Grindless Gravy For Curry Mela

As my friend A and I were chatting yesterday, the conversation veered to how sleepy she was feeling. I wasn’t feeling sleepy, probably because my lunch had comprised an omelette made mostly of egg whites. I told her I’d added curry leaves, coriander and red chilli powder to the omelette and she was almost aghast. Almost as if I’d sullied the yellow beauty of the eggs with all that green and red. But if you’re vigilant and don’t let the omelette brown, it’s a pretty combination of yellow and green, I told her. It’s such an omelette that I put into this tomato gravy a few days ago - I’d intended to make the Parsi version where the eggs are broken into the gravy and cooked until set but as an omelette for lunch was on my mind I thought combining the two would make a nice variation. I quickly put together a thick omelette made from four eggs as the gravy was bubbling, tore it up and added it to the gravy and let it cook a while. I’d heard about this from my aunt and made this once earlier, long ago, and it makes for a nice, fulfilling meal either by itself or with rice or bread or chapattis.

Omelette

Eggs, beaten: Four
Coriander: Chopped, as much as you want
Curry leaves: 20
Red chilli powder: 1 tsp
Or Green Chillies: 3, chopped
Garam masala: ½ tsp (optional)
Turmeric: A pinch (optional)
Salt, to taste
Oil: 1 tsp

Oil the griddle, heat it on ‘medium’.

Beat eggs well with the spices. Then add the coriander and curry leaves and green chillies, if using, and mix well. Beat it again a little.

Tip the mixture onto the griddle and let it set. Turn it over and cook on the other side too. Do not let it brown on either side.

Tomato Gravy

Tomatoes: 5-6, chopped
Green chillies: 3-4, slit
Or Red chilli powder: 1- 1-¼ tsp
Onion: 1, chopped
Ginger-garlic paste: 1 tsp
Cumin seed: 1 tsp
Oil: 1 tsp
Garam masala: 1 tsp
Salt, to taste
Turmeric: a pinch
Water: 1-2 cups

In a pan, heat the oil, add the cumin.

Once the cumin pops, add the onion and fry well, till soft and translucent.

Now add the ginger-garlic paste and fry till it mixes well.

Add the green chillies, fry for a minute.

Add the tomatoes and the salt, red chilli powder, turmeric and half of the garam masala. Let it cook till it starts getting pulpy.

Add some water, cover and let it cook well. If the gravy’s consistency and volume is to your liking and if there’s enough to hold the omelette, add the omelette pieces at this stage, otherwise add more water and cook for a little longer.

Once you add the omelette, let it simmer for five or six minutes. Sprinkle with the rest of the garam masala.

This grindless gravy is my submission to Srivalli’s Curry Mela, which, I must say, has almost as many "should nots" as my event did. Eh, Valli?

Eggs Omelette Tomato Event Curry Mela Tomato Grindless Gravy

My Magnetic Attractions

One of my blogger friends, during the course of an online chat, said she found herself in danger of becoming an "event blogger". (That phrase struck me as so funny I had to use it somewhere.) I, on the other hand, would love to be an "event blogger" but often find I have little to contribute, either due to the stuff I don't eat or due to the lethargy that sometimes envelops me even if the event suits my pantry. Also, I told the friend, if I cook for every event that's on, I'll have to sit outside and let all that food occupy the house, which, as many of you already know, is the sad story of my fridge and pantry. So my way of overcoming this is to do a post and hunt for an event to send it to, which I'm sure many of you do too!

It's quite refreshing to participate in an event where you don't have to cook anything - in fact, sometimes those events are the most attractive - no need to think, rouse yourself, get hold of ingredients that aren't already there, stumble into the kitchen ... So when I saw the link to the Fridge Magnets event on Taste of India, I knew it was right up my alley.

I've grown up with fridge magnets, we've always had several at home. So when I got my own fridge, I got some of the folks to get me a couple and they obliged. Then I got lucky and my travel streak started, about five years ago. I got a magnet for every city I visited, maybe even every attraction, and now the first of my two fridge doors is rather well covered with memoirs of my trips. Please wish me luck for the other door too ;)

Yeah, that's the top door of my fridge. Of course, some of them are from friends' travels too, not entirely my own. I don't have too many foodie magnets but I don't miss them either - I do have the kohl rabi (I think it's kohl rabi), and the lemons and chillies hanging on to the magnetic peg, on the left, are quite lifelike. I know there's a Magic Lamp going around the blogosphere promising our blogs good health and good luck. Well, let's hope these lemons and chillies ward off the evil eye to our blogs! ;)

These are my favourites. The ones on the extreme right and left in the top row are the most recent acquisitions, bought in Singapore on a layover en route to India from Japan. The Spouse often complains that I rarely listen to what he says and just say "Hmm ... Hmm ... " so it was only natural that I picked up that one, and the other, about the dust, the humour and self-directed sarcasm struck me as very funny. The others are from a trip to the US five years ago.


I don't remember where I bought this but once in a blue moon, I do refer to this.


I love this magnet for the scene it evokes: company, sunny, vacation, travel and a host of other things I'm not listing here. I also like that the words reflect the things I enjoy the most.


And this! The minute I spied it on the shelf I knew this pithy statement is what frequently defined my feelings and attitude to life. I was about to give it to a friend but suddenly diffident and superstitious, wondered about the appropriateness of gifting black humour, so I kept it for myself. Many of my friends have the same doubts, I know, about life, and the three girls/women there remind me of us. Sig, I just figured out what that grey thing on the right is - it's a grill and they are grilling sausages on it - I've a good mind to send it to the event you're hosting! LOL!

These magnets are off to Veda for her event.

Fridge Magnets Event

Mind Your Pounds And Quarts!

Glug glug glug glug glug glu... can you hear that? What do you think that is? Not me imbibing anything, but the cook on the TV show pouring out "just a bit of oil" into the pan! The "just a bit", which resembles a torrent rather than a trickle, is variously referred to as "a couple of teaspoons/tablespoons", "a splash and that's it" and I don't remember what else.

This rant has been on my mind for many weeks, and it's not limited to oil. Just now, I saw a star chef recommend "just a bit" of flour and proceed to empty about a quarter of the pack into the bowl! Star chefs or home cooks, they seem to lose their sense of proportion when it comes to presenting a recipe. I often wonder whether I should cut the home cook some slack - it's probably her/his first time on TV, and as most home cooks are wont, they go by feel/rough/personal measures rather than tablespoons and cups and ounces, but then they shouldn't use those terms, should they? What's wrong with the star chefs then? Give up on weights and measures because, training all done, they've discovered what they really learnt after all those years in catering college is to cook with the senses, have discovered a healthy disregard for the stifling confines of measuring bowls and decided recipe be damned, viewers be confounded, it's the free spirit that matters!!! And makes for great showmanship.

Just this morning, I followed a recipe from a book to the letter, didn't even stint on the three tablespoons of oil it mentioned. That's a lot of vegetables, I told myself in justification, and consolation - a small head of cauliflower, two medium potatoes and 100 gms of peas, not to mention two tablespoons of coriander powder and one teaspoon of cumin powder and some other whole spices. What did I end up with - a scorched and singed pan, oil that got absorbed in the 2+1 spoons of powdered spices, charred vegetables and an inedible dish that I have not the heart to throw out because, let's face it, the potatoes and peas at least are somewhat edible, if not redeemable. Don't you writers try the recipes before you put them in print? Don't the publishers? Oh yeah, and pinches of this and that - now, those are tablespoons and teaspoons and even cups, in reality; not pinches or smidgeons or soupcons. The only pinch there is the one I give myself, hard, to make sure I'm not seeing double!

And what of those recipes which call for just 50 gm of cheese but positively ooze the stuff in the end result? I do not claim much knowledge of cheese. Where I live, I don't get much variety beyond cheddar and mozzarella unless I travel a considerable distance and pay obscene amounts for packs that are dangerously close to their expiry date, but how far can cheese crawl? I mean, the melty, spreading variety exists, but 50 gm can't cover an entire pizza, can it? I WANT MY CHEESE TO FLUFF! I WANT IT TO OOZE, I WANT TO BE ABLE TO DIGGGG INTO THE BAKE AND COME UP WITH OOEY GOOEY LAYERS, I WANT THE DISH TO LOOK CHEESY, AND I WANT IT ALL IN 50 GM!

And what's with all these TV cooks? Why are they so lax when it comes to using fuel judiciously, and using their cookware wisely? Why oh why do they put an empty pan on the fire, turn away and start talking to us? Because the "tad" of oil they're putting in the pan won't make a difference anyway?

Rant Weights/Measures Tablespoons/teaspoons Cups Humour

Sunday humour, Bengal hangover

Once in a while, we visit an Uncle and Aunt who live at one end of town. Uncle is always exhorting us to bring a spare set of clothes, stay over and go to work right from his home but we've managed that just once. Aunty whips up a feast of home-made stuff typical of the cuisine we grew up with but yesterday, they both felt five home-made dishes weren't enough, so supplemented that with four Chinese dishes that they ordered in!

In any case, this was a problem of plenty, compounded by the fact that I'd carried along one of my dishes for them to sample. I'm still on a high from my Calcutta trip and the last couple of days have seen me trying my hand again at Bengali food, which I used to experiment with earlier. Funnily enough, I found parwal in my vegetable store the day after I came back from Calcutta, and bought a few other vegetables to make the shukto and charchari that are so typical of Bengali cuisine. While most of those vegetables are waiting in the fridge, I put to use the one coconut that I retained from a bounty of about 10 that were presented to me last month. It had dried neatly inside its shell and I finally cut it up into pieces and put it in the fridge. I had planned on buying some chicken to make a Kerala-style chicken curry with coconut chips that my friend S introduced me to, but the bird proved elusive, so I made this dal instead.

I had made it for a potluck years ago, when some of us still had the schedules for one without much planning - and it had been much appreciated. Now all I needed to do was buy some raisins, brush up on the recipe and my chholar dal would be ready! I couldn't make out which of my two Bengali cookery books I'd referred to all those years ago, but one book didn't mention the coconut and raisins and neither mentioned whether the dal had to be cooked to a mash or to soft but grainy - I went for the latter as that's what I remembered.

I did away with the 2 tsp of sugar that was mentioned in the recipe and added more raisins than prescribed. I didn't powder the spices as was required. Amidst hoots of laughter over a funny anecdote narrated by Uncle, we savoured this mild and mellow dal. Aunty said it was "variety ga undi", a famous Telugu-English expression for anything unusual, the Spouse said it tasted like prasadam (food made for rituals, as offerings to the deity and worshippers) and Uncle picked out the pieces of coconut and ate the rest.

And the funny anecdote: Well, a visiting nephew of Uncle's was about to reach for a cup of coffee which was on the table when Aunty said, "Oh, God! Chee Chee! That's for your Uncle, don't take that! We'll make other coffee for ourselves!" "You do exaggerate, Mama!" I said, giggling. But Aunty piped up honestly, saying, "No, I DID say that, I think," and also giggled herself, setting us off on another round of laughter. It must have been the sugarless/diet nature of the coffee that provoked that outburst, but it was so funny listening to my Uncle who narrated this with a mixture of amusement and indignation.

On to the recipe now!

Channa dal/Bengal gram: 100 gm/1 cup
Green chillies: 2, slit
Coconut pieces: 1/2 a cup
Raisins: Half a handful
Water: 2-3 cups (and more if you need later)

Salt, to taste

Turmeric: 1/2 a tsp
Bay leaf: 1
Red chillies: 1-2, broken
Cumin seed/Jeera: 1 tsp
Whole clove, cardamom: 2 each
Cinnamon: 1/2-inch stick
Oil: 1-2 tsp

Wash the lentils thoroughly. You can soak them ahead to cut down on cooking time.

In a pan/saucepan, boil the water.

Once it comes to a boil, add the dal. Cook till half-done, then add the salt, turmeric, green chillies.

Cover and cook till done on a medium fire. Add some more water if the lentils are not done. As seen in the picture, they should maintain their shape but should crumble when prodded with a finger. Stir the dal now and then so that it doesn't stick to the pan.

In another frying pan, heat the oil to smoking. Lower the heat and add the bay leaf, cardamom and cloves. Once they sizzle, add the coconut. Let the coconut brown slightly. Add the raisins. Add the cumin and red chillies and wait just until they begin to turn colour, a couple of seconds. Switch off the fire and pour it over the dal.

Cover and simmer the dal for five minutes.

I am sending this to Mansi's Healthy Cooking event. I think it qualifies because I've done away with the sugar (though I do realise some is present in the raisins), the coconut can be omitted if necessary or left uneaten and the oil can be limited to one tsp.


Bengali cuisine Bengal gram Raisins Coconut Channa dal Humour

Oh Calcutta!

We didn't go for a holiday, we went for an experience! And the city lived up to every letter of that word!


On the conducted tour of the city, we were taken for lunch to a smelly, hole in the wall South Indian, yes, South Indian restaurant somewhere in the Esplanade area. Unable to bear the fact that our first day started off with less than authentic food, we sought comfort in kulfi in the restaurant next door. It was the first time we were having kulfi with semiya (vermicelli) and some red sherbet poured all over it. I held back till I tasted a bit of my friend's, and then ordered one for myself.


Street food in Calcutta. En route to the Kali temple in Kalighat, we settled on this restaurant for our lunch. Several parcels of good-looking biriyani were being dispatched in cars as we waited for our lunch to be prepared.


Why, when you order a mutton tikia, is it served all scrambled? And how did our chicken kabab turn into mutton? The paneer is a concession to vegetarians, but processed on the same tawa that the meat is cooked on!!! And the lacha paratha was glorious and well done.


Back from the Kalighat temple, after two hours of waiting that culminated in a mighty stampede that succeeded in crushing us but not our spirit, we treated ourselves to some food at a wayside cafe - thick, substantial rossogulla at Rs 3 a piece and some samosas. This man was making ... kachoris, I think.


Fishing in the Hooghly. Aboard the ferry to Haldia and back. The clayey soil at the back brought back to mind geography lessons of Gangetic West Bengal, alluvial soil and silt deposits.


A glimpse of rural Bengal. En route to Raichak, a day trip from the city. The villages are full of trees, of which I could only recognise the jackfruit tree, banyan and bamboo. There were some rice fields too, along the way.


A Kolkata evening in the monsoon


Kolkata and its cabs, near the now crumbling Great Eastern Hotel


On Howrah Bridge, shot from our car.

Calcutta/Kolkata Street food Travel

Guess What Happened At Dinner?

It’s extremely rare these days that we invite anyone over for a meal. The reasons are many - busy schedules, a small kitchen, the lack of time, will, energy and adequate help to prepare a decent spread, the fear that I won’t be able to keep the conversation going, the mess in the living room …

When I do get down to it, I try not to stint on the spread. I am not comparing myself to the older generations who could whip up an immense feast “with the mere swish of a spoon” (they slaved and slogged, mostly unsung and unwept) but I do believe that when I invite someone to a proper meal (if it isn’t, I WILL warn them) I shouldn’t present them with a bare table citing the excuses I made above. And thereby hangs a tale.

Once, I was invited by X to lunch at her home. She would always tell me her mother was an excellent cook and that I should come sample her food. When the lunch invitation came, it came with the most delicious preamble - the list of some 20-odd delicacies her mother had whipped up recently for a lunch. Well, even if the good lady made a third of that, it would be too much, I thought, and generously told this friend her mum needn’t go to that much trouble. “In fact, why don’t you just make your traditional stuff - it will be easy on your mum and I’ll have experienced a new cuisine,” I said, and she agreed.

Come Lunch Day, and I arrived at their home on the dot, to find that everyone, including my friend, had finished eating! Er … Well, anyway, I was soon seated at the table that had only two or three vessels on it and asked to help myself. The ladle made contact with bare metal when I tried to. Peering into those vessels revealed very little. Literally, the dregs of the day’s lunch. Suffice it to say that there were less than 10 pieces of a vegetable, about a cup of soup and about three tablespoons of chutney. And some rice.

“You wanted traditional, no? You got it,” said X, almost as if she was daring me to object, complain, ask for more? “Yes, yes, it’s very nice,” I said rapidly. Meal ended, X said, “We didn’t make any dessert, it’s not as if we’ve invited you formally, so we didn’t bother.” Er … of course???

“Hush,” says The Spouse, whenever I narrate this story to anyone. “It’s not nice.” Maybe it isn’t but the entire experience seemed so bizarre, all the more so in the light of the build-up that preceded it.

The point of this story is that guests expect something substantial and fulfilling, if nothing special, when you promise them “an experience”. I, of course, take the easy way out and seldom invite anyone, but when I do get around to it, I aim for something that is easy on me, satisfies my guests and eases my conscience.

Here’s one such dish, I think, that will fit the bill. A mixed vegetable curry. It is a bit of hard work if you have to cut the vegetables yourself, but I loved the result.

Potatoes - 4 (small), diced
Carrot - 1, cut into long pieces
French Beans - a big handful, cut into 1-½-inch pieces
Tomatoes - 2, chopped
Onions - 2, chopped
Coriander - a little, for garnish
Lime juice - 2 tsp
Oil - 2-3 tsp
Salt - to taste
Water - 2 cups

Grind to a paste
3 green chillies
1 tsp of red chilli powder
½ tsp turmeric powder
1 tbsp dry ginger powder (sonthi)
4-5 flakes garlic
1 tsp cumin powder
1 tsp coriander powder

Heat the oil in a pan and saute the onion till your patience runs out.

Add the tomatoes and keep swishing them around till they get mushy. Or turn down the heat and let them get mushy at their own pace - do stir now and then.

Add the paste, the vegetables (you can use other combinations of veggies), salt and fry till the vegetables are well coated with the spices.

Add the water. Cook till the vegetables are done and dry. If you want it thicker, don’t let much of the water evaporate.

Turn off the heat, wait a while and mix lime juice gently into the vegetables. Garnish with coriander.

Put it in a nice dish and make it the centrepiece of your meal! (Actually, this dish is a pretty recent discovery and I’ve never served it to guests, but I will, henceforth, since I’ve done this post.)

Oh, and it works the other way too - do remark on the meal to the host. A friend told me how they invited someone to a meal and went to great pains to make it interesting - and the guests ate it in stark silence. Not a word said, not a single indication that they liked it or disliked it. Everything was tasted, eaten and remained unmentioned. That was one of the strangest meals she had ever experienced, she said. We could only commiserate over each other’s experiences.

This is off to Kalyn's Weekend Herb Blogging hosted this week by Pam of Sidewalk Shoes.

Weekend Herb Blogging Vegetarian Humour Mixed Vegetables Inviting people

Not Unholy Combinations

My grandmother, who brought us up, would serve us food which, only much later, I realised, was not the norm. If I was offered milk at someone else's home, I would wrinkle my nose at the smell or taste because it contained sugar, and I grew up thinking tomato sauce was the traditional accompaniment to crisp-edged ootappams. (Naturally, I thought tomato sauce was Indian in origin.) Neither would my grandmother offer salt when curds was served.

Though the main breakfast was traditional, the accompaniments were not. Coconut chutney was rarely served with anything - rava upma was accompanied by some slices of lime or mango pickle, semiya upma with fresh ginger chutney, idli with various spice powders or other chutneys (one's here), dosa with lime pickle - so for me it's really no fun to go in for South Indian food and find myself stuck with coconut chutney and sambar. When we had chapatis for breakfast, thick, well browned, square and well fried, they were accompanied by a sweet and sour onion gravy made with jaggery and tamarind. I don't think we were familiar with the word kurma. My grandfather would eat his chapati with a fried egg, sunny side up, dipping pieces of the chapati in the runny yolk - not something I've done or see myself doing. And pesarattu was never accompanied by upma, its traditional mate.

Though my aunt says they were familiar with it, we were never served poori with sugar. Nor upma, nor idli. Nothing was served with sugar, in fact, and I didn't see this in anybody else's house, either, until I went to college and joined the hostel, in a different State. I was both repelled and fascinated when I saw all conceivable manner of tiffins being downed with sugar, chapatis with jam (which I took to; only, the hostel chapatis were so bad, even jam couldn't redeem them) and bread with pickle (good, a favourite midnight snack). I even spread green chilli pickle on Marie biscuits and made a snack/meal of them at times - they are a great combination but I'm not sure that green chilli pickle is available any more. I guess the only sugary breakfast we had at home was what we called toast - of the French variety. Of course, I thought that was Indian too. No wonder very few of my friends and classmates knew about it.

What unusual combinations are you fond of?

It's funny how what we take for granted at home is completely alien to others. Peanut chutney was never, ever made at home; it's so common in others'. Eggplant is combined with milk and curds in some homes, not so in mine. And I did not notice the amaranth-curds combination till recently in a relative's home, which I took to instantly. I am used to a lot of curd-based dishes with different vegetables, but none with greens. I don't often remember to make this but when I do, I always ask myself why I forget - it's so good. I was flipping through the pages of Cooking At Home With Pedatha recently and was reminded of it. This version is less elaborate than hers and doesn't contain the coconut or the daal that she included in the recipe.

Here's the recipe:
Curds/yoghurt: 3 cups, well churned
Amaranth/thotakoora: Chopped, 2 cups
Tamarind pulp: 1 tbsp
Turmeric: 1/2 tsp
Green chilli: 1, slit
Curry leaves: A few
Dry ginger powder: 1-2 tsp
Oil: 1 tsp
Salt: to taste


Grind to a fine paste
Coriander: 1/4 cup
Green chillies: 2

Tempering
Mustard seeds: 1 tbsp
Red chillies: 4, stems removed, broken into two

In a pan, heat the oil and pop the mustard. Lower the flame and add the red chillies.

As they turn colour, add the amaranth. Cover and simmer till well done, stirring now and then.

Add the turmeric, curry leaves, chilli powder and tamarind pulp. Cook for a few more minutes.

Turn off the heat and stir in the curds.

Chill, and enjoy!

This is going off to Siri for her Frozen Yoghurt event.

Frozen Yoghurt Curds/Yoghurt Amaranth/Thotakoora Greens Event Vegetarian

My Eggzacting Routine

As it turns out, I’m on a losing streak right now. Well, the word ‘streak’ here has nothing to do with the pace of my losing, because the pace is excruciatingly slow, but if I’m losing, I’m winning, because I am talking about weight.

My day starts at 5 a.m. My class starts an hour later and it’s no holds barred. “How much today?” demands the trainer, and I reply, not entirely oblivious to the other people around. The ‘much’ refers to the number of grammes I’ve lost since the previous day, and if I haven’t, the discussion moves on to what I’ve eaten the previous night, how much oil it was cooked in, and whether my bladder and bowel are clear. Whatever I say I’ve eaten is met with a raised eyebrow or a whoop of horror depending on the mood, and my requests/assertions that I will weigh in only once a week go unheard.

By this time, the others around get into the act, probing, analyzing, sympathetic, eyebrows raised or whooping in horror, as their predispositions might dictate. Gyms, by their very nature, have always been places to discuss figures, bodies, ailments, hormones, pimples, thyroids, hemorrhoids and other things biological, but the daily inquisition is a novel experience. All my exercising life, I’ve been told not to weigh myself everyday, here it’s the contrary. It also has to do, I suspect, with the trainers having to divest their wards of a certain number of kilos for their incentives to kick in, but maybe I’m simply being uncharitable and over-imaginative. My trainer’s face now hovers over every meal and morsel I have and I admit it has made me more vigilant than ever, and for that, I give thanks. Apparently, everyone in the gym has lost tonnes, even at their age, so why can’t I do it? Even as I, and you, ponder such questions, I present you with a recipe which I resorted to in the fond hope that it would be tasty and not too sinful.

As it happened, I ate three of them after breakfast (when I start cooking) and two of them for dinner, helas!!! My plan was to make patties and store them in the fridge to toast on the griddle as and when I wanted to eat them, but my assistant at home said, “Finish it off, ’ma, the batter won’t be any good if you put it in the fridge.” I didn’t argue, as they refused to form patties in my palm but did so in hers, and I didn’t want her to leave before I could deal with them!

Eggs, boiled, cooled and shelled - 4
Chickpea flour/gram flour/besan - 3 tbsp
Onion - 1, chopped
Coriander - a handful, chopped
Green chillies - 3, chopped
Garam masala - ½ tsp
Salt - to taste
Oil - v little

Crumble the eggs and mix everything else with them till you get a fairly dense dough - it shouldn’t lose shape when you fashion patties of them. (My assistant says the best way to do it is on a plastic sheet, a la vada batter.)

Put them on an oiled griddle/tawa and cook on either side till brown. Dribble a drop or two of oil off a spoon around the patty if necessary. This could take a while, and still taste of raw chickpea flour after you think they’re finished, so experiment with one first, taste it and then proceed.

I am sending this in to Sangeeth's Eat Healthy - Protein Rich.

I'll sign off by saying that I condemn the rampant and brazen plagiarism we're hearing of and seeing in the blogosphere, be it a large organisation that thinks it can get away with anything, a smaller one that thinks it can intimidate bloggers into silence and helplessness or just another blog like yours and mine that lifts pictures and posts to use, even without having an obvious commercial objective.

Egg cutlet Gym Losing weight Chickpea flour/besan/gram flour Humour

Of Blogging, Breaking and Summer Bounty

I’ve been on an impromptu blogging break for quite a while now. Contrary to most others, this break has done nothing for my blog or writing/cooking skills (not that it was intended to) and further, seems to have diminished my photography skills. The ennui that has enveloped my blog life threatens to become permanent, if not for the fact that I’ve begun to miss blogging, despite not knowing what to write about. My friend V, of late a blogger herself, who misses my posts and messages me whenever she feels I've gone too long without a new one, tells me she can be my reminder service for a small fee!

I’ve always wondered what it’s like to go on a blog break, though. I’ve been obsessed with the blog ever since I set it up nearly two years ago and always looked upon those who took long breaks with a mixture of curiosity, awe and jealousy. Yes, jealous because they seemed to be able to get away from their blogs, not miss them and I couldn’t see myself doing that, which, as I knew somewhere, was somewhat unhealthy, as obsessions are. The only time I don’t miss my blog nowadays is when I’m indulging in my other obsession - travel - and that, alas, is not as frequent an occurrence as I would like it to be.

As it turns out, the only way to beat one mania is to develop yet another (or two, or three) - and that’s precisely how I came to stay away from blogging.
One of the last posts I read before I slipped away from the blogs was Jugalbandi’s Click for Bri. While my photo’s nothing to write to them about and I won’t be posting any recipes for the dishes in them (except maybe the dosakaya chutney), I did want to participate in the cause. Here’s what you can do to help Bri and here's wishing Bri a speedy recovery.

Sunday Meal is my entry for Click. It was my meal this past Sunday and features some traditional favorites in the parts I come from.

Clockwise from left: Dosakaya (melon cucumber) chutney, mudda pappu (plain, boiled toor dal with a bit of salt) and mamidikaya pulusu (mango in tamarind gravy with some jaggery). The dal and the gravy are good eaten together with rice and some ghee, if you like, or the dal can be mixed with rice, ghee and some mango pickle for yet another traditional combination.

Here is some summer bounty - pix taken on a road trip to and from home!

Palm fruit (taatikaayalu) and pot full of toddy (kallu). The mugs are probably what the toddy's served in!!!

The contents of the palm fruit are a favourite summer delight! Called taati munjalu, they are sadly missing in cities, or if they're available, they come all torn, crushed and wrapped in plastic. Supermarket-compatible, totally unappetising!

This is yet another gift of summer that I'm yet to see outside Andhra Pradesh. These are called kobbari mamidikaya (literally translates as coconut mango, probably because of the size) and are a great snack, sweet and sour even though they're green! Come to think of it, I'm yet to see one go ripe yellow, either on the outside or the inside. Each fruit cost Rs 25.

Blogging Blog breaks Bri Click for Bri Toddy palm fruit/Taatikayalu/taatimunjalu Toddy/Kallu

Heritage Comes Cheap?

Whenever there’s a reference to Andhra food, mentions of ‘gongura’ or ‘vankai’ are inevitable. Gongura is a sour, leafy green vegetable and vankai (or vankaya) is eggplant/brinjal/aubergine. Gongura is considered typically Andhra, and many people from Andhra Pradesh consider the eggplant the State’s very own special vegetable and believe they can use it in a variety of ways that others cannot. A friend’s father says tongue-in-cheek that many people in Andhra were named Venkayya (no longer fashionable) after the eggplant! Both gongura and eggplant can be curried, added to dal, ground into chutneys, pickled and what have you, each mode in a variety of ways. I’ve even heard of an eggplant halwa, but let’s get on with what I have to say.

Very often, and more so in a generation which has now reached a certain age, if something had to be dismissed voice and expression dripping with ample scorn, “Aa, gongura! D’you really believe her?” or “Vankai! As if …!” would be the choice of words for many!

I don’t know which came first, the expression or the film song, but if you want to taunt someone saying “What do you know anyway? Squat!” ‘squat’ would translate into “nimmakaya pulusu*” or “vankai pulusu”.

Are there any such expressions in your language? What are they?

It just struck me that something we exalt and proclaim as our own, peculiar to our roots and our State is also the metaphor for something we choose to dismiss. Is it because vegetables like gongura, eggplant and even lime were kitchen garden staples, there for the asking? We didn’t have to shell out anything, or much, for them; we could get some from the neighbour and maybe not have to even give something in return; if we had to buy them, we probably had to spend only a few paise for a bunch as big as a bush. Or is it that they are exalted only now as we leave home and scatter far and wide, routine, everyday, garden-variety vegetables receding into the realms of the rare, prompting us to grow all mushy and patriotic and discuss them in our blogs using terms such as “rediscovery of my culinary heritage/roots/humble Andhra food/quintessentially Andhra” or … well, you get the drift.

I’m quite one of those who has been rediscovering the food I’ve grown up with so here’s a dish with the not-so-dismissable gongura – it’s a favourite accompaniment to mutton and chicken but I decided to try it with eggs. My new early morning gym routine promises to give me the opportunity to take a detour to the market and buy fresh greens regularly and I’m quite thrilled about it.

Here’s what you need for the gongura-egg curry:

Gongura – 1 bunch weighing ½ a kilo (500 gm)
Onion – 1, chopped
Ginger-garlic paste – 1 tsp
Turmeric – ½ tsp
Green chillies – 2, slit
Red chilli powder – ½ tsp
Boiled, shelled and scored eggs – 4
Salt, to taste
Oil – 1-2 tsp
Garam masala/curry powder – 1 tsp

Pick the leaves off the bunch of gongura. Wash the leaves in several changes of water.

Put the gongura in a pan with the chillies, salt, turmeric and red chilli powder.

Boil with a little water till it wilts and becomes a rather unified mess – what I mean is that the leaves sort of meld with each other and it’s just a little short of a paste.

Mash it with the back of the ladle.

In a pan, heat the oil, fry the onion and then the ginger-garlic paste well.

Saute the eggs lightly.

Now add the cooked gongura and mix it well with the onion and ginger-garlic paste.

Let the whole thing cook together for a while.

Sprinkle garam masala on top.

Enjoy!

I have to acknowledge three more awards. One is from Lakshmi of Yum Blog, who's given me the Witty Blogger Award and another is from Pratibha and Jigyasa of Pedatha.com who passed on the You Make My Day Award. Siri of Siri's Corner also gave me the Good Chat Blog award. Thank you!

*(The film song I refer to is “Neekemi telusu, nimmakaya pulusu …” – incidentally, 'nimmakaya' is Telugu for lime, and 'pulusu' can refer to the juice extracted or any gravy using lime).

Gongura Eggs Eggplant Humour Telugu Musings

The Maximum Convexity of the Butt

Is this the maximum convexity of your butt?” she questioned, holding measuring tape around such named part.
“Eh?” was my response.
“Is this the maximum convexity of your butt?” she repeated.
I confessed I did not understand. (Physics (and Chem, and Maths) left me scarred and I gave up ‘convex’ and ‘concave’ soon as I left school, and hearing those words after all these years set off those familiar, unwelcome palpitations.)
“I mean, is this where your butt is the most … how to put it, standing out?” she said.
“Judge for yourself,” I said, turning away to give her a better view.

I didn’t make up that question – those were her exact words. I was in the gym, an agonised weightwatcher going back to those confines after a break of more than six months. Other than the fact that most of me is at its maximum convex now, what struck me was how a simple question was rendered rather baffling because it was put across so bookishly.

People seem to have forgotten simple English, methinks. The need to appear oh so smart and polished, business-like and tech-savvy, and Westernised, too, is what drives this painful turn of phrase.

The other day, I got an e-mail from someone from whom I needed information, saying, “Get in touch with so-and-so – he will give you a good download.” Really?
And then there was the person who called and asked if he could “have access” to so-and-so. As if so-and-so was a vault and you could turn a key in his back and open him up!
There are the publicists who urge you to meet so-and-so “just for a relationship meeting, Madam” – their way of saying that it’s just a preliminary meeting, and that there are no expectations lurking anywhere. And the newbie, fresh out of college, who obviously had not mastered how, when and where to say “Fair enough.” To everything I said, he kept saying “Fairly good” with a wise and understanding expression on his face and never was I more tempted to correct a total stranger!

Rant over, I now focus on a recipe that hasn’t got much to do with any maximum convexity, unless you drench it in ghee and bury it in a mound of rice to get rid of the sting.

But before that, some acknowledgements. The blog header you’re seeing is courtesy Sandeepa. Thank You, Sandeepa.

Then, Nirmala gave this blog the Yummy Blog Award and Kalai gave me the You Make My Day award. Thank you both.

Now the Yummy Blog Award mandates that I reveal the desserts I like the most. Here they are:

Angoori Rabdi (At a restaurant, as part of a Gujarati thali)

Bread pudding (my own, that’s right, no humility!)

Khubani ka Meetha with cream, in a Hyderabad restaurant

One grandma’s laddu, another’s palatalikalu

Panna cotta with vanilla bean

Then, Lavi tagged me for a meme – I told her I’d do a truncated version. Here goes:

Last movie you saw in a theatre
Taare Zameen Par

What book(s) are you reading?
A Prisoner of Birth

Favourite board game
Scrabble

Favourite smells
Lavender, vetiver, jasmine, herbal soap

Favourite sounds
Birds chirping in the morning

Worst feeling in the world
Anxiety

First thing I think of when I wake
Did I have to wake up already?

Storms – cool or scary?
A nuisance, at the very least

Favourite drink?
Lime-ginger

Finish the statement – If I had the time, I would …
Look for ways to spend it!

One nice thing about the person who sent it to you.
She has big, beautiful eyes.

Morning person or night owl?
Night owl.

Eggs over easy or sunny side up?
Over easy

Favourite pie?
Apple

Favourite ice-cream
Vanilla choco-chip

The recipe I have today is a fiery and simple one. I received a present of ripe red chillies and didn’t know what to do with them for two weeks. Finally, I used them for a chutney.

Ripe red chillies: 200-250 gm, chopped
White onions (or any colour): 3, quartered or cut into eight pieces each
Tamarind – lime-sized (Wet in a little water much ahead, no need to soak it in a lot of water)
Salt, to taste
Garlic – 5-6 cloves, skinned

Tempering
Mustard seed – 1-1/2 tsp
Cumin seed – 1 tsp
Hulled, husked and split urad/black gram dal – 2 tsp
Curry leaves – a few
Oil – 2 tsp

Heat oil, temper with the black gram. As it begins to turn brown, add the mustard, cumin and curry leaves.

When they pop and the gram turns a nutty brown, add the chillies, garlic and onion. Fry them till they become glossy and onions become translucent.

Cool, add salt, tamarind and grind in a mixer. Beware, it’s really hot.

For a variation, you can mix a bit of this well with some curds/yoghurt, temper this again and eat it with rice or use it for idlis, dosas and the like.

I have since been enlightened about how chillis and raspberries belong to the same family, so this is my submission to Dee for AFAM-Raspberry.

Red chilli/Pandumirpakaya pachadi Curds/Yoghurt Meme Onion Humour

Reliving Rajasthan

A train journey of over two days, sights to remember for a lifetime: Brown earth, bright yellow fields of mustard; a tableau of camels placidly bobbing alongside turbaned masters; peacocks, tails sweeping and brilliant; women in the brightest clothes; spicy samosas and tea in earthen cups at stops along the way; a nip in the air; and then ker sangri for dinner at aunt’s place; bales of block-printed fabric; daal-baati churma in a busy part of town; peacocks freely wandering in and out of houses, even in the midst of a bustling neighbourhood; tourists gasping with amazement and delight as a guide lights a candle in a room full of tiny mirrors; the horror and tears shed over Roop Kanwar ...

When Padmaja announced RCI-Rajasthan, it was time for me to dig out Tarla Dalal’s Rajasthani cookbook from the innards of my bookshelves and look for an unusual recipe to highlight. The gravy base is a traditional Rajasthani one of curds and chickpea flour (Bengal gram flour/besan), but what struck me was the addition of red chana, which the author describes as whole red gram.

Now I’m not sure if this is the same as kala chana or black chana, having never seen anything labeled red chana before (but red gram is Bengal gram, I know), I used the black chana, which is actually a reddish brown, for this dish.

This dish is also called Chane Jaisalmer Ke (a city I did not visit, incidentally) and traditionally served with missi roti but goes well with rice or bajra rotis, the author recommends. A cupful or two sans either rice or roti makes for a filling meal, as I discovered.

Black chana/chickpeas, soaked overnight and drained
Cumin seed – ½ tsp
Mustard seed – ¼ tsp
Bay leaves – 2
Red chillies, whole – 4
Asafoetida – 1/8 tsp
Dry ginger powder/sonth – ¾ tsp
Green chilli – 2, slit
(The author recommends 1 tsp of ginger-green chilli paste but I didn’t have fresh ginger on hand.)
Red chilli powder – 1 tsp
Turmeric – ¼ tsp
Curds/yoghurt, beaten – 1 cup
Bengal gram flour/besan – 2 tsp
Chopped coriander – 4 tbsp
Oil – 1 tbsp
Salt to taste

In a pressure cooker, heat the oil, temper with the cumin and mustard, bay leaves, red chillies and asafetida.

When the seeds pop, add the black chana, ginger powder, green chillies, red chilli powder, turmeric, salt and 2 cups of water. Pressure cook for about 2-3 whistles till the channa is cooked. Wait for the pressure to escape.

(The chana will take considerably longer if you’re not using a pressure cooker – you can follow the same sequence even with a pan or a wok.)

Whisk the curds and the flour together. Add it to the cooked chana and bring to a boil stirring continuously. Simmer for 5 minutes.

Serve hot, garnished with coriander.

My observation – the gravy was rather watery, despite the flour, and despite my boiling it down for a while. I’m not sure what the consistency is meant to be. Tasty, anyhow!

RCI Rajasthan Curds/Yoghurt Kala Chana Black Chana Vegetarian Gravy Memories Nostalgia

When Reality Finally Bit!!!

It was, as parties are sometimes wont to be, quite civilised. Most of us were meeting for the first time, so there was a lot of good behaviour, much warmth and fuzzy, lots of compliments, no wild games, absolutely no gossip or nasty comments about the rest of you food bloggers. Zilch. (What a disappointment!) Even if you e-mail me or accost me on chat for the inside story, I won’t have any unless I manufacture some. We were a most unhealthily self-absorbed, egoistic, narrow-focus group who only discussed our food, our figures, our families, our work, our food, our figures …

Some of us were so polite or so timid we didn’t even want to guess who the others were. A couple of us could be heard shouting “No way! Don’t give up so fast! You have to guess!” and had to beat off others saying, “Hey, hold on, don’t tell her who you are!” before they could give themselves away.

And the ones who finally guessed didn’t have it easy, either. “Now, tell me, what made you think she was Lavi and I was Renuka? C’mon, tell me!” demanded some others.

As the bloggers trickled in and started giggling (like yours truly who had no clue Who’s Who as she got in the door), the guessing games began. “But you’re not the dead giveaway you said you were!” said one to another, while another revealed her name only to be chided for talking too soon. “I can’t, I can’t, please tell me who you are, I’m here only for five more minutes,” begged Bharathy, who was on a flying visit, only to be told, “Well, take three more minutes to guess, and we’ll put you out of your misery in the next two.” Some bloggers were guessed by the food they brought.

There was a profusion of food, and Lakshmi, our gracious host, got stuck with most of it. And this ungracious guest told her she wouldn’t mind throwing her home open for the next meet, as long as the leftovers weren’t given to her. Talk about seizing the moment! Ugh!

There was ethnic (Jayashree’s chakkavaratty or Chakravarthi, as Valli blithely kept calling it), artistic (a sprig of curry leaf oh so beautifully centred in Arundathi’s dish of mango curry), exotic (a Greek bread called Ladenia made by Rachel, our Darling Baker), sinful (Nirmala’s Florentines, great big round things of chocolates and nuts), time-honoured (Kamalika’s chakkara pongal) and rapidly disappearing (Kamini’s potato tikkis) and much more for which I don’t have the adjectives right now. And of course I have to be contrary and focus on the non-food part – my illustrious friends have discussed and published all that, many thanks to them.

A couple of us even went the extra mile and brought party favours of coconut burfi and banana bread, bless their loving, giving souls! And all of us have unanimously, wholeheartedly agreed that we should meet again in another three months, every three months, in fact. And no Dad, we won't have to close down our blogs - we handled it real carefully!

In the style of the tease that I have become in the last few weeks, here are a few photos from the potluck. We had fun, didn’t we? Eat your hearts out, you others! Or have one of your own soon and tell us all about it!

Naan-sense - making the naan. No, you don't have to guess whose hands those are!

Breaking bread, the first few moves

Are you being served? Rossogulla-time!

Backsides are allowed, they said, when I asked permission!

Sweet farewell! Arundathi's banana bread was one of the party favours. Valli's coconut burfi was the other.

Food Bloggers Meet Humour Report

Rediscovering An Old Faithful

Friends who know me well will attest to my reluctance to try the same dish twice. I’m known to order the newest or most peculiar-sounding dish on the menu (often to be told it’s not available) and appreciate it heartily. It’s not unless I go home or to a relative’s house or read the blogs that I realize I only rarely make traditional favourites at home.

That’s because I’m always looking for something new to make my meals more interesting, and often, the “Oh- it’s-just-that-routine-old-thing” attitude kicks in when I spy these vegetables on the shelves. But sometimes, something propels me to make it, and going back to old faithfuls to me is as good a new venture as eating strange and fascinating stuff, as it’s been ages since I’ve eaten any of these.

Yesterday, at an aunt’s house, I had some really spicy scrambled eggs, a dinner staple when I was still living at home. That really prompted me to get on with this post – I’d made this a week ago but haven’t made the time to post it due to other new-age distractions, DVDs being one of them.

Where I live, I don’t get very good specimens of this vegetable, but I try and make do. This dish, dosakaya koora (melon cucumber curry), is light and uncomplicated; I also think it’s a perfect accompaniment to a bowl of fresh curds/yoghurt if you want a low-calorie one-pot meal.

Dosakaya/melon cucumber – 2, peeled, de-seeded, diced/cubed (taste and make sure they aren’t bitter)
Onion – 1, chopped
Green tomato/red tomato – 2, chopped
Oil – 1 tsp
Mustard seed – ½ tsp
Cumin seed – ½ tsp
Curry leaves – a few
Red chilli powder – ½ - 1 tsp
Turmeric – ½ tsp
Salt, to taste
Water

In a pan, heat the oil and temper with the mustard, cumin and curry leaves.

Add the onion, fry it till translucent.

Now add the cucumber, fry for about 30 seconds. Add the turmeric and fry some more.

Now add the salt and chilli powder, about ¼ cup of water and simmer covered.

It cooks very easily so make sure it’s not all squishy before you add the tomatoes.

Once you’ve added the tomato, cover it again and let it simmer. You can add a little more water to hasten the cooking process.

It’s generally eaten with rice but also as I described above.

Bon appetit!

Another dosakaya recipe from my blog here

This is my entry for this week's WHB started by Kalyn, and hosted by Anh.


Dosakaya Vegetarian Old Favourite Old faithful Melon cucumber

Bloggers' Meet: Reality Bites?

Bloggers' meet? Nope, just us gals relaxing with some lime juice after a day out in the sun on our recent mid-week break!

My Dad and I just had this funny conversation over the phone:

Dad: What’s up?

Me: A group of us food bloggers are meeting up soon. (Okay sports, no clues, no comments on the participants, place, or anything … indulge me, please!)

Dad: (Begins to laugh) Oh, is it just a meeting or is there going to be any cooking there?

Me: Oh, apparently we’re all supposed to make and carry some stuff there, not sure whether it’s meant to be presents for the others or to be consumed there.

Dad: (and me, now both laughing) Watch out! Blogging is fun only as long as you write about food without having to actually cook.

Me: (dissolved in helpless laughter) True. I can’t make any snacks so I’ve asked if I can buy stuff and dole it out … I also have to go for some wedding-related ceremony that morning.

Dad: So take some stuff from the meal there and distribute it among your friends. OR, take something somewhat moist or liquid, so you can pass it off as fresh, just cooked?

(More guffawing from both sides.)

Dad: Beware, you may have to close down your blogs if you actually meet and sample each others’ wares – these things have to be handled carefully!

Phone drops from my hand as I double over with laughter ...

Bloggers' meet Real life Humour Reality bites

A Sheep Called Kabab

At the resort we stayed, in the middle of almost nowhere, there was a pet ram called Kabab. You can see it tethered to the tree on the left. This was the view from our room - there was a stone bench outside in the verandah where we sat and tried to commune with nature, often rudely interrupted by Kabab, which at other times would refuse to respond to our calls. I wonder, did it have a sense of the macabre, and protest its naming?

Our holiday home was close to the Shivanasamudra waterfalls. This is the Gagana Chukki, which had more water than its partner, the Bhara Chukki, a little distance away. These falls collect in a pool at the bottom, which one gets to by descending some rough-hewn steps for 15 or 20 minutes. Then, you can go for a ride in coracles, or swim at your own risk despite the warnings.

Camping, India-style. At the Bhara Chukki waterfall, we noticed this lorry - it was filled with people young and old, in various stages of activity - awake, sleeping, chatting, cooking ... Inside, it was even fitted with a platform to utilise the space - some sat on the platform and some underneath.

The Keshava temple at Somnathpur, 55 km away from our homestay. We had the choice of taking an autorickshaw or a van to the place. Good sense prevailed, and we chose the van. We saved our backs and bones - and had a wonderful time combing the walls and identifying the various gods, goddesses, the flora and the fauna which resided on them in sculpture.

Our hosts had one of their employees take us on a morning stroll around the resort - this is one wild flower that I haven't noticed earlier! In fact, I'd noticed it the previous day, but hadn't had my camera on me then. We forded small streams and pools, saw banana and papaya plantations, tried to get rid of the little stones that got into our shoes and were glad to come back to breakfast and a bath.

Three girls in a boat. On the Cauvery at sandy Talakkad, in a coracle. There are five temples big and small scattered over a mile or so amidst eucalyptus and cashew groves, and the scent changes as you move from a profusion of one to another.

Ending the hot, summer holiday on a cool, cool note - that's warm Jamaican Rum Cake with a scoop of ice-cream.

Cold chocolate with a scoop of cold chocolate ice-cream - can it get any better? We had dessert at every single meal!

Shopping at last! From the South to the West, on a work-related trip. We had just an hour to shop after two days of meetings before we finally went to our hotel and freshened up for an authentic Gujarati meal - we were taken to Law Garden Market in Ahmedabad and came away with some gorgeous crafts; in my case, cushion covers with Kutchi embroidery. We didn't get to see much of this city, nor of Rajkot, the other city we visited, but still, I can now say I've been to Gujarat! And thus a little more well-travelled!

Travel Karnataka Somnathpur Keshava Temple Shivanasamudra Gagana Chukki Camping, India-style Ahmedabad Law Garden Market Crafts Kutchi Embroidery Talakkad Coracle

Of Coconut Milk and Bengal

As schoolchildren in a small town, we only had a few schoolmates from other ethnicities. So when someone came in on a transfer to this district headquarters from a strange town or bigger city, and if they spoke no other language but English to us, their exotica didn’t fade for quite some time. We also had the other kind – children who were originally from our State but who had rarely lived there, and who would fondly refer to their past place of residence as their true home, often discounting or denying the influence of Telugu and Andhra Pradesh in their lives, amusing/irritating/angering us as we saw fit.

One such of my classmates was a Telugu girl who had some family connection to Bengal, I think her grandparents had worked there; I remember that much about her though I don’t remember where she herself came in from. She was not like the others, spoke Telugu quite well, but constantly referred to Bengal, aloo dum and curds mixed with sugar. To put it mildly, that last thing took us some getting used to, but it was also my first exposure to Bengali cooking, if only in hearsay.

It was not till about seven or eight years ago that I found my first Bengali cookbook – not a very slick production, the author didn’t even sound Bengali (though there’s no rule that ethnicity determines authenticity), but the recipes worked very well. Though I have added another book or two on the cuisine to my collection since then, I always turn to this book when I look for Bengali recipes because the tastes of whatever I made from this were the same that I experienced in an ethnic Bengali feast I was lucky enough to sample a few years later (ratification, I mean).

However, I have to admit that this recipe sounded most un-Bengali to me, though I do know that coconut milk is used now and then. Only, I was familiar with chingri malai curry, not with egg malai curry – well, either I’ve not been reading the Bengali blogs too attentively or I haven’t been cooking or eating enough Bengali food, but this curry seemed as South Indian as it could get.

IF you don’t count the deep-frying of potatoes and egg yolks that is prescribed.

However, in the interests of our arteries, we can safely avoid this portion and go ahead with the discovery of Bengal.

This, of course, goes to RCI-Bengal, hosted by Sandeepa.

Egg Malai Curry

Eggs – 5, yellows only
Tomatoes – 3, big; blanched and sliced
Onion – 1, big
Garlic – 2 cloves
Ginger – ½ inch
Sugar – ¼ tsp
Potatoes – 2, medium-sized, boiled, peeled and quartered
Coconut Milk: 1 cup
Ground cumin – 1 tsp
Bay leaves – 2
Turmeric powder – ½ tsp
Garam masala – ½ tsp
Salt – to taste
Chilli powder – to taste
Coriander leaves, chopped – to garnish
Oil, to deep fry
Ghee, to sauté – 3 tbsp (I used oil, and only 1 tbsp)

Grind onion, ginger and garlic to a paste.

If you want to be true to the recipe, deep fry the egg yolks and potatoes on both sides. If not, you can use the boiled potatoes and fried eggs (a bulls eye, fried both sides, no runny yolk).

Heat the oil, add the bay leaves and onion-ginger-garlic paste.

When that seems well-fried (changes colour, loses smell is my cue), add the blanched tomatoes, salt, sugar and all the spices. Fry till dry.

(Well, dry isn’t exactly what I noticed, but it does become thick and concentrated.)

Turn down the heat, add the potatoes, then the coconut milk. Let simmer.

Once it begins simmering, add the yolks.

Simmer for five more minutes. Garnish with coriander leaves.


You can use the egg whites to make an omelette or scrambled eggs. Here’s an idea.

I'm away for a week or more, so until then, Ugadi greetings!

Regional Cuisines of India Bengal Bengali Potatoes Eggs Coconut Milk RCI Bengal Tomato Telugu