Project Spinach Chicken

The day marked its beginning at 11.20 am when I uttered ‘wow’ in pure delight after tasting my spinach chicken. It was a perfect blend of spices and no red chillies in it, as I am trying to avoid the powder form. Four years in South Korea has made my stomach lining prone to red chilli attacks in every other form. Since I have had enough, I decided to shift to green chillies only and keep it minimal. The best part is contrary to my expectation it worked just fine. 

My little red pressure cooker is working overtime with all the cooking. The spinach chicken was cooked entirely and wholly in this wonderful cooker. This time I chose to introduce three new changes in the preparation. Instead of dicing or chopping onions, tomatoes and spinach, I decided to put each one separately in the mixer and run it till it became a paste. Second, I marinated the boneless chicken overnight with Smith and Jones ginger and garlic paste and third, I did not use red chilli powder at all, only three green chillies.

For each vegetable gives a separate flavour and a distinct aroma, it is important to separate them while preparing the gravy. For example, I used four mid-sized onions for one kilo boneless chicken. After washing them and cutting them I made the paste. In the mixer I also added cloves of garlic that I had peeled yesterday, ginger root and three green chillies. All these ingredients have a strong flavour and take time to cook, so all this goes in first. For stir frying I used refined vegetable oil. It took a good half an hour to cook. How to know that it has been cooked? Simple, the paste starts separating from oil. Next, after making a paste of five tomatoes I added it along with premixed spices in water to the prepared onion paste in oil. I added salt, (not too much, remember you also put it when you marinated the chicken), coriander powder, MDH kitchen king, and garam masala. Then I let it heat and heat.

Once the gravy was ready, I added the already marinated chicken. The gravy gave a rich aroma of spices along with ginger and garlic. It has to give a balanced aroma, not too tangy not too harsh. Then in the end, the show stealer arrived when the entire gravy turned into a magnificent green mixed with deep orange and swept into soft, moist pieces of chicken. I added the spinach paste at last.

The entire spinach chicken takes one-pressure-cooker-whistle long to cook. I like to leave it in the cooker, switch off the gas after the first whistle and let it rest. Let it cool off and rest while all the ingredients mix well and the chicken gets softer with the left over heat. Eating is an activity that involves all our senses- sight, sound, touch, taste and smell. The colours of spices blending with colours of vegetables is a wonderful sight, sound of spices being added to hot oil adds to the joy of cooking. While we eat, we taste food and smell its aroma. The aroma begins to tingle with our senses since the first jeera chonk is put in hot oil. 

In India, we eat with our hands, this unique act makes us privileged to actually touch the texture of what we are eating. As Oprahji observed in her recent visit to mysterious land of India, where people dwell and prosper in ‘Slumdog Millionaire –esqe’ life we still eat with our hands, where she had food from katori and thali- the Indian way. In Circuit’s words ‘poor Indians, hungry Indians’, and eating with hands Indians. 

Eating with hands evoke certain emotions that kindle senses and makes you connect to the food. It is like an innately warm and gentle caress. It is like building a sensual connection with food that is to be devoured with passion and care mingled together, followed by warmth and satisfaction of consuming it. Food is not just about carb, protein and fibre, it is about enjoying the aroma, touching the texture and feeling the food melt in your mouth. Your hands dip in while your fingers reach for the food. Eating has to be an experience not just an act. 

Spinach Chicken

It is time for me to experience the spinach chicken. Bon Appetite!!

Foodie Day

Did you know that soaking garlic in water makes it easier to peel off later? I had a discovery time today when I found that out, along with lesser acknowledged fact of what a great cook I can be. 

Today can be safely termed as Kitchen Day for me. The morning started with time perfected recipe of tomato cheese sandwich made from multi-grain bread and fresh tomatoes. The best way in monsoon for a crisp toast is to heat pan and toast the bread lightly before spreading the creamy cheese on it, for me I prefer Amul cheese spread original. It leaves me with choice of flavour of the day and variety of taste I can make. Today I chose the simple and salty, tangy chaat masala flavour. Many a times I find that tomatoes keep slipping out from between the bread slices. This time I found a solution to that. If you spread cheese on both sides of bread followed by a dash of salt and chaat masala it sticks together neatly. Along with that the perfect companion was my mug full of black coffee. It was a start to a perfect day. The wind flowing in from French windows and the wind chime singing along.

It poured today morning. When it rained in Delhi after long dry spell it used to smell of mud. From where I live, when it rains it smells of faeces, defecations, excretions and sewage from all around. Danny Boyle would have his set ready for Slumdog Malad, right over here. The street where I live is literally filled with slums and dogs. Each of these dogs has their area divided and each has its own loyalty to the slum it dwells in. They have a special affinity to the garbage and trash cans so liberally distributed all over the road. The rains bring along with the slush, litters of open garbage on road making travel even more challenging.

Aloo Matar

As luck would have it I myself had to go out today morning to get things from local market. The tomato sandwich setting mood for the day, I craved for more foodie time. I picked up the alteration clothing from local tailor, who by the way did a lousy job, making it even more important to divert myself into foodie time to recuperate. My first stop was at cold storage shop from where I bought chicken, then off to veggie mart. The craving for the day was for spinach chicken and aloo matar with chapatti.

My favourite utensil for cooking anything is the pressure cooker. It amazed my American friends to see the beauty and the simplicity of this utensil. It is so much easier than a frying pan or kadhai. So my first project was to cook aloo matar. With tomato as base I stir fried chopped tomatoes in cooker. Now this time after they were done, I took a small bowl put all spices in it, added water to it and stirred it then added to the tomatoes. Each work package was neatly followed by side by side washing up too, monitoring and controlling time while achieving target. Once the project closure was achieved it was time to unwind after lunch. That is when I discovered soaked garlic peel easy while I was doing that after lunch for chicken preparations. The cooking and pre-prep took all post-afternoon. Before I knew I could hear the colony kids screeching headlong downstairs and running all over the place, marking beginning of evening.

The Basket Lights

The living room French windows were open with breeze passing in as I tapped away on my lappy sitting on the floor and listening to the wind chime. The clothes drying themselves in the wind brought in fragrance of fresh laundry. I got tired of waiting for a sunny day, and decided to wash them despite rain. I got lucky; the rain did not slash itself again later today.  However the sluggish flow of garbage continued in the creek behind as I watched the slum-dogs waking up from their siesta and taking a walk in their arena. It is time from me to switch on my little lights from Bombay Store, or as I like to call them the basket lights in a string and mark the sunset time and welcome twilight.

P.S.: I have marinated the chicken and put it in fridge; tomorrow’s project – spinach chicken.

The Throbbing Vein - Mumbai

In every city runs the vein that throbs with every signal, every market and each cluster where people live, be it in posh bungalows or the ever spreading slums. This throbbing vein extends to the meandering roads filled with rushing crowd in local trains or in every person waiting expectantly on the roadside to be hitched by an auto rickshaw. Some of the most interesting conversations I have had are with the auto rickshaw wala while travelling, whose demand exceeds their supply making them as valuable as finding an unexpected treasure on the road. Each time an empty auto passes by it brings with it a wave of expectation. As it stops, the hope of reaching on time increases with a nod or is shattered by a shake of the head.

The transition from one city to another is filled with new experiences, some new things to learn and others to unlearn. I hail from the capital city of Delhi and now live in the commercial hub of the country, Mumbai. As per popular opinion, born and brought up in Delhi stereo-typically makes me snooty and a snob. Arrogance is supposed to be my middle name and attitude is what I am supposed to carry along. This is the impression my dear friends had about most Delhites- but as they say first impressions can be wrong. Having lived here now for quite some time, I must say, I have started to form new impressions of my own about the city. Mumbai is derived from 'mumba'+'aai', meaning, land of mother Mumba. Mumba devi is the goddess of the people here, hence the name Mumbai. So to begin with, it is Mumbai, not Bombay, that is lesson number one.

Every morning when I start for work, at 8.30 AM auto-waley-bhaiyya comes to pick me up. In Mumbai, you sit in auto, then tell where to go, the meter runs in every auto! And it works too. It is incredible that each auto rickshaw meter is actually working! It is matter of amazement compared to those running in Delhi where the norm is 'madam, meter kharab hai', followed by 'pachas rupay', taking advantage of the heat, lack of an alternative mode of transport and display of sheer audacity. The way of calling autos in Mumbai is not 'auto' but 'rickshaw', so the first time someone asked me to take a 'rickshaw', I actually started looking for a tricycle rickshaw being pulled by a thin, wiry man as we find around the North Campus area in Delhi.

The next most incredible sight for me is the beach, which the Mumbaikars take so much for granted. It is amazing to travel on the Worli Sea Link over and above water. There are beaches everywhere, probably not what I have in mind, but it is a part of everyday life, where people chill and hang out even in the scorching sun at Nareman Point. In the first few weeks in Mumbai, every time I would spot water, I would feel the excitement of a 5 year old with an ice cream cone.

Every time I go out to buy vegetables, I would remind myself, 'aloo' is 'bataata' and 'pyaz' is 'kandaa'. The first time I went out to get 'aloo' and 'pyaz', I went on repeatedly pointing at the potatoes and insisting that I want one kilo of those, while the shopkeeper went on insisting that I wanted one kilo of 'bataata', and I fervently denied that I do not want 'bataata', I just want 'aloo'. Then it happened again where I wanted 'aloo ke pakore' and what he was selling was 'bataata vada'. At Sab Kuch I wanted extra 'pyaz' and he replied 'haan madam, kandaa daal diya hai'. Where I asked 'bhayiya, pack kar do', to which I was informed, 'madam, parcel kar diya'.

To call a home delivery boy or rickshaw driver 'bhayiya' in Mumbai gets you some glaring looks, at times it is pardoned if you are girl, in that case it is taken as being called an older brother. But in most cases the safer option is always 'dada', or if someone older 'kaka'. Another time while giving directions to an auto-wale-bhayiya in Mumbai, in all innocence I directed him to take a left from the 'red light', later on a kind gentleman advised me to stick to 'signal' for traffic light, as the word 'red light' means a prostitute area and hence to be avoided.

A wonderful mode of travel in the city is the lifeline called the Mumbai Local. By 'local' I mean the local train that runs from one end to another end of the city. It is the most organized sea of people I have ever seen. To think of travelling in such a jam packed crowded train without your purse, pocket and jewelry being snatched and most importantly, without being felt up and sexually harassed is a matter of amazement for someone born and brought up in Delhi. The ladies compartment is the most democratic space in the world, where you have college girls gossiping about their love life along with aunties cutting veggies to save time, to working women returning home after office, to domestic help 'bai's' sharing updates of the day. Even in the over packed general compartment you will find a support system to prevent the person on the edge falling off due to crowd burst.

In Mumbai, you can get everything home delivered from vegetables, to rice to spices to milk, with just one phone call. This is what I would call heights of professionalism. This was informed to me by my landlord who has the phone number of the local vegetable seller and the Variety Store for all household requirements.

Everyday this city is a new experience as I get more and more acquainted with it. It is gradually becoming what it is for many thriving here 'aamchi mumbai'.