The other day, two things happened. Parvathy, a reader, mailed me, asking, among other things what I enjoyed more — cooking or eating. And my daughter sent me a WhatsApp message, asking for a recipe. The first got me thinking, and I saw a glimmering of an answer. The second actually answered the question: one learns how to cook (reasonably) if one enjoys eating. My daughter said that she wasn’t intimidated by recipes because she enjoyed experimenting with flavours and combinations.
I suppose basics of heat control and cooking time have to be learnt either through experience or from detailed recipes with precise instructions.
I’m deeply satisfied at my daughter’s attempts; she says her food turns out well and if there’s one person whose palate I trust, it’s hers. I agree with her about most cooking. There are cooks who can bake cakes and choux pastry without referring to recipes. I’m not one of them. They can perform sophisticated kitchen procedures, add and adjust ingredients in soufflés and roll jelly logs with one hand while they cook up a creamy hollandaise with the other. But Indian dal-sabzi , which is what she is now getting into, are best made by the instinct of one’s senses. If it looks good and smells good, it’ll taste good.
Cornered to cook
I first cooked because I had to. I learnt and got better at it as I went along, until eventually I became good at some things, while my partner leaned back and complimented me from his armchair. I warn my daughter to avoid falling into the trap of “Oh you cook so well, please you do it!” but she’s safe — he cooks and cleans too. After a lifetime turning up her nose at the same-old, same-old Indian lunch menu at home, she now craves it. But she plays around with the ingredients and spicing. The crucial thing to do when we’re learning to cook is to taste as we go along.
I remember the time my brother visited after a long trip abroad and I thought I’d make him one of our childhood favourite mutton curries. I made it with care, browning onions first, then ginger and garlic, and eventually browning the meat and adding yoghurt and ground cardamoms and cloves. When he ate he said it was extraordinarily boring, “just like Gyan Chand’s”. After that day, almost 40 years ago, I never made it again. I began to add flavours my mother never used: fennel, mustard, star anise. And sometimes I learnt to sauté the meat first, without spices, or to just simmer it with a few aromatics without any frying. Then I would taste a bit of the gravy while it was a-cooking, and then introduce another spice.
I wish I’d recorded those experiments because some were really successful.
Familiar flavours
Recently my daughter asked for a simple recipe for chicken curry, one with no frills, just the old, familiar flavours. This was on WhatsApp and I had no wish to sit down doing endless tik-tik on my phone. So, thanks to the wonder and magic of technology, I recorded an audio message and she played it while she cooked. And we did the same for a potato curry with thin red gravy that we traditionally eat with poori s. It has a delicate, runny sauce, strongly flavoured with hing , asafoetida, and whole cumin seeds fried till they’re crisp. Some people traditionally make it without tomatoes, but I like it red, so we include packaged tomato purée. The instructions were explicit, keeping in mind how new the cooking was to her.
NO FRILLS CHICKEN CURRY
Serves 4
3 tbsp vegetable oil
4 cloves
4 green cardamom
1-inch stick cinnamon
10 peppercorns
4 chicken breasts, cut into 3 pieces each (I use chicken without skin but with bones)
2 large onions, grated
1 tbsp garlic paste
1 tsp ginger paste
Salt
1-2 tsp red chilli powder
1/2 cup yoghurt, beaten
Wash and wipe dry the chicken. Pierce it all over with the tip of a knife, to facilitate flavours permeating it. (If you have an hour, marinate the chicken in a spoonful of oil, the onion, garlic and ginger paste. When ready to cook, add the marinated chicken to the remaining oil after it has been heated and the whole spices (cloves, cardamoms, cinnamon and peppercorns) sautéed until fragrant.)
If you’re in a hurry, heat the oil and sauté the cloves, cardamoms, cinnamon and peppercorns, until you can smell their aroma. Then add the chicken, onion, garlic and ginger pastes, all together. Cook on high heat, uncovered, stirring frequently to coat all the chicken with the masala paste. Add salt and chilli powder while the chicken is cooking. When the moisture has been evaporated, lower the heat and poke the largest piece of chicken to see if it is cooked. If not, keep simmering until it is no longer red. Add beaten yoghurt and cook till heated through. If you want the dish to be dry, with just masala paste sticking to the chicken, you can stop now. If you want a gravy, possibly to be eaten with rice, then boil a cup of water and add it to the chicken. Stir to mix well and serve.
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POORI WALE ALU
Serves 4
8 medium potatoes, about 1 kg
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp whole cumin seeds
1/2 tsp turmeric
1/8 tsp powdered asafoetida
200 g tomato purée
1 cup yoghurt, beaten smooth
1 tsp coriander powder
1-2 tsp red chilli powder
1/4 tsp powdered garam masala
Freshly ground black pepper
1 tbsp chopped coriander leaves and stems
In a pressure cooker, place washed potatoes and add enough water to just cover. Add a pinch of salt to prevent skins splitting. Cook on high heat until full pressure is reached: one whistle.
Remove potatoes from pressure cooker and soak in cool water. Peel off skins and break the potatoes. Some pieces will be large and some very small. This is expected and desirable.
In another, large pan, heat oil. Add cumin seeds and stir for a few seconds. Add turmeric and crushed asafoetida and after a few seconds, pour in tomato purée. Watch out for splattering. When the tomato has shrunk and oil is visible at the sides, add beaten yoghurt. Stir in coriander powder and chilli powder.
Cook everything on high heat until oil separates again. Boil a large quantity of water, about 750 ml. Start pouring water into a pan, onto cooking potatoes. When you can see that there is as much water as you want in your dish, stop. Keep on low heat and sprinkle the garam masala and grind a few turns of pepper. Stir a few times, and if you see overly large chunks of potato, break or mash them with the back of your ladle. Switch off heat and sprinkle fresh green coriander.
From the once-forbidden joy of eating eggs to the ingratitude of guests, the writer reflects on every association with food. vasundharachauhan9@gmail.com
