Читать книгу Miss Masala - Mallika Basu - Страница 29
ОглавлениеFamous sautéed potato and cauliflower
Aloo Gobi was immortalised in Gurinder Chadha’s Bend It Like Beckham. My mother, unlike her counterpart in the film, would have me turning professional footballer any day over queen of authentic Aloo Gobi. Thankfully, I don’t play football. Which means I am free to hold forth in the back of black cabs, extolling the virtues of this celebrated north Indian dish.
A classic bhuna or stirred dish, Aloo Gobi is cooked in its own juices and best made with the freshest vegetables. Serve it tucked into warm toasted pitta bread.
Feeds 4 Vegetarian
400g (14oz) cauliflower
4 large new potatoes
1 small onion
1cm (1/2in) root ginger
1 garlic clove
2 tbsp oil
1 tsp coriander powder
1 tsp cumin powder
1/4 tsp turmeric powder
1/2 tsp chilli powder
1 tsp garam masala
1 large handful of fresh coriander, roughly chopped
salt
1. First cut the cauliflower into large bite-sized florets. This will prevent them from falling apart once they start cooking. Peel and quarter the potatoes and peel and finely chop the onion, ginger and garlic.
2. Warm the oil in a large frying pan set over a high heat. When it starts to sizzle, add the onions, garlic and ginger and fry for about 5 minutes until they soften and turn translucent. Next, throw in the potatoes and all the spices, apart from the garam masala.
3. Add a tablespoon of water, cover the pan with a lid and partly cook the potatoes for 5–10 minutes. When you can insert a fork into them, but with some difficulty, it’s time to add the cauliflower florets. It’s crucial not to add the cauliflower too early, however – you don’t want it to overcook!
4. Once you’ve added the cauliflower, stir well to incorporate with the other ingredients, cover the pan once again and cook for 3–4 minutes until the florets are soft but still whole.
5. Sprinkle the garam masala all over, add salt to taste and finish with a handful of chopped coriander.
Indian cheese in a spiced spinach purée
By far the most popular recipe on my blog, and it’s no surprise why: soft chunks of paneer and spiced spinach purée are a match made in heaven and the last thing I will eat if I ever find myself on the way to hell.
Fresh spinach works just fine in this recipe. But why bother, when freshly frozen spinach is more nutritious and is almost always sitting in a big bag in the freezer. Make loads in one go – you’ll crave this for at least two days afterwards.
Feeds 4 Vegetarian
225g (8oz) paneer
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
1/2 tsp chilli powder
1 medium onion
4 garlic cloves
2.5cm (1in) root ginger
2 tbsp oil
1 large fresh green finger chilli
1 tsp cumin powder
500g (1lb 2oz) frozen spinach
1/2 tsp garam masala
salt
1. Chop the block of paneer into even, bite-sized pieces. In a large bowl, mix the paneer pieces with the turmeric and chilli and a teaspoon of salt, then set aside.
2. Now, peel and roughly chop the onion, then peel and purée the ginger and garlic with a hand blender. Pour the oil into a large non-stick frying pan and set over a high heat. When the oil is hot, add the paneer and fry on one side until golden brown and then flip the pieces over and repeat on the opposite side. Remove the paneer with a slotted spoon and place back in the bowl.
3. In the same frying pan and using the oil left in the pan, fry the onions, ginger and garlic. While these are cooking, roughly chop the chilli. When the onions start going translucent, after about 5 minutes, mix in the cumin and the chilli. Fry for a further 5 minutes until the mixture turns a deep golden brown.
4. Now mix in the frozen spinach and let it cook for 5 minutes. When it is thoroughly defrosted in the pan and evenly mixed with the masala, add half a mug of hot water and go in with a hand blender to liquidise the whole lot into a smooth, creamy mixture. Alternatively, you could whiz the spinach in a food processor for the same result.
5. When the spinach mixture is smooth, pour it back into the pan, then add the fried paneer pieces and the garam masala. Lower the heat and simmer for 10 minutes until all the liquid has evaporated and the spinach has absorbed the spices evenly (taste a little just to check).
6. At this point, add salt to taste. You’ll need to add a fair bit to offset the blandness of the spinach. But this dish is worth it. Eat it piping hot as a side dish or with some ready-made naans for a complete meal.
I ARRIVED HOME FROM WORK FEELING INSPIRED. Ready to roll my sleeves up and set the pots on the fire. But it’s never quite that simple. I first had to change into a retro nightdress (for which, read ‘old, torn’), pour myself a vodka lemonade and fire up the laptop. The urgent pleas of desperate new converts to Indian cooking around the world required an immediate response on my Quick Indian Cooking blog:
Help, I have no raisins! Done.
Do you have a single sister? Ignore.
Would you like to enlarge your penis? Bin.
Before I knew it, it was time for dinner. The options were limited. Since my university days, I’ve avoided greasy takeaways like a double helping of lard. So we could eat one of the three dishes my man had perfected. Or something low in fat and high in wonderful things I hastily offered to put together instead.
But this just wasn’t good enough for some people. My half-British, half-Peruvian man is apparently a qualified authority on everything curry-related. Now he was hungry and smarting from rejection. Between quick cigarette drags out on the balcony, he slunk around in my shadow, watching my every move. Whacking the flame up when I wasn’t looking. Or chucking an extra green chilli into the bubbling pot.
I exploded momentarily. Then rolled my eyes and poured myself another stiff drink. Food would be ready soon. Gok Wan was about to take on the new season’s fashion trends. Kitchen squabbles will pass, I reminded myself. All I needed now was a plate of food and a remote control.
The man sensed a power struggle. He piled his plate high with whatever was in the pot and rushed to the couch, clutching the remote for dear life. Then I heard a wail of protest from the living room: ‘There’s no ghee in this!’ Turned out this curry-loving, Cobra Beer-drinking Latino is also a superlative judge of the adequate level of fat in dal.
Fat and health are serious issues in my home. Most Indians I know speak of cholesterol, high blood pressure and adult acne with the reverence ordinarily reserved for national security and socio-economic issues. My family home in India was particularly full of health freaks. Mother kept cooking oil under lock and key. Our cook, Dada, schemed to sneak vegetables into every dish. Dad treated deep-fried foods like post-war rations. And even the dog rejected red meat.
I value my size eight bod too much to feel otherwise. Besides, I also work in public relations. The office is full of gorgeous blondes on size-zero diets. Bread and bananas are conspicuously absent. The beauties to my right pay daily tribute to the canned tuna and bagged salad industries. With my two-course curry lunches and chocolate biscuit habits, a few teaspoons of oil is the only guilty pleasure I can afford at home.
I use measured amounts of oil in everyday Indian cooking. Deep-frying is strictly banned in my home. Where it offers a suitable alternative to shallow-frying, I bake or grill dishes. But call me weak; I just can’t resist a dash of sublime buttery ghee in a pot of thick, piping-hot dal.
Now, I was being accused of playing miser with that promised teaspoon of liquid gold. I briefly contemplated knocking the man out with the can of ghee. Luckily for him, it was too much effort for me. I sighed and curled up on the couch with my own mound of well-deserved dinner. Ready to watch Gok Wan’s pearls of fashion wisdom on TV. Ready for the rest.
