Comfort korma

The colour, the consistency, and the aromas of this old classic are compelling.

Chicken korma. Photo: G. Ramakrishna

I have to freeze and carry cooked food to my father’s home in another city. He’s expecting houseguests and an unknown number of dinner guests for four days. Even his ever-welcoming cook and housekeeper, Bhagwan Singh, will be nonplussed.

So a friend whose table always has delicious Indian fare, and who has “contacts”, was enlisted to organise reinforcements, shaami kabab and ishtu , the mutton curry typical of old Delhi and his neighbourhood, Jamia Nagar. The proof of this lot will lie in the eating, once we actually manage to convey it home. But a lot of preparation was made for safe carriage.

Last night we had the

ishtu tipped into my largest pan; it smelt good, though, not surprisingly, swimming in oil. I insisted on a large tray and a few newspapers to protect my

sari on the way home, but despite the abundance of deliciously greasy

masala, I remained unsullied and unbesmirched. The

kababs were easy: packed in

Manu weds Tanu

mithai boxes obviously purloined from a wedding, even the layers were separated by sheets of butter paper. Everything was brought home, refrigerated and, this morning, we packed it in dozens of polythene bags, sealed with a candle, and stacked in the freezer till the army moves.

Our friend and his doctor wife have a gracious open house — so open, that last night, when we went over to collect our goodies, a friend of theirs, who walked past us sitting in the garden, was hailed and then deployed to trot in and out of the house ferrying refreshments. Which were

gilawat ke kabab and ulte tawe ke parathe , from the same “contact” who had produced our order. I had considered but rejected the suggestion of carrying them too — on account of their fragility. Those kababs are so falling-apart tender that travel on the GT road would reduce them to a deconstructed sum of their ingredients. Eating them in situ was practical. They were still hot when we ate, but they were just okay; melt-in-the-mouth soft, but over-spiced. The parathas were soft but dripping with oil.

Justice was not done to them. May be because the fragrance of pulao was wafting out to the garden, or may be because I remembered — from last week — the cooking of the house. Dinner, when it was served, was leagues ahead of the bought food. Jumrati, the cook, produced silky white Basmati in a pulao of mutton, cooked with a bouquet garni of everything flavourful. He had made a delicious vegetable — long thin fingers of fried parwal and potatoes, which I ate with a paratha ; yellow dal that I didn’t bother to touch, and chicken korma . Salad was appropriately basic: onions and green chillies that Jumrati, remembering my addiction, had plucked that minute from the backyard, endearing himself even more to me. Already his cooking and his name, which means Thursday, had warmed the heart. The pulao was delicate, much more subtle than any biryani , and the rice, while it had retained its grain and colour, had combined with the meat in a dish of great elegance. First I ate the pulao by itself, to get full emotional comfort, without drowning it in curry. Then I added some of the korma . Chicken is not a great favourite, but the colour, reddish brown; the consistency, smooth and thick; and the aromas, of cloves and cumin, were compelling.

I spoke to Jumrati on the phone and he told me how he made it. It sounds ordinary, but the dish wasn’t.

CHICKEN KORMA

Serves 4

1 chicken, skinned and cut into 8 or 10 pieces

2 onions, blended smooth

1/2 cup vegetable oil

4 cloves

2-inch piece cinnamon

1 black cardamom

1 bay leaf

1/2 tsp peppercorns

1+1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ginger garlic paste

1/2 tsp red chilli powder

1 tsp coriander powder

Salt

2 tbsp yoghurt, beaten

In a pressure cooker, cook onion paste until water evaporates. Add oil and sauté till onion turns colour. Add cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, bay leaf, peppercorns and 1 tsp cumin powder. After a minute add ginger-garlic paste, cook till golden. Add remaining cumin, red chilli and coriander powder. Place chicken pieces in masala and cook over medium heat for 4-5 minutes till lightly browned. Stir in yoghurt and when oil is released, add 1 1/2 cups water, seal pressure cooker and cook till full pressure is reached — one whistle. Turn off heat.

The quantity of chicken was missing in an earlier. The writer apologizes for the inadvertent error.