 cup sugar to a non stick pan and slowly heat so the sugar starts to melt. Do not stir it, and let it melt completely. Swirl it around once to see if all the crystals have melted. Increase the heat very slightly, and wait for the sugar to start caramelising (bubbling). Let it go for a few secs after the bubbles appear (this will burn the sugar just a little- you can smell the slightly burning smell!) and immediately turn off the heat. Pour it into the greased pan and let it cool completely (please be super careful pouring hot melted sugar out as it can cause major burns). Once cooled, break the crystals, with the back of spoon or a rolling pin, and store in an airtight container.

Dissolve the custard powder/corn starch in 2 tbsp milk & keep aside.

Beat the egg yolks with a pinch of salt in a large bowl, and keep aside.

In a deep bottomed pot, mix the milk, cream, cardamom, chai masala (if using) and the remaining sugar and bring to a simmer on medium heat. Don’t let it boil, and stir at regular intervals. Turn off heat and cool slightly. Once cooled, pour mixture slowly over the egg yolks, stirring constantly. Mix well, and return the mixture to the pot.

Now comes the laborious part, but trust me, it’s totally worth the effort! Heat the mixture on low heat, stirring constantly, till it begins to thicken. Do not increase the heat or stop stirring, otherwise the egg yolks can curdle, leaving you with a custard scramble. It should take about 10-12 minutes for the mixture to start thickening. Now slowly add the custard powder mixture, and continue to stir for another 2-3 minutes. The mixture will thicken even further and start to resemble a flowy custard. Do not overcook.

Transfer to small ramekins or dessert pots and chill overnight. Serve with a dollop of whipped cream, crushed biscuits or pomegranate seeds!

Polenta Upma with Chili Prawns

(continued) Chapter 5: New York (2012 - 2018)

Things always happen for a reason.

A motto I live & swear by. Every little incident in our life works itself up to a moment that’s just supposed to be.

In summer of 2014, we took a road trip on the western part of Canada. We had initially planned on going to South America or Japan, but visas and other complications had resulted in us looking at something closer to home, with easier logistics. Since Canada wasn’t out first choice of destination, we had been a little laid back in our research (which, for those who know us, is very unlike us!). We had seen a bit of the US and (ignorantly) felt it’ll be similar. But hey, the best experiences are the ones that are undesigned.

The trip did not disappoint, and every turn took us by surprise. From the scenery and hiking, to the people, and all the Airbnb’s we booked, everything was beyond expectation. Everyone was so helpful that at first we were anxious - I mean why did the young fella at the gas station offer to take our credit card in to the shop to try and swipe it, when it continuously refused to work at the pump. Turns out, he thought we could use a hand. We would never do that in NYC.

It was the first time we used Airbnb - little did I know then what a significant part of me it’ll become in the future. One such last minute reservation was at a quaint apartment in Canmore, near Banff. Since we hadn’t done much planning, we were booking as we traveled. Being summer, there was not much left near Banff, and we could only find a private room at this accommodation. Skeptical at first since there were few reviews, we decided to go ahead and book. The owner was meant to be there during our stay, but last minute he decided to go spend time with family, and wrote to us apologising that he won’t be there to greet us. We could have his entire place. Another surprise!

His place was beautiful. From thoughtful touches and a balcony that overlooked foxes and deer, to a running trail nearby which ran through fields (and we later found out, through an area of bears!), it was a relaxing last leg of our journey. One of the nights, we decided to stay in and cook. I messaged the owner asking if it was ok to use the kitchen, and if he had any basic spices/condiments I could use. He sent back just a smiley face. And followed a few minutes later with a note “Open the door next to the kitchen counter”. So I did. What lay beyond was a chef’s dream come true! A walk in wardrobe of spices, sauces, legumes and everything else you’d ever need under the sun to cook. I was a kid in a candy shop. How lucky did we get!

We cranked up the music, opened a few bottles of wine, and had the best meal + evening of our lives. My husband and I still think back on that evening with such fondness. A meal that was unplanned, but so memorable. A stay that was unplanned, but we wouldn’t trade it for any other. A trip that was so unplanned, but is on top of our adventures now.

Till date, we still refer to that meal as “Let’s cook the Canmore dinner!”

Today I share the no-recipe recipe of the dish I cooked that night - Polenta Upma with Chili Prawns - and remind you that one day you will look back at the most insignificant moments of your life, and be in awe of how clearly you remember them. Because, they were just meant to be.

(The dish itself is inspired by the famous “shrimp and grits” - a popular Southern American dish. As I love to do, I have added an Indian twist to it by cooking Polenta like ‘Upma’ which is a breakfast dish in Southern Indian usually made with Semolina, and served it up with some quick fiery prawns/shrimps)

Ingredients

For the Upma

1/2 cup Polenta

2 cups water

1/2 cup veggies of choice, finely chopped (I used carrots, red & green pepper and peas)

1/4 onion, finely chopped

1 tsp grated ginger

5-6 curry leaves

1/2 tsp mustard seeds

1/2 tsp cumin seeds

A pinch of hing or asafoetida

1/4 tsp paprika

1/4 tsp cumin powder

1/4 tsp turmeric powder

2 tbsp olive oil

Salt to taste

For the Prawns

200 g prawns, cleaned and de veined

2 tbsp butter

3-4 green chilies, finely chopped

1 small tomato, finely chopped

2 cloves of garlic, minced

2 tbsp fresh coriander, finely chopped

1/2 tsp paprika or red chili powder

Salt & pepper to taste

Others

Avocado, chopped in cubes

Sour cream

Method

Make the Upma

Heat oil in a non stick pan. Add the cumin and mustards seeds and let them pop. Once hot, add the ginger and curry leaves, and saute for a quick minute. Add the onions, with a little salt, and let them get translucent. Then add all the veggies + dry spices, mix well and cook for a 3-5 minutes. Add water, and bring to a boil. Once boiling, add a bit more salt (to salt the polenta properly) and then slowly add the polenta, stirring continuously so no lumps are formed. Continue stirring till the polenta stops sinking to the bottom. Reduce heat to low, and cook covered for approximately 20 minutes. Keep stirring the polenta every 6-8 minutes to avoid clumping. Add a bit more water if it looks too thick. Remove from heat once it looks creamy (a little lile porridge), but can still be poured out of the pan.

Grease a baking dish and pour the polenta out. Chill for 20-30 minutes. Cut into 2 “ discs or little squares and keep aside (You can skip this step and simply eat it warm with the prawns too. This step if more for plating, and works well when you are serving it as an appetizer)

Make the Prawns

Marinate the prawns for 10-15 minutes in all the ingredients, except the tomatoes and butter. Heat a non stick pan and add butter. Brown a little, and then add tomatoes. Let the tomatoes soften a bit, and then stir in the prawns. Cook on high heat, stirring constantly till the prawns turn pink and begin to brown a little.

Serve hot atop the polenta cakes with some avocado and sour cream!

Green Beans Sabji & Hummus Bruschetta [Vegan]

(continued) Chapter 5: New York (2012 - 2018)

As you can tell, I am a storyteller.

And my cheffing business created endless stories. That of a couple who met over a dinner and later told me about their engagement, and that of the chef who hired me for an event but disappeared without paying me, or of the time a (jet lagged) dinner guest fell asleep on my couch…But the one that I love telling the most is about a challenge.

Around late 2014, during my 2nd year as a dining experience host, there was a particular lady guest who wrote to me continuously for a few weeks, saying she had heard a lot about my supperclubs, her friends had been and loved it, and she had been wanting to try. However, she had a problem- she hated Indian food, and wasn’t quite sure if she should book. Baffled me. But I admired her honesty and keenness to try something out of her comfort zone. I had advised her that whilst I couldn’t promise the meal won’t have predominant Indian flavours, I could guarantee that it would be nothing like a regular Indian restaurant meal. In fact, that it was a modern take on the cuisine in the form of a tasting menu, and was meant to appeal to those who were apprehensive. I also offered that I would give her a refund shall she absolutely hate it. And left it at that. Two weeks later, a lady turned up at one of my dinners, and said she had written to me a few times - oh gosh, HER! My nerves wavered a bit. If she was indeed coming, I would’ve liked a warning (most folks who booked were strangers and I rarely knew who would turn up at my table on a particular night) so I could customise the menu. The chef in me gave a cry, but the host in me stood strong. I ran my show as per normal, hoping she wouldn’t gag or run out. Instead, I was delighted that she actually enjoyed herself. She did, however, make a passing mention that she hated green beans, and glad the meal didn’t contain any. I was both relieved and proud after the dinner. It was a brimming clean up session after with a fair few glasses of wine! Those moments after a supperclub were always full of reflection, calm & gratification. I used to absolutely love that ‘dinner-after’ feeling.

A few months later, I got another message from the same lady. She wanted to come back. And this time bring along some friends including her new fiancee. She was a convert- hurrah! The accomplishment I felt cannot be expressed in words. But I had a challenge on hand - to bean or not to bean. I crafted up a menu, greeted her and her friends and set about plating. The night flew by as swiftly as the wine, and as my regular tradition, I spent the last course on the table with the guests, asking their favourite course from the menu. When it came to her, she said, “The last one! the flavour was something I’ve never eaten before and it worked so well with the sticky rice”. I laughed and stood up. I then revealed, “That was a green bean korma…..”. She bowed, as she had promised she would for anyone who could ever make her like green beans. It was a night that ended in many laughs.

I have told this story many a times during my dinners. I love it. Not because it makes me proud, but it re-asserts that what I tell everyone - don’t be afraid to try new things, because you won’t know when life and flavours surprise you.

And although I don’t have that korma recipe today, I do have another with green beans. I hope that lady, wherever she is, will come across this and give it a try. To everyone else, go try something out of your comfort zone today. And fingers crossed there won’t be a chef lurking around ready to fool your taste buds!

Ingredients

For the beans sabji

2 cups green beans, sliced thin

1 medium potato, peeled and diced (optional)

1 small onion, finely chopped

1 small tomato, finely chopped

1/2 tsp cumin seeds

1/2 tsp cumin powder

1/4 tsp turmeric powder

2 tbsp coriander powder

1/4 tsp red chili powder

4 tbsp olive oil

Salt to taste

For the Hummus

1 can of cannelloni beans, drained

2 cloves of garlic

1/2 tsp garam masala powder

1/2 tsp paprika

3 tbsp olive oil

Salt & pepper to taste

Others

Crostini or a good baguette, cut into thin slices

Method

Make the sabji

Heat oil in a non stick pan. Add cumin seeds and wait for them to splutter. Add onions + a little salt, and cook till they soften and start to look translucent. Add tomatoes + all remaining dry spices. Mix well and cook covered till tomatoes are tender and oil begins to separate from the edges. Now add the beans and potatoes, and cover and cook on low-medium heat. Let the beans get a little tender and the potatoes to cook through- will depend on the quality of your potatoes, but approx 10-12 minutes. Remove cover, turn heat to high, and dry any excess liquid. Remove from heat and keep aside.

Make the hummus
Heat oil in a pan. Add the garlic and cook till it browns. Now add the cannelloni beans + all spices and cook on high heat till the beans brown a bit. Cool and blend smooth in a blender. Add a little oil to make smooth if the hummus seems too dry.

Put it together

Spread a little hummus on each crostini or baguette (if serving immediately, toast the baguette a bit). Top with some green beans sabji, and garnish with crushed pistachios. A crowd pleasing vegan appetizer thats so creamy and flavourful!

Mushroom Masala Chaat Cups

(continued) Chapter 5: New York (2012 - 2018)

Sometimes, you look back at a phase of your life, and wonder how miraculously it all happened.

Things were finally beginning to look up. My parents’ accident, a nerve chilling loss, a storm and an unexpected injury - though still painful on many fronts - was all behind us. I felt stronger, physically and mentally, and was determined to proactively create change. Positive change. A change that would fuel my personal dreams, and lead me to create a meaningful profession for our remaining time in NYC.

Those who know me, also know I love to run. But running was not always a part of me. I took to it only in University, predominantly as a way to get fit (thanks to all the junk eating in Singapore!). But I started to love it, And New York created a new lease in that passion. I began improving my pace, signing up for races, and using it as a way to heal. With shoes on my feet, and music in my ears, I felt I could overcome anything. And as I re-started clocking the miles after the injury, I also realised that it was when my best ideas came.

It was during one such run that I had a dreamy idea. An idea to launch my own Supperclub. I had no culinary training, no idea how to create or run a business (leave alone one in NYC!), and no idea why anyone would pay to eat at a nobody’s table. But I knew I wanted to try. I also knew I loved to cook, I loved to host, and that I was passionate about experimenting with traditional Indian cooking and re-inventing what the world calls ‘curry’ aka Indian food. So with these three armours, I went ahead. From launching my social media and this website, to launch ideas and struggling with marketing, it was a tough tough journey, a lonely one too, but one that definitely paid off. I didn’t know many people in NYC, so I started simply - opening up our home for tapas style cocktail hours where I provided an Indian-inspired buffet of small bites, and guests brought their own drinks. The catch? Friends were invited, but only allowed through the door if they brought along at least 1 person I didn’t know. I wanted feedback, and I wanted it unbiased. I cooked, fed, talked, learnt a LOT and used every opportunity to find and improve my niche.

As I continued to host these open evenings, I got invited by an up & coming sharing economy platform called Eatwith, that focussed on Home Dining Experiences. Till date, I cannot thank them enough (and no, this is not sponsored, just pure gratitude) for taking me onboard as one of the first few NYC chefs, when I was very much an amateur and still discovering my style. That was the push I needed. Soon I was hosting regularly, exploring private events and also collaborating for Pop Up Events. It was a dream come true! A dedication to all my mum had taught me. Pure thrill.

Over 5+ years, I hosted more than 250 events and thousands of guests from across the globe. It all taught me so much about myself. So much about hustle, grit and strength. And so much about existing goodwill and kindness in the world. I often look back at the first ever Supperclub I hosted, and marvel at how amateur, unprofessional and basic it all was (not to mention shoddy plating!). But people still supported it. From day 1 to day last, they came, they encouraged, they shared and they ate. Support - the one thing I will always take away from that city.

This recipe is dedicated to all those who were willing to let me try, helped me and came to my table with open arms when I was no-name chef, and just starting off! Also to those who criticised and left negative reviews, as I would’ve never stayed grounded and pushed myself to improve without it. Without all of you, I would not have had the courage to realise my passion…

As I started with bite sized plates, it deems fit to share an early recipe that I often served as a welcome bite / amuse bouche or conversation starter as everyone introduced themselves - Mushroom Masala Chaat Cups. I wanted every dish to tell a story, and with these flavours we talked about the street foods in India. The mix of spicy, sweet, savoury and crunchy - all with a twist!

Hope you enjoy making them. Remember to eat it with someone who believed in you, before you did x

Ingredients

400gm button mushrooms, finely chopped

1 large onion, finely chopped

1 plum tomato, diced

1 tbsp garlic ginger paste

1 tsp cumin seeds

1/2 tsp mustard seeds

1/2 tsp turmeric powder

2 tbsp coriander powder

1/2 tsp cumin powder

1/2 tsp garam masala

1/2 tsp red chili powder

1 small cardamom, crushed

2 cloves

1 bay leaf

1 cinnamon stick

4-5 tbsp light olive oil

Small bunch of coriander, finely chopped

Others

1/2 cup sour cream

1 tbsp maple syrup

1/2 tsp hot paprika powder or red chilli powder

Juice from 1/2 a lemon

Salt to taste

Croustades to serve (you can also use bread cups or crostini)

Method

Heat oil in a non stick pan. Once hot, add the cumin and mustard seeds and let them splutter. Add the ginger garlic paste + whole spices (cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and bay leaf) and cook for a quick minute. Now stir in the onions, with a little salt and cook till they soften and start to turn translucent. At this stage, add all the dry spices and the tomatoes. Cook covered till tomatoes are tender, and then remove cover to dry any excess liquid.

Finally add the mushrooms and the coriander. Mix well and cook covered on medium-low heat till mushrooms are tender (5-8 minutes). The mushrooms will leave a lot of water, that needs to be dried out. And the longer they cook, they more meaty, tender and flavourful the curry becomes. Remove cover and let the mushrooms cook on low flame for 25-30 minutes or till all the water dries out. Then saute on high one last time for a little char, and remove from heat.

Mix the sour cream with the lemon juice, maple syrup, salt & paprika. Chill for 10 mins.

When ready to serve, put a tablespoon of the mushroom masala in your bread cup or croustade, and top with a little maple sour cream. Serve immediately. A delicious crisp, sweet and spicy that is as unique as it is delicious!

Spiced Double Chocolate Pudding [Eggless]

Chapter 5: New York (2012 - 2018)

Have you ever had a near death experience?

In summer of 2012, we relocated from Hong Kong to the city where dreams are made - New York. Even though we had always wanted to live and work in NYC, somehow when the opportunity arose, I was less than excited. Perhaps because it all happened so suddenly, or perhaps because I absolutely loved Hong Kong, and wasn’t quite ready to move on yet.

But move we did. New York, true to it’s name, was a strange experience - strangely maturing, strangely amazing, strangely lonely and strangely strange. It changed me in many ways. It was the city that made me courageous enough to pursue my passion of cooking, and open my own Private Chef & Dining Experience business. It was also the city that knocked me/us down several times, only to pick us up with a new lease on life.

In September 2012, right after we had moved into our own apartment and started settling into the NYC life, hurricane Sandy hit the city. It was a shocking welcome - seeing what a natural disaster can do, having zero family to rely on, and witnessing the most advanced city in the world coming to a standstill. We thought “is this a sign that NYC doesn’t welcome us?”. It wasn’t, it simply said, welcome to where you learn how to live - no matter what.

A year went by, and in July 2013, while I was slowly contemplating a leap into a food/catering business, my husband and I went for a run along the Hudson river in Battery park - downtown Manhattan. It was a lovely day, and we felt glad to be living in such a beautiful part of the city. We have a ritual to finish our runs at a coffee shop, so we decided to try one in the Meatpacking district we’d been hearing a lot about. It was amazing - and remains a favourite to the day. On our way back, we decided to take a detour, and walk through the scenic area of West Village - an area we hadn’t explored yet. As we walked by, chatting, we heard a loud bang. Another shock! Given we were in the US, the first thought that came to our minds was whether it was a gunshot. I fell to the floor, and my husband shrieked - blood. From my head. I held my head tight and screamed for help. Had someone hit me? Not really. We had been crossing a building site and a plank of wood had come loose and fallen from the 4th floor right on my head. I was sure this was it - NYC didn’t want us, want me. Panic ensued - my husband was telling me to stay awake, tearing his shirt to tie around my head tight, and asking some passersby to help call 911. The ambulance arrived, and we were whisked off to the nearest Emergency Room. It’s amazing I remember so much of the day - I think it was because I was constantly telling myself I am not ready to go yet.

At the hospital, we were told it’s a miracle I survived. A plank of that size, falling from that height, can most definitely kill in an instant. Strangely, 9 out of 11 of my head membranes had ruptured - one more and I would’ve had no chance. That day, the nurses joked, was my new birthday.

As I went back home, and started my recovery process, I felt mentally stronger than ever. Life had given me a blow before, but perhaps I was meant to be a survivor. I focussed on getting better, and there are 2 things (other than family and friends!) that I think truly saved me - exercise and food. I strongly believe in exercise to keep strong, and started at it as early as I was given clearance by the doctors. I also kept cooking. In fact, it was shortly after, in late August 2013 (less than 2 months after the accident) that I hosted my first supperclub. I recall hiding my scar & bruise with a new hairstyle, and feeling on top of the world as my first guests walked in. It was a positive road to recovery.

I ran my business and hosted supperclubs, dining experiences and private events for 5 fun years. It taught me so much about myself, about surviving. Looking back, I think the setbacks, however crazy, have led me to where I am today.

As I feel my scar, and think back on the day, I can only leave you with a recipe that resonates happiness. Chocolate. served them at one of my first supperclubs, and the taste reminds me of survival.

Ooey, gooey, rich & decadent, these are a cross between a custard & a mousse, where smoothness marries a hint of spice. They’re not only easy to make, but can also be made up to 2 days in advance. In fact, they taste better after 24-48 hours! I Give them a try, and leave a comment if you do.

Ingredients [makes 10-12 2oz pots]

1/2 cup pieces of Cadbury Dairy Milk, Dark (75-80%) Chocolate

1/2 cup pieces of Cadbury Dairy Milk, Milk Chocolate

2 tablespoon unsalted butter

3/4 cup heavy whipping or double cream

1/2 cup + 1/4 cup whole milk

2 green cardamom, crushed

2 cloves, crushed

1 cinnamon stick, broken in half

Pinch of salt

5 tbsp brown sugar (adjust to taste)

1 tbsp corn starch or 1 tbsp plain custard powder

1/4 tsp vanilla essence/extract

Method

Dissolve corn starch, salt, vanilla essence (or custard powder) in 1/4 cup milk and keep aside.

Keep the chocolate pieces and butter in a bowl. Bring the cream, remaining 1/2 cup milk, sugar, cardamom, cloves & cinnamon to a simmer. Remove from heat, cover and let the spices infuse for 3-5 minutes. Return to heat and bring to a second simmer. Once hot (but not boiling), pour through a strainer (to catch the whole spices) over the chocolate & butter. Mix well till all the chocolate pieces have melted and the mixture gets a smooth, glossy appearance - similar to that of ganache.

Return the mixture to low heat. When the edges begin to slightly simmer, slowly pour in the cornstarch mix and stir constantly. The chocolate mixture will begin to thicken. Cook for a few more minutes, stirring continuously, and making sure the heat isn't high enough for the mixture to boil over - this is key otherwise your chocolate will seize and get lumpy. Slow and patient is key here. Remove from heat and pour immediately (fill 3/4) into your serving cups. Refrigerate till set (4-5 hours or overnight). Serve with a pinch of rock salt & pomegranate seeds for crunch.

Indian South African Bunny Chow

(continued) Chapter 4: Hong Kong (2009-2012)

No bunnies were hurt during the creation of this recipe. Only waistlines were expanded.

By now, you are half way through my life, and know a bit about my journey. You must have also realised that this Hong Kong chapter has little to do with local food or inspirations, and more about the adopted in-law country. In truth, I ate a ton of local food during this time, but experimented with little. Hong Kong was a mentally, professionally and personally heavy (yet lovable!) time, and I was focussed on re-creating myself after the biggest blow life had thrown me. In typical Hong Kong style, we worked late, ate out a lot, and explored the amazing hikes in and around the city. It helped me heal.

In 2011 we got married. We had - not 1, not 2, but 3 weddings. How did I survive it you ask? Well, our mantra was to worry less about the details (as the family would do that for us regardless) and more about who we surround ourselves with. We had a big fat Indian wedding, a big fat South African reception and a registration party in Hong Kong. With fewer formalities and more loved ones, they were all perfect and heaps of fun - at least for us. I told you I was the rebel in the family!

When we arrived in South Africa in March 2011 (my 2nd trip ever), I was determined to make this one a positively memorable one….and stay away from beer ;). My husbands’ cousin was taking us out for lunch the day before the reception, and he mentioned Bunny Chow. Bunny what! OMG I squealed, “I would NEVER eat a cute little bunny”. Laughter. So I learnt through my ignorance that Bunny Chow involves no bunnies, and in fact, originated as a vegetarian meal amongst the Indian community in Durban. After all the ‘shaadi ka khana (wedding cuisine) in India, I was so very happy to try something different for a change.

Back in the day, when land workers immigrated to South Africa, they needed an easy way to carry their lunch to the fields. Their wives wondered how to provide them a filling, nutritious meal that would consist of familiar Indian curry-based home food, but yet be easy to pack and eat in the open without utensils. Indians are known to be creative in times of need - ’jugaad’ as we call it - that loosely translates into ‘makeshift’. Thus came the idea to the wives club - they hollowed out big loaves of bread, and used that as a bowl to pack the curry in. When the farmers opened their lunch, not only did they not need additional bowls, but the curry soaked through the bread wonderfully and made for a delicious, satisfying lunch. Originally, this was done with vegetarian curries like beans and potatoes, but over time has been adapted to include the more of the favourites like chicken and mutton curries.

Durban definitely does Bunny Chow the best - thanks to the big Indian community. So the cousins and us headed towards a locally Indian market, made our way through the spice and fish shops, and landed up in a tiny hole in the wall that boasted the “Best Bunny in Town!”. I was skeptical at first - I mean how many eateries claim to do ‘the best’ of something worldwide! But, I was not disappointed. I ordered a chicken version and asked for it to be mild (given my experience of South African spice levels!) - it was still hot, but soooo delicious that I just couldn’t stop eating it. We laughed about having to alter my reception dress for the next day. That moment was life changing in many ways - I discovered that bread does go well with curry (something I always ridiculed the husband for!), that I could tolerate more spice in things that were too good to stop eating, and that there is yet another Indian South African foodie gem that I had to try making at home.

Several years after, I still continue to make mini versions of that Bunny Chow at home, with a variety of fillings. Our favourite veg version has been this one, with chickpeas, that I share with you today.

Also, true to its claim, that little stall in Durban’s Indian market is the best Bunny I’ve ever had… till today.

Ingredients

For the chickpeas

2 cups chickpeas, boiled

2 large plum tomatoes, finely chopped or blended to a paste

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 green chili, sliced lengthwise

2 tsp ginger garlic paste

1 medium courgette (zucchini), diced (optional)

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 tsp cumin powder

½ tsp turmeric powder

2 tbsp coriander powder

1 tsp garam masala

1 tbsp South African Indian masala (optional). Can be replaced with 1 tsp red chili powder

6 tbsp light olive oil (or more, let’s not get skimpy here!)

Salt to taste

For the raita (yogurt dip)

1/2 cup full fat yogurt

1/4 cup sour cream (optional)

1 small carrot, grated

1 small green chili, finely chopped

Some fresh coriander, finely chopped

1/4 tsp cumin powder

Salt to taste

Others

8-10 buns or dinner rolls

Method

Make the chickpeas: Heat oil in a non-stick pan. Add green chili, cumin seeds and ginger garlic paste and cook for a few minutes till the seeds start to splutter. Add onions and sauté on medium flame till the onions turn brown. Now add the tomatoes, along with all the dry spices. Cover on medium flame and cook till tomatoes turn tender and can be crushed with the back of a spoon. If using blended tomatoes, the raw taste should disappear and oil should start to separate from the edges (around 8-10 minutes).

Stir in the chickpeas and courgette, and cover and cook on medium flame for 10-12 minutes so the chickpeas absorb the flavours and the courgette is tender. Open cover, mix well and let it simmer for a few minutes to dry any excess liquid. We want the gravy to be thick and not runny. Garnish with fresh coriander and keep aside.

(For non-veg version, replace with chicken/mutton – add instead of chickpeas and cook for a little longer)

Make the yogurt: Beat the yogurt till there are no lumps, Mix all the ingredients for the raita, and keep aside.

Put it all together: Cut the top off your bread rolls. Scoop out the centre, making sure it doesn’t become hollow at the bottom, and create a bread bowl. Add the chickpeas into the bread bowl, top with some carrot raita and serve immediately. As with most of my recipes, skip the cutlery, and simply dive in with your hands.

Indian South African Green Biryani

(continued) Chapter 4: Hong Kong (2009-2012)

Some misconceptions are better off remaining so. They make for better stories.

In summer of 2009, I travelled to South Africa for the first time. It was a 5 of us, including the boyfriend and I, and the idea was to have an adventure, to see South African though a natives eye, and also for me to meet the extended in-law family. Gulp. And trust me, this is one big fat extended Indian family we are talking about.

The trip was one of the best I’ve ever had. And whilst it was an amazing holiday, I couldn’t shake off the nervousness of being alone in a foreign country, and meeting those who could possibly be my future extended in-laws. It wasn’t them, it was me. As days grew close to head to Durban, I wore a smile but deep inside twisted every piece of myself to find comfort. I’ll just pretend I like everything. Or seem excited about all their stories. I mean, how bad could it be?

So, we got to Durban, and much to my relief, they were all so lovely and welcoming. But I am an over analyser. And it’s not my thing to be the focal point of all conversations. As the questions grew, I could feel myself melting inwards - I was Indian, but why couldn’t I stomach the insane amount of spice they were used to? Why wasn’t I religious - aren’t all Indians super religious? Why did I not eat sausages for breakfast? …. I ate little, talked a lot, and wondered if I was answering things appropriately. And even though all questions were in good faith, when our friends decided to skip out for a cricket match, I was thrilled. Escape. Even though I didn’t know a thing about cricket (yes, I am not much of an Indian there as well!).

At the match, I revelled in my feeling of freedom and being away from questioning eyes, and enjoyed some well deserved beer. A tad too much i’m afraid. As we headed home, my future mum-in law insisted we ate a little before heading out for the night - Green Biryani she said. I had never heard of it, so I was curious. Plus, it would be rude to refuse. Too much beer (first) + spicy biryani (after) - not recommended. As we headed out for the evening with my boyfriends’ cousins, I couldn’t be more embarrassed of being sick multiple times. What a way to meet the cousins! So much for trying to be the fun, cool girlfriend. And while I think they all coyly knew, everyone, specially all the aunts, passed it off as a stomach bug I had picked up thanks to the excessive spicy food they’d been feeding me. I suppose no one wanted to believe this girl from India could drink. As for me, I chose not to correct them.

After we left Durban and South Africa, I decided to explore the origin of that very Green Biryani. I found out that it’s another much loved staple in the in-law household, and there are many versions of it in South Africa - differing from family to family. It has a strong similarity to the Indian Biryani, but is less laborious (one pot) and has lots of mint (hence the name) + local spices. All in all, I had to learn it.

Today I share that recipe with you. It’s comfort food in a bowl. The original is meant to be quite spicy, so feel free to tone up or down the chillies based on your taste buds. Hope you enjoy it - but please don’t eat it after too much beer! ;)

Ingredients

2 bunch mint leaves (approx 60gm)

1 bunch coriander leaves (approx 30gm)

6-8 green chilies (more if you want it even hotter!)

2 tbsp ginger garlic paste

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 tomato

1 tbsp cumin seeds

2 cloves

1 bay leaf

2 green cardamoms

1 cinnamon stick (if you don’t have these whole spices, replace with 1 heaped tbsp Indian biryani powder)

1 tsp garam masala

1 tsp red chili powder

1 tbsp coriander powder

2 cups quick cooking or par boiled rice

500 gm chicken breast, cut into small pieces

1/4 cup olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Method

Blend together the mint, coriander, green chilies and tomato with 1/2 cup water to make your ‘green paste’. Keep aside.

Wash and rinse the rice and keep aside.

Heat oil in a non-stick wok. Add all the whole dry spices - cumin seeds, cloves, cardamom, bay leaf and cardamom stick (note: if using biryani powder, just add the cumin seeds here, and add the powder with the spices later). Saute for a quick minute till they get fragrant, and then stir in the ginger garlic paste. Cook for another minute, and then add the onions along with a little salt. Sauté till slightly brown.

Now add the ‘green paste’ made earlier, along with all remaining dry spices (add biryani powder at this stage if using). Cook covered for a few minutes, and then add the chicken. Cook covered till the chicken is almost cooked through, and then stir in the rice. Mix well, and add 1 cup water.

Cover and let the rice cook for at least 15-20 minutes on low heat. Feel free to adjust the water (adding a little at a time) if the rice hasn’t cooked and the biryani looks dry.

Once the rice is tender, open cover to remove any excess liquid (if any). Turn off heat, sprinkle some fresh coriander on top and leave covered for another 10 minutes.

Fluff with a spoon, and serve hot. Goes well with a yogurt dip and poppadams!

Indian South African Fishcakes

Chapter 4: Hong Kong (2009-2012)

They say time heals everything. Not true. Some pain never goes away. It simply becomes the background.

After my emergency stint back in Singapore, in summer 2009, I moved back to Hong Kong. This time for an MBA. I joined a local university in the hope to get a break, start my entrepreneurial journey, and somehow find myself. Of course, also to be with the boyfriend.

The MBA itself was fun, challenging and distracting. And Hong Kong is the perfect platform for it - it’s a fun, vibrant, outdoorsy city full of young life, adventure, culture and food! Although my pain was still raw, it somehow helped channel my energy towards a new venture, and slowly step towards a new normal. It was also around this time, I was first introduced to the future in-laws.

His family was the easy one. I didn’t have to really win them over, they already liked me, but I sure had to convince his grandmother that I could replicate her cooking! My father, on the other hand, needed some convincing. He would eventually come around, we thought. I still had a year of MBA, and I wasn’t in the headspace to play the coaxing game, so I decided to leave him be, and focus on the in-laws for now. I had much to learn there - even though he is Indian, the South African upbringing lent itself to a fused culture that was somewhat different to what I was familiar with.

My husband was his grandmothers’ favourite grandchild. No, it wasn’t a secret. All the grandchildren knew it. She was quite open about it as well, and the first time I met her, she was clear that only she best could cook his favourite dishes. Specially fishcakes. I can still remember the day - it was August 2009, we had traveled to London to meet with the future in-laws. And all through lunch, she sat opposite me, stared at my reflection in the mirror hanging opposite, and only said a few sentences - “Oh you drink?”, “Do you eat spicy food? and “You don’t like fishcakes?”. Oh dear, the rebel in me accepted the challenge. So started my adventure to decipher Indian South African cooking, and all the dishes he grew up with (much to his delight!). It was fascinating actually, as although Indian, I discovered their food was a slight blend of South Indian dishes with South African influence. Who wouldn’t want to learn that!

The next two years, between 2009 and 2010, I experimented with the in-law cuisine, and started this blog around the same time. I also quickly realised that my father was not going to be an easy one to get on our side, so I simply added his pushback to my background. Between an MBA, lots of cooking, and lingering pain, the year somehow flew by. At least it was a delicious one.

This recipe is a version of those famed in-law Fishcakes, that my husband lovingly grew up on. It was the first Indian South African dish I made, and now is a staple in our household.

Dare I say I like these more than the original, but don’t tell the grandmother that ;)

Ingredients

For the cakes

3 white fish filets (feel free to use any : tilapia, cod, hake etc)

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 large potato, boiled soft, cooled mashed

6-8 fresh green chilies, finely chopped (fewer if you want to turn down the heat)

1 tsp white pepper

1/2 tsp chilli powder

1 tsp coriander powder

1/2 tsp cumin powder

2 eggs

2 tbsp bread crumbs + extra for coating

Salt to taste

Handful of fresh coriander, finely chopped

Oil for frying

Method

Steam or boil your fish, drain any water, pat dry and cool. Once cooled, flake the fish with your fingers till its broken into fine pieces. Now add in the chilies, potato, onion, spices and coriander. Mix well (best to use your hands for this). Add in one egg, and 2 tbsp bread crumbs and continue to mix till the mixture is firm enough to roll. Roll into small rounds (makes about 20-25) and keep aside.

Create your coating station. Beat the second egg in a bowl, and in another bowl keep some breadcrumbs. Dip each fish cake in the egg, and then into breadcrumbs. Fry or shallow fry till golden brown on each side.

Serve hot. I’ve tried a variety of dips and sauces with these, and they taste great with just about anything!

Masala Vadai (South Indian Lentil Fritters) - Vegan / Glutenfree

(continued) Chapter 3: Singapore (2000-2007 / 2008 - 2009)

I was hurting.

This was the darkest period of my life. After the incident, I moved back to Singapore to be with family, working a 9-6 banking job, trying to keep it all together for my brother and my father. But still hurting. I honestly don’t think I remember many thoughts or stories from these few years, and yet, it is so critical to think back and share some of it with you.

I was a project manager at a reputable bank - something I should’ve been proud of at 25. However, instead, every day I itched to leave and clear my mind, itched to heal, itched that it would all go away and be a bad dream, and itched to head back to Hong Kong - where my comfort blanket and then boy friend/now husband, lived. Every day I hoped the next day would feel better - mentally and physically, hoped my father and brother were coping, hoped I was being supportive enough, hoped that I would see the point of all this pain finally.

My father had moved temporarily to Singapore to be with my brother and I for a year. But although we lived together, we rarely talked as a family. My mother was the talker, the glue. Without her, everything just fell silent. Family felt like a duty, I felt we didn’t connect, and I didn’t know how to help myself or them grieve meaningfully. Through this, I tried to instil some feelings of ‘normality’ by cooking dinner each day. I felt that perhaps eating a warm, fond dish together would bring down some bridges. But I was too wrapped up in my emotions to understand that I wasn’t the only one facing monumental changes that no one dares to dream of - I see this clearer now. My father had been dealt the worst hand of it all - loss of life & words.

Through this there were two people in my life that literally kept me together. First - my boyfriend/husband, who despite knowing that he wasn’t accepted much by my father (more on that later), always had my side. And second, my university friend, G.

G used to work just around the corner at another bank, and was always there when I needed her. Like anyone else, she didn’t know what exactly to say or do to help, but she always tried. One of the things that became an almost daily ritual for us at work, was to step out for a late morning coffee + snack at a nearby kopitiam (coffee shop). It was the same - she would message saying “kopi & vadai time?” (coffee & fritter time), and I would say, “don’t feel like eating, but I’ll meet you for company”. We then met at the kopitiam few steps from my office thay was run by an Indian uncle, and he served the best South Indian snacks during the day - masala vadai, medhu vadai, sweet roti, curry puff, puttu and always a great kopi c (strong black coffee with evaporated milk). And almost every time, I would give in and eat. Talking to her, sitting there whiling away time, skipping work responsibilities, eating Indian snacks from a greasy plate made of newspaper, somehow made things feel normal. Unworried. Like nothing had changed. If only for a few minutes. Maybe because the flavours reminded me of happier times in Bangalore.

So, between G and my boyfriend, between the long and short distance, they looked out for me.

And I tried to look out for my dad and brother.

This Masala Vadai recipe is a thank you to all those who supported me when I was at my lowest. And the coffee shop uncle who I never knew, but fed my sanity and helped me slowly creep out of the darkness…

Ingredients
1/2 cup chana dal (split bengal gram) - approx 125 grams, soaked in water overnight

1/2 tsp coriander powder

1/4 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 tsp red chili powder

1 small onion, finely chopped

2-3 green chilies, finely chopped

1 tsp grated fresh ginger

10-12 fresh curry leaves, finely chopped

2-3 stalks of fresh coriander, finely chopped

Salt to taste

Oil for deep frying

Method

Drain all the water from the soaked chana dal, and grind it coarsely in a blender along with the dry spices - black pepper, coriander powder, chili powder and salt. It doesn’t have to be smooth, and some big chunks of dal that remain are ok. Do not add any water at all to grind, or it’ll break when frying.

Transfer to a bowl, and add all the remaining ingredients. Mix well with your hands till all the ingredients are well combined with the dal.

Use your hands to roughly shape into 1.5 inch discs. Do this with all the mixture and keep aside.

Heat oil in a deep pan. Once hot, slowly drop your vadai from the side into the oil. Fry till crispy and golden brown on both sides, and drain on a paper towel.

Serve hot with coriander chutney or chili mayo. These taste good hot or cold!

Chocolate Cherry Brownie Pudding

(continued) Chapter 3: Singapore (2000-2007 / 2008 - 2009)

[Trigger alert- heavy content]

Everything happens for a reason. Even though you don’t see it in that moment.

In Sep 2007, I switched jobs and moved briefly to Hong Kong to be closer to the boyfriend. It was one of the boldest things I’ve done, since I had no idea where that relationship was going yet. In Dec 2007, after fully recovering from the accident (yes, it took a while!), my mum visited Hong Kong. I couldn’t wait for her to meet the boy. I was nervous, but the meeting couldn’t have gone better. We picked a seaside restaurant, ordered loaded nachos, dug in with our hands, and laughed so much. I was overjoyed.

One evening I asked my mum, “How do you know if someone is the one”. And she replied. “You never do really. The only thing you can do is test them in good and bad times. Good times are a ton and easy to test. It’s the tough times that are harder to find.” Little did she know that in a few weeks, she would prove her own statement wrong.

Jan 12, 2008. I can never forget the day. We had our first big couple fight. There was anger on both sides, and we’d planned to meet at a cafe at 4pm to talk it out. In retrospect, it wasn’t a big deal at all. We also had a pizza dinner + movie booked with some friends after. We met, chatted, and life seemed normal again. Pizza was delicious, and with a full belly we got on to the famous Hong Kong city tram for a little ride before the movie. 7pm, my phone rang. I glanced at my phone - it was mum. It was noisy, but I excitedly picked up and said “Guess where I am mummy!”. Silence. Dad spoke. I sensed something wasn’t right the minute I heard his voice on mums mobile. “Oh hi” I’d said “kya ho raha hai “ (what’s happening?). His voice was broken and barely audible. I only heard words “Shuchi…….mummy……robbery……murder”.

I must’ve collapsed because I don’t remember the next few hours. Or the next few weeks or months after that phone call. In a single instant, my entire life - our entire lives- had been turned upside down. In an instant a lot had been taken away. In an instant, I was numb.

I rushed to India with my brother, wishing every minute I would wake up to a dream. I can’t sum up the days or weeks that followed in any number of sentences, but I only remember I tried very hard to make sense of it all. I simply couldn’t. This is stuff you read in the news, it’s not real. It doesn’t happen to real families. Ah, but it does. The rest of 2008 is a complete blur. And all I remember now of those days are the people who were by my side.

My mum was a good person, the glue of the family, a simple & kind heart, an artist, the best cook, the queen of rescue recipes. She could’ve done much more in life, but decided to put family first. I concluded (after many years of the incident) that perhaps this was the challenge, the tough times, she needed me to test, in order to create my own family. Cruel.

I don’t talk about this. Ever. So it has been tough to pen it down. And as I relive that pain, I couldn’t think of a better recipe to commemorate her than one that is something sweet, and born out of disaster. An ungreased brownie pan, several broken brownies, and an accidental custard led me to create this ‘rescue’ pudding.

Take a bite. Hope it helps you see reason during the trying times in your life.

Ingredients

For the brownies

180 g semisweet dark chocolate, broken into pieces

100 g milk chocolate, broken into pieces

2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder

110 g unsalted butter

3 eggs

3/4 cup brown sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

Dash of vanilla essence

3/4 cup whole wheat flour (Indian atta)

1 cup fresh ripe cherries, pitted and cut into pieces

For the cardamom milk creme

1.5 cups + 2 tablespoons whole milk

2 tablespoons condensed milk

3 green cardamoms, crushed

1 tablespoon corn starch or plain custard powder

Sugar to taste

Method

Make the brownies

(This is my classic brownie recipe, with a few substitutions - fresh seasonal juicy cherries in place of nuts/chocolate chips and healthier wholewheat flour (commonly known as Atta in India) instead of all purpose white flour)

Sift together the flour and salt and keep aside.

Preheat the oven to 350F / 180 C, and grease a brownie pan or mini muffin pan and keep aside. 

Melt together both the chocolates and butter on a water bath (i.e. in a pot placed over another pot of simmering water) till smooth. Mix in the cocoa powder & sugar, and mix well. Let the mixture cool a bit. Once cooled, add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. The mixture will begin to thicken and start to come together. Stir in the vanilla essence and finally add the flour + salt mixture. Mix just enough to incorporate the flour into the batter. Finally add the cherries, reserving some to sprinkle on top. 

Bake the brownies for 20-25 minutes, till a toothpick comes out almost clean, with little bits of cooked batter sticking to it. Unlike cake, if you wait for the toothpick to come out completely clean, the centre will overcook and dry out. Also, if you are using a mini muffin pan, they'll bake much quicker (under 20 minutes), so keep an eye (and nose!) out for them. You definitely do not want to over bake these - a brownie is only as good as it's fudgy centre! However, if you do over bake them, rest assured that this pudding will cover that flaw.

Once baked, cool the brownies to room temperature. These can be stored in airtight container for a week in cool weather. In summer, I'd store them in the fridge after 1-2 days.

Make the cardamom milk creme

In a deep pot, bring 1.5 cups of milk + condensed milk + cardamom to a simmer. Mix the corn starch or custard powder in 2 tbsp milk, and slowly add to the simmering milk. The mixture will begin to thicken. Reduce the heat to a low simmer, and let the milk thicken to half its initial volume. Discard the cardamom skins, adjust sugar, and pour the syrup in mini dessert cups, filling about 1/3rd. Reserve some for the top of the puddings. Refrigerate the cups to chill - the creme will thicken further.

When ready to eat, warm the brownies a little and crush them on top of the cardamom creme. Add more syrup on top. Enjoy the hot and cold, cherry, chocolate and cardamom, do a wonderful dance in your mouth!

Curried Palak (Spinach) Pistachio Pasta

(continued) Chapter 3: Singapore (2000-2007 / 2008 - 2009)

By now, you know that my life in Singapore was less about cooking, and more about eating. To be expected from young university students right? But cooking was always in my veins. As I explored the food, somewhere deep down it took flavour roots that I would harness later.

In 2004, after my parents’ accident, I started my first job - a Graduate Trainee at an Investment bank. That year was a formative years in many ways. I transitioned from a university student to an independent, paid, employee. I rented my first apartment. That year I also visited London for the first time - as part of our bank training program. All trainees, across the globe, were brought together in London for a fully paid trip for 4 weeks. Oh joy- it was the biggest factor for my 21 year self accepting the offer. As I recall it was way less training and more networking (aka partying), and a blast of a way to begin a career. That was also the year I met my husband, although neither of us knew it then, or even paid much attention to each other. We met as mere colleagues - he was a Hong Kong trainee, and I was based in Singapore.

As we returned from London, and settled into the daily humdrum of life, my husband and I got to meet often in regional Asia trainings. We were always positioned as opposites, took varying stands, and healthily argued over professional case studies. We were both also in relationships of our own. Now that I think of it, perhaps that’s the healthiest way to know someone, as neither of us were trying hard or had an agenda. We were simply being ourselves. He is of Indian heritage, born and brought up in South Africa, so a lot of our social conversations revolved around differences in community, what it means to be Indian growing abroad, and what India was really like. I was drawn to these conversations. They were refreshing. He was so different to me in many ways, and yet held the same beliefs. Before long we started dating, and between late 2005 and 2007, life became a series of a plane trips between Singapore and Hong Kong. It was as exciting as life could get!

He was and never has been fond of cooking. But he sure likes good food. As our relationship grew, I realised the food he knows to be Indian was so different from mine. He didn’t understand or enjoy many vegetarian dishes I had grown up with, was never too big on experimenting with food, and claimed curry goes best with bread. Boy, did I have a challenge on hand! And I’ve always loved a challenge. So, for the first time in life, I started cooking properly. I cooked to show him the diversity of homemade Indian food and flavours, I cooked to show him that vegetables were much more than his boxed imagination, I cooked to expand his taste, I cooked to improve, and I cooked as it was simply fun to see his reactions.

One of the first things I discovered about him was his love for pasta. But it was always the same order -white or red sauce. So, in hope to explore more of the colour palette, one of the first meals I made when he visited me over a weekend in Singapore was Pesto Pasta. Green pasta?! I knew the raised eyebrows would be worth the effort. But I was also confident he would love it. Since I didn’t used to cook much back then, I wasn’t on point with quantities and measurements, and ended up making enough pasta to feed 20! That entire weekend we lived on pasta, and also took some for a friend’s BBQ. We laughed about it, he never complained and the rest is history.

It was the start of something memorable, but little did we know that a life altering challenge lay ahead of us. More of that in the next post…

Todays’ recipe is inspired by the copious amount of pasta I made for him that trip - it was a simple basil pesto + tons of cheese, copied out of a cookbook. But what’s the fun in sharing a recipe without a twist I say. So, today I give you my Indian-inspired version, with a creamy spinach and pistachio sauce and still….tons of cheese. Hope it brings you as much love and laughter as it did for us…

Ingredients

250 gm baby spinach, washed and drained

1 large tomato, diced

1 small red onion, diced

1/2 green pepper, diced

1 green chili, slit in half

1/4 cup shelled pistachios

1/2 tsp cumin seeds

1 tsp ginger garlic paste

2 tbsp coriander powder

1 tsp cumin powder

1/2 tsp garam masala

1/4 tsp ground black pepper

1/4 tsp red chili flakes + more for sprinkling on top

3/4 cup sour cream

3/4 cup grated parmesan + 1/4 cup for sprinkling on top

4 tbsp light olive oil

3-4 stalks of coriander, finely chopped

1 packet pasta of choice, I used rigatoni

Method

Heat oil in a non stick pot. Add cumin seeds and green chili and cook till the seeds begin to splutter. Add the ginger garlic paste, and stir for another few seconds. Add onion + green peppers + some salt, and cook for a few minutes. Finally stir in the tomatoes + all the dry spices. Cook covered on medium heat till the tomatoes are tender and can be crushed from the back of a spoon.

Now add the spinach, coriander and pistachio, and cook just till the spinach wilts. Remove from heat and blend till smooth. Add a little water if needed. Although this mimics an Indian style palak curry, the key for adding it to pasta is not to cook the curry too much, as we will be baking it again later! Now mix in the sour cream & parmesan into the blended mixture, and mix well till the cheese is melted. Adjust salt, and keep aside.

Cook the paste in well salted water as per instructions on the packet, and drain. Stir in the sauce and transfer to an oven safe casserole. You can add veggies or sausage of choice on top here if you’d like. However, I kept it plain because it is already so tasty! Add parmesan on top, and bake at 200C for 15 minutes, till the edges of the pasta start to brown. Sprinkle with chili flakes on top, and enjoy steaming hot!

Red Korma with Sticky Rice (Vegan/Glutenfree)

(continued) Chapter 3: Singapore (2000-2007 / 2008 - 2009)

Life sometimes takes a full circle, and puts you right back where you started.

When I was really little - think 2 or so - we used to live in the eastern part of Indian - Assam. It is customary in that part of India to eat slightly overcooked / sticky rice. The rice is rolled up in little balls by hand, and then used to scoop up fish curry. During those days, my parents had a ‘didi’ (a young girl who works as a house help and nanny) for me and my brother - Leela. I am told that I used to refuse food unless I got to eat with Leela exactly what and how she ate. She sat on the floor, cross legged, and with unique swiftness rolled her rice and curry. A bite for her, and a tinier bite for me. I can’t quite remember those days much, but I must have loved it, as my preference for sticky rice stays till date.

Basmati (long, fluffy grain) is the more common rice in northern India, so growing up I never did enjoy rice as much, unless it was overcooked by mistake! Moving to Singapore was my full circle - Asian rice is cooked just the way I like it. When I first relocated, as any university going teenager, I relied on junk food. But, as days passed, and living there felt less exotic and more like home, I started to explore the local cuisine at the numerous canteens across campus. Boys came into the picture, and many a ‘study date’ involved a canteen meal.

My first date was in what was known as Canteen B. It was in the business wing of the school, and since both of us were engineering students, it felt right to do this away from suspecting eyes of Canteen A - the engineering common. I grew up in an all girls’ boarding school, and although I was excited, I had no idea what a date meant. As I nervously walked in holding my neatly filed book folders, looking around for the boy in question, I was hit by a smell. Not a pleasant one. Now, I love everything about Singaporean food food, but I have to admit, some of the smells took me a while to get over. I had walked past either a Fish Ball Soup or Char Siew (Bbq pork) stall, but suddenly my stomach felt more than just nerves. What a way to start a date! I swallowed in defiance, and walked towards the table he sat at. He was a second year student, also Indian, but was probably accustomed to all that the local stalls had to offer- he also loved experimenting with local food. He sensed my discomfort (perhaps it was a common element of 1st year Indians or perhaps he had just been on many dates;)), and offered to go for a walk instead. But hey, I have always been a rebel. I couldn’t ruin this, and claimed that I was fine and loved trying new things. So we began our date. I opted for some steamed chicken and rice (it was delish and a favourite till date!), and he got….well…Fish Ball Soup. Hilarious when I think about it now. Hilarious to think how naive I was with boys. And hilarious that he was my boyfriend for majority of the university days!

After that episode, rice was a staple go to meal for me in 4 years of university life. In my opinion, stickier rice absorbs flavours much better, and although I didn’t know it then, I do know now that it also tastes amazing with Indian curries. Todays’ recipe is that of a healthy, vegan Red Dal (Lentil) Korma, subtly spiced with Indian spices and vegetables, and served up with balls of sticky rice. Scoop up each bite of goodness and enjoy!

Ingredients

For the Red Korma

1/2 red pepper, diced

1 small carrot, diced

1 small beetroot, peeled and diced

1 small onion, finely chopped

2 plum tomatoes, diced (or 1/2 can of tinned tomatoes)

2 tsp ginger garlic paste

1 bay leaf

1/2 cup red lentils, washed and drained

1 tsp cumin seeds

2 tbsp coriander powder

1 tsp cumin powder

1/2 tsp red chili powder

1/2 tsp garam masala

1/2 tsp crushed black pepper

1 red chili, seeds removed and diced (leave the seeds in if you want the heat)

4-5 tbsp light olive oil

Salt to taste

Others

1 cup Thai or Asian sticky rice

2 tsp olive oil

Method

Make the rice

Wash and rinse the rice well. Add 2 1/2 cups water, a little salt and oil and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer, cover and cook till all the water has been absorbed, and the rice is tender (approx 10-12 minutes). Leave covered for another 5-6 mins. Open cover, mix the rice well with a spoon, and leave aside to cool.

Make the dal korma

Heat oil in a non stick pan. Once hot, add the red chili, bay leaf, cumin seeds and wait for them to splutter. Then add the ginger garlic paste and cook for another minute. Add in the onions + some salt, and cook till the onions turn translucent. Add all the dry spices, mix well, and then add the tomato, carrot, red pepper and beets. Cover and cook till the tomatoes are tender, can be crushed with the back of a spoon, and oil begins to separate from the sides (approx 6-8 minutes, but depends on the ripeness of your tomatoes). Now stir in the lentils, along with 1 cup water. Bring to a boil, and cook till the lentils, carrots and beets are tender and fully cooked. Turn off heat, discard the bay leaf, and blend the korma till smooth. You can eat it chunkier without blending as well, but I like blending so that the flavours really fuse with each other.

To serve, take 1/2 cup of the cooked rice in your hands, and firmly roll into a ball. Continue to roll it till it holds its shape. Serve on top of the delicious Red Korma with some yogurt and crisps of choice!

Butter Chicken Siu Mai

Chapter 3: Singapore (2000-2007 / 2008 - 2009)

Do you think people change?

I have never been sure. What I do know is that circumstances change, and that forces people to adapt.

In mid 2000, I headed to Singapore for university. It wasn’t my dream. I honestly didn’t know what my dream was back then. I also wasn’t the first child in our (extended) family to do so. My cousins had gone to the same university, and my parents heard about it and were impressed by what was on offer. So my brother followed, and then it was my turn. I also never quite wanted to study engineering. But I got a full scholarship, and having no idea who or what I wanted to be, I decided I may as well get a degree abroad, and embrace the adventure. You don’t think too far ahead when you’re 18.

Singapore was definitely an adventure. In more ways than one. Culinary, sensory and cultural. Having been in a boarding school most of my childhood, that amazing little island country gave me the opportunity to be free, explore and grow, in a very safe environment. No longer was there a shield of anything familiar. While intimidating at first, Singapore was easy to settle into, and I was pumped to make the most of this experience!

I started with food. Not cooking, no sir, nowhere near it! Just eating. It took a while to find the dishes, delicacies and flavours that worked for my Indian taste buds, but that repertoire of yum only grew over time. Thinking back, it’s sort of a regret now given the number of pounds I gained in my first year! But I actually never realised I was a foodie before Singapore. In boarding, we ate to live, but in Singapore, I could live to eat. I wanted to try every kopitiam (hawker center), night treats, iced treats (ice kachang), beverage (teh tarik!), chicken rice stall etc. And boy did I do so in my 9 years there!

There was a chain of small supermarkets that were a staple with Indian community of students - 7/11. Contrary to it’s name, it wasn’t only open from 7 to 11, but 24 hours, and was a haunt for late night beers, treats or random bites. I was introduced to this temple of junk during our orientation, and I was instantly fan eyed. Now you must think - seriously? impressed by a supermarket? Think of a boarding school girl, thrown in a fancy new country, with free-to-spend pocket money and all she can eat treats 24 hours. Yes, that puts things into perspective doesn’t it? It was cheap, convenient and accessible - and who was claiming to be a connoisseur anyway.

I can’t remember how many nights we might have spent near a 7/11 drinking beer, laughing, talking about boys, eating nonsense into the wee hours of the morning, but I do remember the first time I tasted a Siu Mai. A moist, juicy steamed open dumpling filled with ground pork, shrimp or chicken, usually served with a dip of chili oil and vinegar. I didn’t (and still don’t) know the technicalities of Asian food, but I knew I loved every part of it. I was addicted. No 7/11 trip was ever complete after that day without a bowl of warm Siu Mai dunked in sauce, and eaten messily with a wooden stick. Simple memories.

When my parents visited us in Singapore, amongst many things, I wanted them to try this delicious Siu Mai. Now, perhaps I had built it up too much, or it’s a bit of an acquired taste (with beer!) for someone who has predominantly eaten Indian food their whole lives , but from my mum’s look, she didn’t look too impressed when I put a bowl in front of her. She said it looked untidy. But she did give it a try. After a few moments she said “kuch missing hai”, as in it needed a little something. Swiftly, she pulled out a little container of homemade cilantro & chilli chutney, and doused the dumpling in it. She seemed to prefer it this way. My embarrassment remained no bounds, so I just shrugged it off - she had unrefined Indian taste buds.

Sometimes our parents’ innocent actions stay with us. Years later when I started by supper clubs, I used that very daring, unrefined experimentation to create a plethora of fusion plates for my clients. Some combinations worked, some didn’t. But I was never afraid to try. My mum once said my culinary likes had changed since I moved to Singapore. Had they changed, or simply adapted?

Todays’ recipe is in memory of that Siu Mai dunked in Indian chutney. I am serving these little bundles (still love them!) with the humble Indian Butter Chicken sauce (a popular north indian chicken curry sauce). Sorry for the blasphemy, but it did taste pretty phenomenal! Because hey…..butter chicken sauce ;)

Ingredients

For the Butter Chicken sauce

2 tsp ginger garlic paste

4 fresh green chilies, slit

4 green cardamoms

4 cloves

1 black cardamom

1 tsp methi/fenugreek seeds

½ teaspoon cinnamon powder

1 tablespoon red chili powder

1 tsp garam masala

2 tsp coriander powder

2 tsp kasuri methi/dried fenugreek leaves

340 gm tomato paste

4 tablespoons melted butter

10-12 almonds, blanched, peeled and made into a paste (optional, skip if you don’t have)

½ tsp brown sugar

¾ pint heavy/ double cream

For the Siu Mai

250 gm minced chicken

1 tsp grated ginger

2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

2 stalks of fresh coriander, finely chopped [stem included]

1/2 tsp red pepper flakes

2 tsp soy sauce

1 tsp dark soy sauce

1 tbsp light olive oil

Black pepper to taste

15-20 round wonton wrappers (if they're square, just trim off the edges)

Method

Make the sauce

Heat butter in a non-stick pan.Add green cardamoms, black cardamom, cloves and cinnamon powder. Sauté for a couple of minutes till the ingredients start to get fragrant. Now add the fenugreek seeds. When the seeds begin to sizzle, add the garlic ginger paste and the green chilies. Cook for a few minutes and then stir in the tomato paste, along with all the dry spices, sugar, almond paste and 2 cups of water. Turn to medium heat and cover and cook for 15-20 minutes - till the mixture thickens, the raw taste of the tomatoes disappears and the spices are well infused. Finally mix the fenugreek leaves, and cook for a few more minutes. Lastly, stir in the cream, simmer on medium-low heat for about 5 minutes and then turn off the heat. Leave covered and keep aside.

Make the Siu Mai

Combine all the ingredients from chicken to pepper. Mix well and refrigerate for 30 mins. Put a teaspoon of the mixture into the center of each wonton wrapper, wet slightly the sides of the wrapper, and then gently fold them inwards to create little bundles. Cover and keep aside. Repeat this till all the chicken is used up.

Grease or line your bamboo steamer (or regular steamer), and put in the siu mai. Leave a little space between the dumplings so they don’t stick. Steam for 15-20 minutes, or till the chicken is cooked through.

Serve warm, topped with a generous dollop of butter chicken sauce!

Spicy Kadhi Soup with Courgette Salad

continued Chapter 2: School - Home - School (1993-2000)

My boarding school journey would be incomplete without a full post dedicated to Kadhi Chawal.

With some exceptions, our school food was generally palatable. Yes, sounds unbelievable, but believe you me. So much so, that the kids from neighbouring schools with lesser culinary luck, would eat like pigs when they got a chance to visit our campus for competitions and debates. And I don’t think it was just underdeveloped taste buds that led to this belief, as I would happily eat some of those meals even today!

There were no Tuesdays in school. Just Kadhi Chawal Tuesdays. On this day the ‘bearer-ji’s’ (cooks) would stir large pots (think feast for 400+ very hungry girls!) simmering with a curry made of yogurt and gram flour (kadhi), topped with little pakoras (balls of fried onion dough), and all finished with a spicy ghee tadka (tempering). Served with chawal (steamed rice), it was most surely my favourite meal all week. And it was consistent - every Tuesday without fail.

But most upsides have a downside, don’t they? Or so I believe.

Tuesday lunch was also ice-cream day. And boy did we wait for this day all week. For anyone who has interacted with a boarding school, you’d know treats are few & far in between. So when you get one, you hold on to it and don’t let it go. So why was this a downside you ask? Simply because it was served along my favourite lunch. As a hungry 9 or 14 year old, you definitely do not understand portion control. When we sat for lunch, I would eat Kadhi like there’s no tomorrow. Like I haven’t eaten in days. Or weeks. And I would eat for the remaining week as well. I wasn’t what you’d consider a big eater - so this was something of a deal. By the time dessert rolled in, and most girls’ scurried in line to check the flavour of ice cream we were being served, I was almost always too full to move. Satiated, but immobile.

I mentioned in my earlier post, that boarding is an amalgamation of girls’ from all walks of life. This included some smarter (and less full) than the others. We also had developed a rather advanced food barter system, whereby you could exchange meal items you didn’t enjoy with girls’ who did (businesswomen in the making if you may!). If I hated chips, I could give it to someone who loved it in return for perhaps a pudding she enjoyed less and I loved. And one had to hold their part of the deal - no exceptions.

One of my friends reaped this opportunity every Tuesday to partake in my ice cream. Naive of me when I think of it now, but oh-so smart of her. She knew I was always too full to eat all of it, so offered to ‘help’ and take the remaining. And since it wasn’t a ‘whole’ dish, the barter system didn’t quite apply. I hated wasting food then, and hate it now. So instead of seeing it melt away in my steel plate, or at least negotiate a part-barter, I would simply give.it.away. Yes, I hear you. That’s not naive, that’s plain stupid.

But such highs and lows were what school was all about. And as I end the chapter about this monumental phase of my life, I’d like to share my version of that very Kadhi, served alongside a salad for a healthier twist.

Give it a try will ya? If only to pay homage to all that lost ice-cream over 8 years!

Ingredients

For the kadhi

1/2 cup besan / gram flour

1.5 cups plain yogurt, whisked to make smooth

1 small onion, finely chopped

1 green chili , finely chopped

4 tbsp tomato paste

1 tbsp chili garlic sauce (yes! the chinese condiment, lee kum kee is a good brand. trust me on this)

1 tbsp ginger garlic paste

1/2 teaspoon methi seeds ( fenugreek seeds)

1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds

1/4 teaspoon hing (asafoetida)

1/2 teaspoon red chili powder

1/2 teaspoon turmeric powder

1 tablespoon coriander powder

Approx 5 cups water

Salt to taste

6 tbsp light olive oil

Some fresh chopped cilantro to garnish

For the tadka (tempering)

1 tbsp ghee or butter

2 dried red chilies

1 tsp paprika

1/2 tsp cumin seeds

For the salad

1 courgette, grated

1 carrot, grated

2 tbsp fresh coriander, finely chopped

Juice from 1/2 lemon

Salt & pepper to taste

Method

Make the kadhi

Add besan to the whisked yogurt, and mix well till no lumps remain. Add water to this, and continue to mix to make a watery mixture. Keep aside.

Heat oil in a deep pan. Add the cumin and fenugreek seeds and cook till they begin to splutter. Now add the ginger garlic paste, hing and green chili. Cook for a few seconds and stir in the onions. Cook till the onions start to turn translucent and begin to brown. Now still in the tomato paste, chili garlic sauce and all the remaining dry spices. Mix well and cook covered on medium low flame for 8-10 minutes, till the paste has lost it’s raw flavour and oil begins to separate on the sides.

Slowly add the besan mixture to your pot, stirring continuously. Add some salt, and continue to mix till the mixture starts to boil. Once on boil, reduce heat to low, and let the kadhi simmer on low for 20-25 minutes. Stir a few times every 5 minutes or so, to avoid lumps forming or the mixture sticking to the bottom of the pan.

After about 30 minutes, the kadhi will be thick and creamy. It should also have lost it’s raw floury taste. At this stage, remove from heat and blend the mixture using a hand blender (you can skip this step, but it gives the kadhi a lovely smooth texture and also ensures all flavours blend well together). Put the pot back on the gas, and let it simmer on low for another 10 minutes. Once done, adjust salt and remove from heat. Garnish with the fresh coriander.

Make the tempering

Heat the ghee/butter in a small pot. Once hot, add the dried chili and cumin seeds. Once the seeds begin to splutter, add the paprika and immediately remove from heat. Add the tempering on top of the kadhi (be careful, it might sizzle) and mix.

Make the salad

Squeeze the courgette a little to remove any excess water. Mix all the ingredients when ready to eat. Do not mix this salad ahead of time as it will become water.

Put it all together

Put a large spoon of the salad in the centre of a shallow bowl. Slowly add the kadhi from the sides. Garnish with some crisps of choice and eat fresh.

The warm spice of the kadhi, with the tangy cold crunch of the salad is truly a burst of flavours!

And of course, you can always have the kadhi with traditional accompaniments like rice, naan or roti.

Masala Bhindi (Okra)

continued Chapter 2: School - Home - School (1993-2000)

I had a love and hate relationship with boarding school.

I love the friends, confidence, education, memories, ambition, independence, strength and outlook it gave me. I hate that it took away irreplaceable precious time with family.

For 7 years of my young life, I spent only 4 months of holidays each year at home. And while the remaining 8 months were full of learnings and adventures, they couldn’t compensate for things I missed out as a child who is home. I missed learning about the frenzy of festivals and weddings, many of my mothers’ dinner parties, the importance of extended family, getting up to mischief with cousins, being shuttled back and forth from sport or dance classes after school, packed lunches, and many many other such moments of childhood pleasure, that probably seem insignificant at the time, but do create a lasting impression on life.

However, life at school was anything but uneventful. There are countless stories and incidents from 7 years in school that if I sat to relate, the blogosphere would run out of virtual paper. From being ice cream ready at 7 am during our Annual Founders’ Day (School Annual Function) to learning how to manage a (fake) bank account to make canteen purchases, even back then many notable memories revolved around food. And although I didn’t cook at the time, I sure had happy and sad taste buds, and took mental notes of items I would ask my mum to replicate after my days in school were over.

Aloo bhindi (Potato & Okra curry) was one such dish.

In 1995, I fell ill at school. Not the first time, but usually I persevered and told my parents I would get better soon and they needn’t worry. This time, perhaps I was incredibly homesick, but I gave in and begged them to pay me a visit. I just needed a familiar hug I suppose. Not knowing whether they would come, I was resting in my dormitory one morning, while the girls’ around me were busy getting ready for the morning drill - PT (physical training), breakfast, assembly, morning classes. I must’ve drifted off to sleep, and was woken up by my very animated next bed neighbour’s voice loudly relating a story about her dream to someone. Someone who felt and smelt very familiar. I jumped up only to notice my mum, impeccably dressed, sitting by my bedside. Oh joy! I can still see the scene when I close my eyes. I must’ve felt better immediately, because I only remember that day as a day off from classes, and her spending most of the day by my side.

At lunchtime, my lunch was brought up from the mess (as it did for all girls sick in bed). I had no appetite, but decided to take a peek anyway. Aloo bhindi! “This”, I said, “this is the bhindi I was talking about mummy” - I told my mum excitedly. “Taste karo and dekho kaise banaate hai” (Taste and see how they make it). I had mentioned that I loved this dish in school many a times, but couldn’t explain how it might have been cooked. Our family recipe of okra was very different, and as any mum, she had taken it as a challenge to try and make it as they made in school. This was her chance to taste that very dish. She took a bite - “Isn’t it yummy?!”. I asked. She didn’t seem overly impressed, and said “Oh so easy, is mein kuch nahin hai” (there is nothing to this). I grinned, she would never admit defeat.

Years later, I asked her the recipe over the phone to try and cook it. She never understood why I loved it so much (or perhaps why I loved it over her okra recipe!), but the thing is, food is a habit. A habit that takes various shapes and forms in different people. Today I share with you that original Okra & Potato recipe that managed to wipe off much of my memory of being very ill. Such is the magic of food.

Ingredients

175gm okra / ladysfinger / bhindi, chopped

1 potato, cut lengthwise

1/2 onion, finely chopped

1 plum tomato, diced

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 tsp ginger garlic paste

Spice mix (mix and keep aside) : 1 tsp cumin powder, 2 tbsp coriander powder, 1/2 tsp red chili powder, 1/4 tsp turmeric powder, 1/2 tsp garam masala and 1/4 tsp dry mango powder (amchoor).

Fresh coriander to garnish, finely chopped

Salt to taste

6 tbsp light olive oil or sunflower oil

Method

Heat oil in a non stick pan. Add cumin seeds and cook till they begin to splutter. Next add the ginger garlic paste, and let it brown for a few seconds. Then add the onions, with a little salt, and cook till they turn translucent, and begin to brown. Next add the tomatoes, along with the dry spice mix. Mix well and cover and cook on low-medium heat till the tomatoes are fully cooked (5-8 mins). You should be able to easily mash them with a spatula, and the oil should begin to separate from the edges. Make sure this base paste is well cooked and don’t rush this step.

Add the potatoes, along with a little more salt. Mix well and cover and cook for 3-5 minutes, till the edges of the potatoes are browned. Finally add the okra, mix well. Cover and cook for 8-10 minutes or till the okra is tender and the potatoes are full cooked.

Remove cover, turn heat to high and saute for a few minutes till all the spices have coated the vegetables. Garnish with coriander and enjoy hot with steamed rice or rotis (indian flatbread)

Indian Street Food: Egg White Bun Omelette

Chapter 2: School - Home - School (1993-2000)

You can take a child out of boarding school, but you cannot take the boarding out of a child.

In 1992, at the age of 9, I went to an all-girls boarding school in northern India. My brother was already in one for boys since 1990, and although they were different schools with little interaction, it was slightly relieving to know he was somewhere in the same town. Like all children, I had worked hard to get in and was excited that I was selected (mostly because it made my dad so happy!), although I don’t think I fully understood what was really happening. I just went with the flow - or rather didn’t have a choice. All I knew was that my parents were working very hard, saving and sacrificing, to be able to afford this for the both of us. And like all children, I was sad to go. I can only recall that the first few months (or perhaps years), were trying, to say the least.

At that age, there was nothing worse than seeing your parents walk away, and wave you a goodbye from outside the gates. I used to tiptoe as high as I could, and peek through the iron bars till I saw the last of my mums fluttering ‘dupatta’ (Indian clothing) walk away. I held back my tears every.single.time, because no parent wants to leave their child crying. It would just be easier for them. So I swallowed my feelings, and then let them all go on my dormitory bed.

My first bed was close to a window, and that gave me some comfort. There were girls’ who came from far, and those who lived nearby. Those who were unhinged that they were all alone in new surroundings, and others, like me, who let their feelings overwhelm them in the calm of the night. There were girls who broke rules, and those who drowned themselves in their studies. There were girls who were kinder than others, and those who had no visitors for months. As such, boarding school was my introduction to life.

In the years that I grew up, the one thing that I always felt grateful for was how connected my parents tried to remain with us while away. My mother wrote to me once a week (yes, this was way before internet and emails!) and made me promise that I would too. Sometimes a tear would drop on my letter, causing a smudge, and her next letter would have a long excerpt about how much fun we’d have when they visit - which would be very soon. How did she know?! They also always kept their promise to visit us once a month and, while I was only permitted to see them for a day, I took salvage in the realisation that many children never saw their loved ones at all through the term- so in a sense I was lucky. I felt loved and missed.

On such ‘outings’ (as they were called), my brother and I were forever starved. All we wanted to do was eat all of our favourite foods, snuggle with them and as for me, tell them a pile of stories that I had been saving for the day. On one such outing, while smacking our lips over a warm, oozy, slightly spicy bun omelette from a street side vendor, I started crying. When nudged for the reason, I revealed that I hated the eggs in school (reminded me of stale rubber), and had been going hungry most breakfasts. My dad was concerned. They had selected a “non-vegetarian” meals for me in school, but that meant meat & eggs. You could select being vegetarian with egg, but strangely there was no option to be non-vegetarian without egg. So after a bit of back and forth with my school matron, it was agreed I would simply switch to be vegetarian. I could stay without meat, but anything to not eat those eggs again.

This story is central to my dislike for eggs, which remained deeply engrained in me for many many many years. In fact, I truly only re-discovered them again when pregnant in 2015. And when you discover (good) eggs, there is no turning back.

Looking out on a grey rainy day, reminds me of that very school outing, and the day I officially broke up with eggs. It was a strange milestone, but a milestone nonetheless.

Bun Omelette, true to it's name, is a soft bread roll smothered in butter and stuffed with the most delicious, spicy, veg-filled omelette ever. It's a common street food in Northern India (although not the most hygienic!) and provides a great, cheap snack for many on the move.

Years later, when I started eating eggs again, I tried and tested many versions that wouldn’t make me gag. This egg-white bun omelette is surely one of them.

Ingredients

For the Omelette

3-4 egg whites (also delicious with whole eggs if you prefer. Use 2 eggs if using whole)

4 cherry tomatoes, halved

1/4 small onion, finely chopped

1 green chili, chopped

½ cup baby spinach leaves, roughly torn

Some fresh cilantro, finely chopped

½ teaspoon chaat masala (optional-available at most Indian grocery stores)

A pinch of turmeric

A pinch of garam masala (available at most Indian grocery stores)

2 tablespoons light olive oil

2 tablespoons aged cheddar or gouda cheese, grated

Salt & pepper to taste

Others

1 Bread Roll (I used Challah, but you could any soft buns or rolls of choice)

Butter to toast

If you have, cilantro chutney, sriracha mayo or your favourite hot sauce

Method

Beat the egg whites lightly with a pinch of salt and pepper. Keep aside.

Heat oil in a non-stick frying pan. Once hot, add the chilies, tomatoes & onions, with a pinch of salt. Cook till the onions are translucent and the tomatoes are soft enough to crush. Stir in all the dry spices, and cook for a quick few seconds. Add the spinach & cilantro, and cook till the leaves wilt. Add the beaten egg white, stir a little and then let it set. Once set, flip it over, and sprinkle with grated cheese and fold in half. Let the egg cook completely on both sides on medium-low heat. And it really doesn't matter if the omelette looks imperfect or breaks! The flavour will all itself in the mountain of veggies and spices we added.

Put it together

Cut the buns in half. Butter them (generously!) and put face down on the same pan you cooked the egg. Lightly toast each half, and then remove from heat. Add a teaspoon of cilantro chutney/hot sauce/sriracha mayo on one half, followed by the omelette, and close with the other half. Cut into half and enjoy warm with your hands - please no forks and knives here! A cup of masala chai on the side never hurts.

The Art Of Authentic Masala Chai

[Continued] Chapter 1: Food As I Knew It (1982-2008)

My earliest memories of chai are not of drinking it, but dunking in it.

Through all the years, if there was one thing that never changed between my parents, it was their morning chai ritual. We weren’t typically a part of this, but on some days when they felt generous, we did get to dip our ‘parle g’ biscuits (Indian glucose biscuits) in their morning cuppa. Such days were special. We got to witness their affection, in form of a sugar cube shared between their two cups, and also got a chance to eavesdrop on them discussing our fates.

My mother grew up in a more affluent and protected environment than my father. He comes from a simple middle class family, is a self made man, and has discovered his way around scrumptious street food. He introduced us to the unmatched pleasures of road trips, eating under the stars, staying in less than posh motels (because all you need is a bed, a can of baked beans and toast) and of course savouring a perfect chai from a roadside vendor. They differed on many fronts, but bonded over their common need for chai.

In the summer of 1999, we took a family road trip from Bangalore to Goa. Southern India is predominantly a coffee drinking part of India. Aad while you definitely can find tea, it was not quite the way my parents liked it. So while my brother and I were excited about beach gear, my mother went shopping for a travel kettle. Packed and ready to go, we were proudly armed with cucumber sandwiches, potato rolls, chips and a kettle for chai. But where would we plug this thing? We didn’t stay in fancy hotels that were equipped for tea making. My dad took care of that - it was well clarified before checking into any motel or guest house that we would either have access to an electric socket somewhere on their premises, or the staff would boil water in the kettle for us every morning. Talk about being resourceful.

My mother was never a swimmer. She was scared of water and never quite learned how to swim. So throughout this trip, I have a vivid memory of the morning swims with my brother and dad, while she sat a short distance away and stirred lovingly into the cups of tea, that truly seemed to complete their holiday.

Fast forward to 2005, when my parents moved back to Delhi. As they settled into a new life and new home with very few belongings (shipping took forever those days), that same kettle served them well for the early days or chai making.

Strangely, I am predominantly a coffee drinker, but chai has remained central to my life till date. And when I do have it, it can be nothing short of perfect. The aroma itself brings back memories of times of laughter, holidays, dad meeting my now husband, and being pregnant.

Today I share with you the recipe of that very cup that took many iterations to master. The cup that moulded my relationships and introduced me to feelings. A cup of chai that is forever family.

Ingredients (makes 2 cups)

1.5 cups water

1 cup whole milk

3 cloves, crushed

2 green cardamom, crushed

2 teaspoons fresh ginger, grated

3 teaspoons Indian black tea leaves (use the loose tea, not tea bags)

2 teaspoons brown sugar (or to taste)

Plenty of patience

Method

Bring the water, sugar, ginger, cardamom and cloves to a boil. Add the tea leaves, and boil for another minute of two, till the colour gets intensely dark. Slowly add the milk, and bring to another boil. Make sure you’re watching or the tea might boil over.

Reduce heat and let the mixture simmer for 10-15 minutes, till it reaches a dark caramel colour, stirring once every 3-5 minutes. Use this time to bring out your favourite cookies, grab a book, and get ready for the tea-of-no-return.

Once ready, cover the tea for a few minutes to let the flavours infuse. Strain into cups, and enjoy piping hot, preferably with a loved one.

Chicken Keema on Lettuce (Glutenfree)

[Continued] Chapter 1: Food As I Knew It (1982-2008)

By now, you may have grasped that I basically cook because of my mum.

But I also cook for her. In her memory. And to make her proud.

Every family has their happy and sad moments. And I believe every family also has a pick-me-up dish.

In the last post I mentioned, my parents departure from Bangalore (back to Delhi) wasn’t exactly a happy one. This story will shed some light on that.

Let me take you back to May 2004. The time that I feel was the silent end to some of the calm in our simple lives. Can’t quite forget the time. I had my university final exams, and I used to speak to my parents, or mother, at least once a day. If not speak then chat. That day I was in my university library, doing something mathematical, trying to get hold of my parents. A day went by, and then two. I started to worry, and told my friend that I sensed something was wrong. She told me to not overthink. I was famous for overthinking. My brother was at the same university, and he kept nudging me off as well.

Last day of exams. All done, we were going to graduate soon! I had a fancy investment banking job lined up - wasn’t interested much in the job honestly, but was definitely looking forward to the pay. My brother sat me down on the steps to our amphitheatre and asked me to cancel my flights to India (I was heading home in a week for the holidays). “But why, what are you hiding!”. My brother is a bad liar, I can see through him even when he doesn’t know it. He had known it all along, but my dad didn’t want the news to interrupt my exams. How very Indian of them! Made me so mad. Did then, and does now.

Car crash. I knew there was a reason my mother wasn’t responding! They were on their way for a holiday, and a drunken wedding party van forced them off a culvert. Saving the rest of the details, what followed was a traumatic and life shattering experience for them. Although I think they never did admit it. From being air lifted into a hospital, to several months in rehab/recovery, it changed their life (and ours) in a flash of second. Only then, I didn’t know the extent of the damage it will cause in years to come. If only I could be mature at 22 and drop everything to give them what they needed the most at that time. Family.

Don’t get me wrong. I did go home. Nobody could stop me from doing that. I did nurse them for a few months, saw them in and out of hospital. Once my mother even returned to the ICU and I kept thinking, “This cannot be it, can it?”. Thankfully it wasn’t. But it was shocking and confusing to me as well. I didn’t know how exactly to support them, and I wasn’t ready to switch roles and be the parent yet. My dad kept a brave face of course, but I had never seen my mum so weak and mentally broken before.

So I did what I knew best. I cooked for them.

Our family had a pick-me-up-dish which my dad lovingly called the “zindagi banaane waala chicken” - “life making chicken”. It was a dish my mum created by mistake. I can’t quite recall the first time we had it, but it was a school holiday weekend, and weekends meant non-veg. She must have been trying to make chicken curry, a staple, and realised she wasn’t stocked on some ingredients. Lo and behold came a dish on the table we had never set eyes on before. It was spicy, tangy, with thick gravy that hugged every chicken morsel - oh a delicious mistake! We all loved it and licked up every last morsel with rice. Since that day, it was a ritual to have “Zindagi banaane waala chicken” on happy and not-so-happy occasions alike. We had it in school holidays, or when we had something to celebrate. We had it on days we did something fun together as a family. And mum sometimes made it when she knew dad was upset, as it brought a smile to our faces, and made us forget any lingering worries. I just had to cook this for them in Bangalore. I was sure it would create a tiny streak of normality in those stressful days of healing and shock.

My mother didn’t quite have a recipe for it, but somehow manage to get it right every time. She claimed it was too easy to pen down. How I wish she had! I couldn’t quite get the full recipe from her after the accident, and I wasn’t much of a cook back then, so I just made them a version of it that I thought was right. They said it was perfect - but of course, I beg to differ.

Life moved on. I returned to start my job in Singapore, and a year later my dad decided to quit his job, leave Bangalore and return to Delhi. A plan in the making for a while, but the accident and injuries accelerated it all. Once back in Delhi, this chicken looked over many decisions, and served them several stressful nights.

Saddest part - I never did ever find out the recipe. It’s still a mystery. And now there is no one to ask.

This recipe is a take on that very chicken. It doesn’t do it justice, but I hope somewhere she is watching, chuckling and correcting my version of her mistake…

Ingredients

250 gm minced or finely chopped chicken breast

2 large plum tomatoes, diced

2 tsp ginger garlic paste (or 4 cloves of garlic, crushed + 2 tsp grated ginger)

2 green chilies (more if you want to turn up the heat!), finely chopped

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1/2 green pepper, cut into small cubes

1/2 red pepper, cut into small cubes

1 bay leaf

1/2 tsp cumin seeds

1/4 tsp turmeric powder

1 tsp cumin powder

2 tbsp coriander powder

1/2 tsp garam masala

6 tablespoons olive oil (more the better!)

Salt to taste

Lettuce leaves to serve, washed and soaked in cold water (to retain their crisp)

Optional toppings: Sour cream, freshly chopped coriander, lemon juice

Method

Heat oil in a non stick pan. Add the cumin seeds, bay leaf, chilies, ginger and garlic and cook for a few minutes till the seeds begin to splutter.

Add the onion, along with a little salt (to help them sweat), and cook till the onions start to brown. Add the red & green peppers, tomatoes and all the dry spices. Mix well, let it simmer covered on medium-low flame for around 10-12 minutes, till the tomatoes are soft (crush them with the back of your spatula), fully cooked and oil begins to separate from the sides. Once the raw taste of tomatoes has disappeared, add the chicken, cover and cook on medium heat for another 10-15 minutes, or till the chicken is cooked through. Remove cover, turn up heat and saute till all excess liquid is absorbed. You want the spices and gravy to coat every piece of chicken. Adjust salt, and garnish with some fresh coriander.

When ready to serve, pat dry the lettuce leaves and add 2 generous spoonfuls of chicken keema on each leaf. Top with fresh coriander, sour cream and a dash of lemon.

For a traditional version, serve over rice. Sticky rice is my favourite!

Pudding: Peach & Rum Trifle

"Through my recipes and words,  I'll relive my mum,

She who taught me to cook, and make it a chore fun.

As she sifted, measured & baked, raising an eyebrow to me

'Would you a spoon a dollop, and lick the batter to see?'

Hell yes, the best part of being sous chef it was!

Life in the kitchen, she said, is a life without laws...

So today, as I remember her smiles, frowns & rage

Wishing she was here, to taste my batter for a change!

I whip up a colourful treat, for mums everywhere, 

Those that are, will be, or love one who endlessly shares.."

[Continued] Chapter 1: Food As I Knew It (1982-2008)

There is no better recipe, than one born out of disaster.

My parents lived in Bangalore for around 7 years from 1998-2005. Some of the most fun and exploratory years of our lives. During this time, I also had the opportunity to leave my boarding school, and do a short stint at a local school for a year. I was 16.

Joining a new school at 16 is hard. Everyone is already sorted in multiple levels of ‘cool’, and usually no one wants the new kid. But, fortunately for me, my packed lunches drew attention for swaps (and the girls were actually lovely and some of my closest friends till date!). Given the growing followers of my meals, I luckily made some great friends (yes, food can take you places). And so, my mother had to invite them over for lunch. It is what she did.

At 16 you are skeptical of anything your parents do. So I peered and critiqued every dish she put on the menu, and sulked around the kitchen while she prepped the day before my friends were coming over. As she sensed my disapproval, she jokingly said “aur kuch nahin toh dessert toh hai” - meaning “if nothing else works, the dessert will save the day”. Dessert was store bought ice cream. I loved my mums food, but was adamant there had to be at least one thing ‘teenager approved’ on the menu. She didn’t fight it.

India has a lot of power cuts. And they always come at the worst possible time. This time was no different. The electricity board must have sensed my anxiety and decided to cut off power the morning the friends were coming over. Thankfully most food was cooked and ready to go, but oh hell, what about the ice cream! This is where mum was supermum. Instead of biting her nails like I was, she swept in all her tools, and gave me her plan. She said, let’s make a trifle! ….Stay with me here.

My mothers’ trifles were famous. So I HAD to trust her here. Trifle is a layered dessert of cake, cream or custard and seasonal fruit. Ice cream is made of cream/custard, so melted ice cream can be used in place of custard for layering. But where was the cake? Ah, chocolate cakes were a backhand for my mother and she could bake one up with eyes closed. Even on the stove top (using a pressure cooker). An hour later, the kitchen smelled heavenly, and we were busy layering the cake with that melted ice cream and oranges. I was so proud of her. She most definitely sensed my love and relief.

My friends and I had a lovely lunch. Towards the end, one of them asked my mum “Aunty, you HAVE to give me the recipe for that dessert. It was spectacular”. We both just looked at each other and giggled. She then said “Shuchi made dessert today”.

Bangalore was full of such fun memories. But sadly it did not end well. But more on that another time with another recipe…

Todays’ recipe is dedicated to that ‘disaster’ trifle my mum conjured from the dark. These are mini party versions, and are soft, slightly boozy, bundles of sponge cake slathered with layers of custard, cream & sweet rum caramelised peaches. Not a fan of peaches? You can always replace with a soft fruit of choice (mango is another favourite of mine!).

Ingredients

1 medium round sponge cake [I used this easy recipe but you can buy one off a bakery as well]

For the custard [ I like making it from scratch, but for a quick (perhaps disaster saving) version, you can use store bought or a custard mix as well]

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 cup whole milk

5 green cardamoms, crushed

2 tablespoons brown sugar

2 tablespoons cornstarch

1 teaspoon vanilla essence

A pinch of salt

Others

12 teaspoons + 1 tablespoon dark rum

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 tablespoons maple syrup

6-8 fresh ripe peaches, pitted and sliced (replace with tinned if out of season)

1 cup warm whole milk

Method

To make the custard, mix the milk, cream & crushed cardamoms, and bring to a simmer. Make a paste with a tablespoon of the warm milk mixture, corn starch & salt. Slowly add the corn starch paste to the simmering milk, stirring continuously, till the milk begins to thicken. Let it bubble for few seconds and then remove from heat. Discard the cardamom skin, and stir in the sugar + vanilla essence. Keep aside to cool.

Beat the cream with maple syrup till soft peaks form. Refrigerate.

Put the peach slices, along with a teaspoon of brown sugar, in a non stick pan on high heat. As the sugar begins to caramelise, add 1 tablespoon of rum and give it a quick toss. Remove from heat, and keep aside to cool.

Cut out 2 inch rounds from the sponge cake and slice each round in half. Layer one half at the bottom of your serving dish. (Depending on the size and shape of serve ware you are using, you could just put rough pieces of cake at the bottom as well). Soak it in some warm milk & a teaspoon of rum, and press it down slightly. Put a dollop of custard, followed by a dollop of whipped cream, and then a slice of the caramelised peach. Top with the other half of the cake and repeat the layers. Do this with all the rounds from the cake. Don't throw away the remaining corners & crumbles from the cake! Make extra portions with the leftover pieces of cake just for yourself!

This dessert tastes great after 24 hours, and even better after 48! Trust me, everyone will want the last pot.