What I mean in the Book ... in Pictures! (Part II)

When I last left you, I stopped at the point where you would now have the baseline for a basic curry type dish. To make it finalised, however, there are a couple of extra steps to go through. Don't worry! We'll do this together, and I'll have lots of pictures to get you through this. It's not difficult at all.

Once the onions are softened, and look a little dark brown around the edges, you'll notice that there are spices forming little crusty brown bits along the bottom of the pot. These little bits are pivotal in getting the final dish its depth of flavour and colour. You need the bits. The bits are good. Feel free to omit the alcohol if you don't imbibe. It's fine! I didn't add any at all, and it was delicious.
This is the point at which you want to add a liquid agent to perform the ever-important deglazing step. I've described deglazing in depth in the cookbook, so this should be a review for those of you who've read it. What you're looking to do at this point is to add something with liquid sufficient to release the crusty brown bits, and to dominate the dish at this point. Up until now, there has been more oil than water in the pot, and the ingredients have been cooking at very high temperatures. This is what gets them all roasty toasty brown, and smelling so delicious.
That's where our tomatoes come in. When you add that large, soft, squishy, and wet tomato, you instantly drop down the temperature of the stuff in the pot. Because water is so good at maintaining its temperature, the oil will not have the chance to get hot enough to allow spices (or the oil!) to burn. Add the tomatoes to the softened onions, and mix it in well. If you'd like to add a few pinches of salt, some dried chili flakes, and some wine or vodka, it'll amp up the flavour to new degrees of tasty. After the tomatoes are stirred through very well, turn down your heat to medium, and let them bubble away. This is where you'll thank yourself for having a pot with deep sides—the juices will not splatter and make a mess of your clean counter tops and stoves. You want the tomatoes to cook down a fair bit. They need to get broken up and form a sort of thick saucy thing. This is what I mean when I say to cook down the tomatoes until they're broken down in the cookbook. You can cook them less if you'd like for there to be pieces of tomato in the final dish, but I prefer to have them cooked down this way, so that they melt away into the background, and lend their beautiful colours quietly to your final dish.
Once the tomatoes have cooked down, you're in the home stretch. This is the base for a soup, stew, or daal. You've been doing all this work to form a strong, clean flavour profile in the final dish. Even if you make no adjustments at all in the spicing of the stuff, you'll still turn out stellar dishes every single time. If you are adding beans at this point, however, I certainly hope that you also throw in a bit of cumin and coriander powder, along with some extra black pepper and chili powder, to launch the taste into the heavens. If you're just doing a simple soup or stew, however, feel free to stick with the base, and work from there.
I added the potatoes and chayote at this point (reserving the green beans), because I wanted them to have long enough to cook. I turned the heat back up to high (you'll want to do this if you're making beans, otherwise they'll never come up to the boil!), and covered the lid for about ten minutes or so. Every five minutes, from now until the potatoes are cooked through, I give the vegetables a quick stir to redistribute them around. It's not strictly necessary, but I like to do it, because I get nervous that I'll end up burning something if I don't!
While that was going on, I diluted two or three tablespoons of cocoanut milk (the extra rich kind) in about three litres of water. When I say extra rich, I'm really not joking around. This stuff was packed with fat, and all of it was saturated fat! It was meant for recipes that require a thicker cocoanut milk. In the cookbook, when I call for cocoanut milk, feel free to omit it, or scale back on it heavily and dilute it out with water, so that you're not swimming in a cholesterol-inducing jungle. The flavours are wonderful without the extra fat. I just personally really like extra fat, so feel free to do with this information what you will.
Once the potatoes and chayote were cooked down, I poured in my cocoanut milk and water mixture into the pot. I let everything come up to a full, rolling boil, and then dropped the heat down to a simmer. If I wanted this to be a stew (which I wanted), I would let it simmer long enough that the excess water evaporates off, and makes it thicker (which I did). If, however, I watned to keep the soup as is, and have the amount of liquid, I could have left it at this point. The choice is completely up to you, and I hope you'll experiment.

I hope you've enjoyed this pictorial journey with me. Let me know what you think, and I might continue these in the future!

Dragged down

Yesterday was just one of those days. By the time I got to the bus, there was a steady drizzle of rain blanketing everything in its wetness. I got on the bus, which was relatively empty (looks like others had the sense to seek cover already!) and made my way home. I got out of the bus to relatively quiet sunshine and a gentle breeze. Since it wasn't that bad out, I made the mistaken assumption that it would be smooth sailing all the way home.

No such luck.

About half way into my walk, the skies opened up, and soaked everything to its core. Fortunately, I'd managed to stash all my books and electronics into a small plastic bag that I always keep in my bag for such wet emergencies. I wasn't worried about anything valuable getting wet, so I grumpily stomped my way home and let myself get drenched, rather than worry about rushing for cover, and delaying my date with my stove.

With the best of intentions, I'd put on a pot of beans to cook in the crock pot that morning before I left for work. Whenever I see the fridge start to look a bit threadbare, I make sure to get something going before I leave, so that by the time I get home, dinner is only 20 minutes (at the most) away. By the time I walked into the door, I was not only drenched, but also fairly miserable. For all it mattered, the beans could go hang themselves. Dripping all the way to my room will tend to put me in a sour mood.

Before changing into dry clothes, however, I set a pot of water to boil on the stove, and dumped in the rest of whatever potatoes I had. (I wanted something hot and comforting, and nothing calms and comforts like a hot boiled potato with some chopped broccoli and lemon juice.) I also hacked off the stalks from a couple of heads of broccoli, and pitched them in with the potatoes. I pointedly ignored the beans.

After about 45 minutes or so, I was dry and comfortable, and the potatoes and broccoli stalks were done to a turn. I ate a couple immediately, and instantly, my stomach calmed down, and my mood lifted. Now those beans would get the attention they wanted!

I drained out the potatoes and gave the pot a quick rinse. I set it back on the stove, and popped my spices as I do for a daal. In went the cooked beans, along with their cooking water. After giving the crock pot a rinse (and adding the water that I used to rinse out the crock pot to the pot of beans), I set the crock pot to dry. The broccoli was easy enough to break up into florets, directly into the pot of beans. I had some spinach that had seen better days (but was still good), and threw that in as well. There was also a knob of ginger laying around in the fridge, so I grated that up as well, and threw it in. (For next time, I'll chop up the spinach. It gets stringy, and I'm not a huge fan of that texture.) I dropped down the heat to a low simmer, and put on the lid.

By now, I had enough motivation to also throw on a pot of rice in the rice cooker.

As the aromas of the cooking food filled the house, I relaxed in front of the window with a cup of jasmine tea, and a book. By now, the rain pattering on the roof took on a calming sound. It was like listening to a thousand people snapping their fingers. Every now and again, the wind would pick up, and the trees would add their counterpoint to the rain. It was nice.

About 20 minutes later, when the rice was done, the beans were done as well. I turned off the heat, and chopped up two of the cooked potatoes, and slid them into the pot. It was still another hour till Steve came home, so I had time to relax some more, and the potatoes would have time to absorb the flavour of the beans without releasing their starch and thickening up the soup any more than it already was. (Note for next time: even if it is thicker, it might be better to let the potatoes simmer along. They got flavourful, but not as much as I would have liked. Fortunately, there wasn't that much of it, and the texture was fantastic.)

When Steve did get home, he said, "There's nothing like coming home to that smell!" It was obvious that he'd had as rough a time as I did in that hideous rain storm. A couple of bowls of piping hot soup over fresh steamy rice was just what it took to get him in good spirits again.

If you ever come home, and really feel unmotivated to cook, just give yourself a little time. Often, it just takes a quick meal that comforts you to get you ready to cook. Since you're the one doing the cooking, you're allowed to comfort yourself first, and handle the needs of others afterwards. Once you do get around to cooking, however, all those people who share your meal with you will share in your good feelings, and your own good feelings will increase exponentially.

Peanut Butter to the Rescue!

I took a container of rice and mung bean sprouts (from the pot that I'd made the other day) to work with me for lunch today. It tasted fine when it was fresh off the stove, but for whatever reason, it got sort of watered down when I nuked it for lunch. Allow me to explain.

Whenever I'm eating a daal and rice, I do the rice like my mother used to do when I was a young child. Because children really like soft food (and because I was child number three for my mother, and she knew this well), she would mash up the rice really well, then pour on the daal, then mix up the lot of it together really well. It's almost like having the texture of rice that you would with a Venn Pongal (recipe is in the book). It's comforting to the tummy, and it feels creamy when you eat it. The rice I'd thrown into my box was cold, so I couldn't very well mash it up. Instead, I figured that if I heated it up long enough in the microwave, it would come close to that texture that I so loved.

Not so.

So here I am, sitting with something that's lacking in mouthfeel. This is not a good thing at all, because around lunch time, I sort of transport to myself when I was four years old: very picky, and not eager to sit for a meal. I'd rather chat with my friends, or watch the birds cavort around. Who wants to sit around for a boring ol' meal, when there's so much to distract yourself with!? However, unlike when I was five, I know now that if I don't eat enough on time, I get cranky.

I frantically searched my office for something that would give the meal a bit more heft. When I used to eat that garbage, I would throw in some butter on top, and it would get that texture going just fine. Fortunately for the sake of the cows, those days are long past. Come on, Dino, there has to be something here!

Bingo.

My eyes lit on a jar of peanut butter that I always keep in my desk for emergencies. If I'm screwed, and forgot to pack a lunch, I can always snag a bag of pretzels, or some fruit, or some bread, and have a bit of a meal that's reasonably satisfying, as long as I dunk it in peanut butter. So, in went a couple of tablespoons of the creamy stuff. I added a bit more salt and pepper (also things I have access to at all times), and stirred it around some more.

Divine.

What was a relatively watery mass became transformed into this delightfully flavoured bowl of creamy dreamy wonder. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner! I'm tempted to use this trick for when any soup or stew is looking too thin, however, it does add a considerable amount of fat, so I might want to be a bit careful with the stuff. That being said, fat or no fat, it tastes wonderful, and I'm glad I kept my little jar in reserve.

It may have taken five days, but it's worth it!

I was making this pot of mung bean sprouts. It took them about three days to sprout properly, and another day (in the crock pot) to cook down to where I thought they were done enough. I wanted them to cook over gentle heat, because I wasn't looking for a crispy texture. I wanted soft and soothing.

As is standard for most daals, I did the popping of spices, and curry leaves, and adding the cooked beans, and cooking them up. Somehow, because I'd given it enough time to develop, the mung beans got this gentle, subtle, smoky flavour underneath the flashy spices. It was like eating the colour of an oak grandfather clock. Very dark, very comforting, and somewhat ponderous. I liked how it smelled, but the texture was a little runny for my liking.

Granted, if I'd left it overnight in the fridge, it would certainly thicken up and become more rich and hearty in the morning, but Steve was headed home, and would be in around 7:00. So, instead of panicking, I grabbed a few potatoes, and threw them into the microwave. I let them cook up all the way, and took them out of the microwave. I gave them a rough chop with a knife (holding the potatoes with a pair of tongs, so that I don't burn my hands), and threw them into the pot. See, I wanted there to be a sauce around the beans.

I let the whole mess boil together for about fifteen minutes or so. Just as expected, the potatoes leaked out their starches into the water, and made a rich sort of gravy that surrounded the beans. Of course, there was a pot of rice cooking, waiting for the beans to finish. By the time Steve got back in, the whole house smelled of gently simmered spices, and fresh rice. Of course, there's still plenty for leftovers today!

Tonight, when I get home, I'm going to reheat the mess on the stove, along with some of last week's split yellow peas daal that I'd made, so that it makes an even more rich stew. I might even chunk up a few onions and tomatoes, and make it a completely different stew. It'll be fun.

Kitchen Triage

I made a batch of potatoes, carrots, and beans. I used red potatoes, cumin, black mustard seeds, black beans, and garbanzo beans. Ostensibly, it should have tasted wonderful. Then I took a bite of the final dish.

...

That was the worst idea ever. Let me amend that. I don't know whether it was a worse idea to cook the dish, or for me to take a taste of it. It was horrifically bland, the texture was akin to mealy tomatoes. It was so bad that I needed a couple of hours to just get over the shame of making such a catastrophe. What's worse is that Steve took a taste as well, and was far too polite to call it the abomination that it truly was.

I knew that I would have to redeem myself.

Enter Kitchen Triage. Whenever you have a wet dish, such as a soup, stew, or curry, there are certain secret weapons at your ready disposal whenever you know that it should be better, but it really isn't. It is time for me to reveal these secrets to you. Garlic, onions, carrots, tomatoes, salt, curry powder, and oil are essential ingredients that you should have access to at all times, to save yourself from disaster. Regardless of what type of dish you're working with in this vein, you have this secret arsenal ready to save the food, and your palate.

Here's how it works. Mince up your garlic and onions (1 medium onion per pound of food, and 1 clove of garlic per pound) as finely as you can get them. Start with a healthy dose of oil. For every pound of food that you're trying to resurrect, start with 2 tablespoons of neutral flavoured oil, such as corn oil, Canola oil, or peanut oil. In a large stock pot, begin to heat up your oil over high heat. Get it nice and screaming hot. You know that it's hot when you see it shift from a thick viscous oil to a decidedly more liquid one. Once it gets hot enough, add the onions and garlic. Add a healthy dose of salt and curry powder. Roughly a teaspoon or so should do the trick. You want the taste of the spices to permeate the dish, but not overpower whatever other flavours you're trying to build. Stir the onions and garlic around in the pot to combine them with the spices and oil. Once the mixture in the pot turns yellow, turn down your heat to medium low.

While the onions and garlic are cooking in the pot, start slicing up your carrots in any manner that suits you. I personally just grate it up quickly on a box grater. Usually, one or two medium sized carrots for every onion that you add is a good amount. As soon as your carrots are processed, add it to the pot with the onions and garlic. Don't worry about stirring anything. Cover the lid of the pot, and let the carrots gently cook in the pot for about ten to fifteen minutes. Basically, you want the carrots to get soft. Stir the ingredients around every five minutes.

Open up some cans (about 1 pound should do it) of diced tomatoes. By now, there should be little bits of brown spicy stuff sticking to the bottom of your pot. You're going to think that you've messed up, because stuff is clumping and sticking, and being annoying. Guess what? This is a Very Good Thing. The flavours that you have just developed cannot be matched by any other cooking method. Be proud of yourself.

Add your can of tomatoes, juice and all, into the pot as soon as your carrots are soft. Increase the temperature of the stove to as high as it will go. Keep stirring around the tomatoes until they get sort of broken down a bit. You'll know it's just about right when the stuff in the pot starts to resemble a tomato sauce. Once you reach that stage, you're at the home stretch. Pitch in whatever it is that tasted dead to you. Pour in just enough water that you can stir everything around in the pot, and release all the brown bits from the bottom of the pot. Add another generous dosage of salt. Let the water come up to a full rolling boil. Drop down the heat to medium low, and cover the lid of the pot. Let it simmer for about fifteen minutes.

Give your food a taste test. If there isn't quite enough salt or heat for your liking, go ahead and adjust it at this point. Let the water come up to a full rolling boil if you do add more salt or pepper. If it's still feeling a bit tired, feel free to pitch in a few more cloves of minced garlic. If nothing else, your breath will be too strong for anyone to care about the taste!