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!

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.

Watermelon & Cucumber Chaat (Salad)

"I know I know, summer is over, but can't we celebrate anyway?

Slurp, crunch, savor, the red we love all May...

Spiced like the streets, on a scorching Indian afternoon

It's like those childhood treats, during holidays in June

July has come & gone, and Autumn is taking over the sun

So we'll hold on to the warmth, in this little glass of yum.."

Ingredients

1/2 watermelon, cut into cubes or rounds (using a melon baller)

2 large cucumbers, de-seeded, peeled and cut into 1inch pieces

Juice from 1 lemon

Handful of fresh coriander, finely chopped (the more the better!)

12-15 fresh mint leaves, finely chopped

1 teaspoon black/rock salt

1/4 teaspoon paprika or chili powder

1/4 teaspoon dry mango powder

1/2 teaspoon roasted cumin powder

Salt to taste

Mix the watermelon, cucumber, coriander & mint and chill for 30 mins. When ready to serve, toss with lemon juice and spices.  Eat fresh. A quick, simple, super healthy spiced fruit salad that will change the way you see watermelon!

Fresh Peach Rasam

“I love biting into a ripe peach

That smells of summer, and the beach,

With juices that trickle down the chin

As I bend over the kitchen sink.

I eat one, then two, then three

And wish I had a peach tree,

I’d then dip them in syrup, bake a pie

Blend into a smoothie, or try in chai

Make chutney, perhaps pickle a few

Brew up this rasam, and serve to you!”

Ingredients

4 ripe peaches - peeled, de-seeded and quartered

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

1 tablespoon olive oil

¼ teaspoon red chili flakes or paprika

½ teaspoon roasted cumin powder

½ teaspoon dry mango powder

¼ teaspoon black/rock salt

Pinch of salt

Sugar to taste (only if the peaches are not sweet enough)

2-3 mint leaves, roughly torn

Blend the peaches with ½ cup water.

Heat oil in a pan. Add the mustard seeds and cook till they begin to splutter. Stir in all the dry spices, mint leaves and peach puree. Bring to a slight simmer & remove from heat immediately. Adjust sugar/seasoning and refrigerate overnight. Serve chilled.