LINGERING OVER COFFEE AND MEZZE IN TURKEY

LINGERING OVER COFFEE AND MEZZE IN TURKEY




A young Turkish bride confides with a giggle as we cruise down the Bosphorus together, “The food is so loved and such a big part of life here, that at my wedding reception, my food was more photographed than me.” I tell her that I’m not surprised. For just about everywhere I go in Istanbul, the most tantalising aromas accost me. So much so that by my third day here, I absent-mindedly nibble on the upholstery of the hired car and am astounded to find it inedible. Behaviour such as this is almost predictable when, in no matter which direction you wave a spoon, you’re guaranteed to find something delectable to munch on.
The other revelation about Istanbul is that if you linger by a palace or a mosque or upon a boat or under a bridge or anywhere really; looking even vaguely hungry, a genuinely concerned bystander is likely to offer you a snack. I accompany one such generous soul to ‘The World Famous Pudding Shop’ in the Sultanahmet neighbourhood of the city. We go up to the steam tables where food is displayed. I select tavuk gogsu, a seldom- found pudding whipped up from pounded chicken breast, rice flour, milk, sugar, cinnamon and a typically Turkish coffee to go with it.
Later, my samaritan insists on buying me ice cream, reinforcing my already firm belief in Turkish hospitality. The ice cream seller, who is dressed like a monkey, is juggling balls of surreally-coloured ice-cream of an elastic texture — born of the fact that the cream is thickened with salep, a powder milled from wild orchid buds grown in the Anatolian mountains.
I decide that the Konyali Lokantasi Restaurant at the Topkapi Palace will be my next halt, for I can imagine little as lovely as a meal framed by views of the magnificent Palace on one side, and the sinuous Bosphorous on the other. With the profusion of water around three sides of Turkey, it’s easy to understand the abundant availability of seafood. I can smell fried fish, see stuffed fish and hear someone ordering fish soup. A waiter swoops towards us balancing a tray heavy with mezzes or appetizers. There’s kebabs, hummus, baba ganoush, assorted savoury pastries and stuffed melon — which we are told was traditionally served at circumcision parties for the sons of sultans.
It’s unlikely that you can bite into anything in the markets here and not have a story to go with it. While buying a box of lokum or Turkish delight, I am told that an abundance of this sweet is served when the bride-to-be visits the groom, with the hope that this sweetness will reflect in the marriage. Through the rest of that day, we let our noses lead us from one fresh produce market to the next: wild greens, mushrooms, dried fruits, spices and very green veggies vie for our attention.
Suitably impressed, I arrive that night at a meyhane with a group of friends. Meyhanes, for those who came in late, are little inns appearing in clusters in areas like Kumkapi and Beyoglu that serve food and alcohol and music. Seduced by the atmosphere and the young Turks, we order raki, an anise-flavoured alcoholic national drink by the jug, eat our way through platters of white cheese, fried eggplant and peppers, purslane salad with walnuts, crumbled tulum cheese, and lakerada or pickled fish with red onions and mountains of baklava. Some of the recipes are traditional; others are contemporary but make use of local ingredients. And the closer I look at the food, the more I see an image of Turkey — retaining its traditions, but not closed to influences of the world.
Over the sounds of people enjoying life through eating food, as well as through making it, I call home and tell my mother, “I’m extending my stay in Istanbul, I need another week with the food,” “With the food?” she repeats in a quizzical manner. I quote Ayla Algar to her, “One should not pass over these things, simply saying they are food. They are in reality a complete civilisation.”

THE ART AND ETIQUETTE OF SUSHI From the battera (box-shaped) to gunkari (battleship), there are sushis of all kinds in India now, but you have to understand its culture for the real experience,

THE ART AND ETIQUETTE OF SUSHI

From the battera (box-shaped) to gunkari (battleship), there are sushis of all kinds in India now, but you have to understand its culture for the real experience,

This deep investigative thinking bleeds into everything else in his life...before he shares the name of his favourite sushi restaurant — prior to one dinner we had in New York he called five to find out which chef was cutting the fish that night — he discusses rice density and the ideal geometric shape for sushi cuts (trapezoids)”.
–From Steven Bertoni’s report on Napster-founder Sean Parker in Forbes Asia, October 2011
“Sushi is all about hygiene”, says one sushi chef, Satpal of Kylin, as he stretches a film of cling-wrap onto his work station, a weaved bamboo mat (maki) on a spotless counter.
“Sushi is all about the rice (shari)”, says another, Chef Tetshu Akahira of the Metropolitan Hotel, as he dabs sticky fingers in a bowl of vinegared water placed near him “to get rid of the gelatinous starch”. (All sushi chefs keep a bowl of vinegared water next to them, sometimes accentuated with lime juice. It is also essential to not transfer body heat to the fish, hence the handy coolness of the liquid)
A third — Vikram Khatri, Executive Chef at Ai, The love Hotel says, “Good sushi is all about the freshness of the fish.” (and the freshness of complementary ingredients too, of course), as he throws in a tip: “If the fish is fresh — that is, today’s stock — eat it raw. If it’s a day old, eat it pickled. On the third day, it needs to be grilled”.

They’re all correct. But the truth is sushi is about all that and more. It’s an experience. A more expensive one than say a dosa outing or an orgy of butter chicken and naan, but you need not be intimidated, not by the chopsticks, not by the raw fish, not by what a fool you might appear if you dip a whole rice ball in a saucer of soya and the damn thing falls apart.
There is an art to it — no biggie. But just as there is a way to prepare excellent nigiri (slice of raw fish/ another topping atop a mound of rice), there is a way to polish it off and pass off as a borderline connoisseur.
Sushi is anything with vinegared rice (shari). More definitively, a Japanese dish that consists of small balls of cold rice marinated with vinegar and served with a garnish of raw fish, vegetables, or egg. And the misconception that sushi is solely for carnivores is best put to sleep by the fact that cucumber rolls (kappa maki) are a classic. Carrots, radish, avocado, asparagus and shiitake mushrooms are a great supporting cast.
Of the key players, a crisp dark green wrapper — looks almost black — called a nori sheet and made of dried seaweed is quite the star. This exquisite, glistening all-protein square wrapper is essential to turn the shari into thin rolls (hosomaki) or thick ones (futomaki) that then get cut (with a special sushi knife — more on that later) into six pieces. (Some contemporary places even divide them into eight).
But while Sean Parker believes in the virtues of sushi shaped like trapezoid, Indian chefs, at five stars and standalones, don’t do trapezoids. They do battera (box-shaped), they do gunkan (battleship sushi), and more common still, they do temaki (hand-rolled conical sushi, asparagus peeping out and all) and chirashi — scattered sushi. As it turns out, just no android or trapezoid.
The usual condiments with sushi are: wasabi (shortened to sabi, this pungent pista shade algae is a paste that counters any ill effects of raw fish), pickled ginger (gari; often pink, not always) and soya sauce. How you go about merging flavours is important. Pour from the tiny teapot of soya often kept at the table beside the toothpick holder, a teaspoon or about 10ml of soya into the also tiny saucer.
Now, you don’t have to dab the wasabi on the sushi; the chef would already have basted the inside of the roll with the stuff. But given, broadly, the Indian palate and our tendency to douse our chicken broth in soya even before the first bite, go ahead. Be careful though: fish, not rice needs a dab of wasabi. Don’t douse. Same with soya. Dunk, but only the top and slightly. You don’t want the rice swelling and disintegrating because of the excess soya absorbed, and be left with only the sharpness of salt on your tongue.
It’s perfectly acceptable to not use chopsticks. But if you’re seated at a table and picking from the community platter, when helping yourself, reverse chopstick sides. It’s the Japanese way. It’s what Indian sushi chefs with years of experience have witnessed and will endorse. When you’re done eating, the chopsticks are placed where a spoon goes, horizontally, and parallel to you. Remember, sushi is popped straight. No taking delicate bites. Japanese cuisine has that in common with street food of the golgappa/ pani puri kind.
A bit on the sushi knife. Unlike the v-shaped knife in the cutlery stand at home, sushi chefs wield those made of high carbon steel with a blade only on one side. Naturally then, that’s the only side to be really sharpened (100:30 is a good ration with hundred for the blade side).
Next time you head for a Japanese meal, feel no shame in asking to see the knife. Ask also to meet the Itamae (the chef), leave it to him to pick your meal, all the better to be off the menu, and go stand at the sushi counter to watch him assemble what is essentially motion art.

Do it like the French

Do it like the French

The resplendent pink macaroon is just waiting to be eaten. It is nestled atop a buttery soft, creamy layer of mascarpone cheese and grapefruit. Nearby, is a scoop of raspberry sorbet and a sprig of mint atop a sliver of mango sauce. One bite into the macaroon and you have a delicate play of contrasting flavours — tangy sorbet, bitter grapefruit and sweet mascarpone. This is what fine dining is all about, I think. But then, Michelin-starred chef Daniel Hebet is known for his desserts at his restaurant, Le Jardin du Quai at the Oberoi hotel. Keeping it simple “My food is not fancy,” says chef Hebet. A low bowl besides him holds a salad of fresh slivers of hermit crab, steamed tiger prawns and soft artichokes, topped with thyme and rosemary sprigs. Not fancy at all. Chef Hebet comes from an antiquary town Isle sur la Sorgue in Provence. At Le Jardin du Quai, he dishes up simple food, a set four-course menu that revolves around fresh produce picked up from the local market. He uses a lot of vegetables in his cooking. In my starter, the artichoke is mixed with diced carrots, mushroom, onions, white wine and olive oil and cooked. Then, the lightly steamed tiger prawns and crab are added. The first main is sea bass cooked in spinach. The sea bass is pink and gets its flavour from the seafood stock and butter in which it is steamed. It crumbles at touch but is overpowered by the green beans, fava beans and spinach — the vegetables are added “to make the dish taste better”. Truffle it up The one item that always finds its way into chef Hebet’s food every winter is black truffle. This fungus, which is found in abundance in the Alpine and Provence region, makes its way into every dish. As a special tip, I am advised to mix the truffle shavings with olive oil and salt. The smoothness of the olive oil mixed with the taste of mushrooms makes for an interesting combination. This quite ruins the truffles in next dish, corn fed chicken with a truffle terrine topped with truffle shavings. The leek recipe is an old French one that involves cooking it in chicken stock and cooling it for two days till its firm. The chicken is grilled with soya sauce, giving it a nice coating that goes well with the truffle. Room for macaroon A bite of his macaroons and you understand why Chef Hebet was awarded the title of France’s best pastry chef a couple of years ago. “The past few years, macaroons have become seen a sudden increase in their popularity and have become a special dessert,” says chef Hebet. Chef Hebet, who trained at Laduree, the famous macaroon shop in Paris, makes his macaroons like sandwiches, crunchy and filled with mascarpone cheese, fruit and other garnishes. That, I am told, is how the French do it.

What you can do with leftover wine

What you can do with leftover wine


What happens when you have a bottle of red wine, a kilo of mutton, a book exploring royal Indian cuisine and an urge to make something off the beaten track for the family’s Sunday lunch? A Wine-daloo!
There was a chapter tracing the evolution of vindaloo in Indian kitchens, in Lizzie Cunnigham’s book Curry, which made me want to recreate the dish. With very little time to go out and get some chicken or duck, I settled for mutton and decided to marinate it in a bottle of red wine, crushed garlic and rosemary. After this, I got down to the business of roasting spices. At this point, my grandmother, who was out to investigate why alcohol was being used in the kitchen, decided to teach me a valuable lesson about the roasting. “Chillies take a long time, while jeera, haldi and khuskhus burn easily,” she told me, putting her trusted half-a-century-old kadhai on the stove. As the chillies turned a deeper red, we tossed in cloves, black peppercorns, poppy, cumin and lastly turmeric powder. At this point the collective aroma of the wine mix and the toasted spices was making me feel rather confident, but the next morning, as we did the tadka for the curry and let the wine-soaked meat sizzle, I wasn’t too sure if the thing was going to work. ‘That’s too much wine!’ I thought. But there was no plan-B and so, I threw in some pureed tomatoes to balance out the wine — a move many vindaloo loyalists might frown at. With some nervousness, the ‘Wine’-daloo was served alongside fresh Irani Pao.
The collective “Wow!” at the table was enough to convince me that my modifications to Ms Cunnigham’s recipe must be recorded!


Wine-daloo


Ingredients
Wine-marinade:lA bottle of red wine l5-6 cloves garlic
l1/2 tbsp rosemary Spice-marinade: l2-3 big dried chillies l1tsp cumin seeds l1tsp poppy seeds l6-8 cloves l10-15 peppercorns l1/2 tsp turmeric l2 fresh red chillies l 1tbsp red wine vinegar l1tbsp tamarind paste l10 large cloves garlic l3/4 inches fresh ginger Curry: l4-6 tbsp vegetable oil l1tsp mustard seeds l3/4 inch cinnamon l1 big onion chopped l 4-5 tomatoes, pureed l 1 cup waterl Salt lPinch of jaggery lCurry leaves

Method:
l Soak mutton in wine, garlic and rosemary for 3-4 hours. Dry roast the dried chilies, clove, pepper, poppy, cumin and turmeric (in that order). Grind to fine powder. Grind remaining ingredients (red chillies, tamarind, ginger, garlic and vinegar) to a paste. Mix the dry masala with this paste.
l After five hours, drain the wine (leaving very little in) into a jar. Refrigerate this mix. Rub the paste into the meat, and leave it in the fridge overnight.
l Next morning, remove the meat from the fridge. Place it in the pressure cooker with half the wine mix (drained from the meat) and a cup of water and cook for about 25-30 minutes.
l In a large pan heat the oil and add in the mustard seeds. Once they start popping (beware they can sting your arm!), throw in the cinnamon and onion. Continue to saute until the onion browns. Now add the tomato and allow the sauce to come to a boil. Mix in the cooked mutton and add the rest of the wine concoction. Once this comes to a boil, thrown in the jaggery and curry leaves, mix well and take it off the stove.
l Serve after about half an hour, giving meat and the curry enough time to steep together.
This tastes best with Irani pao and a siesta after lunch is absolutely necessary!

Wealth on your plate The Chinese ushered in the year of the dragon last week. talked to expats in India to get a sense of the symbolism behind a traditional Chinese New Year meal

Wealth on your plate

The Chinese ushered in the year of the dragon last week.  talked to expats in India to get a sense of the symbolism behind a traditional Chinese New Year meal



On the eve of the Chinese New Year, Cindy Chan and her two partners, the people behind Chopsticks Food Catering Pvt Ltd, prepared a traditional Chinese meal for a handful of expatriates in the city. This was the Poon choi (Big Bowl Feast); a traditional banquet featuring a huge wooden bowl in which cooked food is arranged layer after layer. Radish and other vegetables at the bottom, then pork, pork skin, chicken, goose, fish, prawn, crab and oyster — arranged in ascending order of their prices. The three of them had spent the previous day roaming around the city, in an attempt to get the freshest fish, crab, vegetables and sauces for the meal. “It had to be a proper home-cooked meal,” says Chan.
The significance of the meal was two-fold: giving homesick expats a chance to celebrate the festival, as well as ensuring that they don’t miss out on any of the traditions associated with it. Like most of the food eaten during this time, the Poon Choi is loaded with symbolism — the highly piled food carried the implication of prosperity.
Calling on prosperity
“It’s a tradition to prepare various foods signifying different symbolisms, based on the belief that the coming year will bring more blessings if we eat these lucky foods on the Chinese New Year,” says Siu Kim Chung, 26, a PR executive based in Mumbai. The food items that usually find their way to her family table are chicken (head and all) steamed with soy sauce, ginger and herbs to represent family and good health, and steamed fish (eyeballs and all). One family staple that’s repeated every year are the sesame balls — deep fried dough rolled in sesame seeds. “It is supposed to be a difficult recipe, because the balls need to puff up. If the balls have expanded well, it can be taken to mean that you have lots of good luck coming your way,” says Chung.
Across Chinese homes, one item that finds pride of place — its crescent shape resembling the ancient Chinese gold ingots — is the dumpling. At the home of Chef Liang Xiaq Qing, executive Chinese chef at Pan Asian, ITC Maratha, a few coins (thoroughly washed) are added in, among the hundred or so odd dumplings made. These are then boiled and eaten on the eve of Chinese New Year. “If you get the coin, it means you will have good luck the entire year,” he says.
The dumplings served as a part of Pan Asian’s New Year menu are stuffed with boiled chicken, pork or spinach and served with soy sauce. These are called jiaozi in Chinese; a different spelling (same pronunciation), means a smart person.
Chinese New Year food, however, isn’t only about the meat and the fish. Chan’s menu includes fried iceberg lettuce with dried Chinese mushrooms. “In the olden days, mushrooms represented the male, hence every festival has to have mushrooms served,” says Chan.
At the two-month old restaurant Yauatcha, the team of chefs has come up with a new menu that includes “elements of the New Year”, namely spring rolls, dumplings and fish. Their asparagus endamme dumpling is crunchy and light. The crispy vegetable cheung-fun has carrots, chilli, and mushroom, finely-chopped, coated in crunchy rice flour batter and finally rolled on a cheung-fun (rice noodle). Chef Liang has two stand-out vegetarian dishes on his menu. The french beans are pan-fried till crunchy, and topped with chilly hoisin sauce; called long beans in Chinese, they denote longevity. The sweet corn and vegetable mix served with steamed corn bread, “resembles a bowl of gold and silver coins,” says Chef Liang.

Go fish

Chopsticks began their home catering this April and a large part of their client base is expats, the ones who can “understand their food”. In a bid to help explain the food served at a Chinese home, Chan and her team took over my kitchen, coming up with a six-course meal. The steamed fish was the pride of the meal, swimming in a bed of soy sauce; lightly smoking, it crumbled at touch.
No banquet in a Chinese home can be complete without fish — sea bass, pomfret, scallops, squid and so on. “Steamed uncut fish represents abundance,” says Chung. Chan’s team also prepares fried king prawns with sweet and sour sauce, fried tofu with shrimp and lightly steamed crabmeat with broccoli. “It is important to get the quality of the fish right, because most Chinese can look at the fish and figure it’s freshness,” says Chan.
Yauatcha’s new menu pays tribute to this aspect of celebrations with their spinach seafood soup with roe from flying fish, crispy salt and pepper squid and stir fry sea bass in XO sauce. The sea bass is well-cooked, served with lightly sauteed onions, mushrooms and an XO sauce made of dry scallops, dry shrimp and soya sauce. The prawn and banana roll is held together by a crunchy spring roll skin, the textures of the prawn and banana blending well.
Chef Liang has a better explanation for the Chinese fascination with symbolic food. “Earlier China was very poor and people were scared of becoming poor so they started eating certain food which they believed would help them gain
prosperity,” he says.
The more you eat, fortunately, the higher your chances are of gaining wealth and prosperity.


Chinese pork buns
Ingredients
l2tbsp oil l1 stalk spring onions chopped fine l1clove garlic chopped l1/4kg barbecued pork cut into tiny cubes l2 tbsp light soy sauce l2tbsp oyster sauce l1tbsp sugar l1tbsp cornstarch dissolved in 2tbsps water
Preparation: Knead the dough with yeast and leave overnight covered with a moist cloth. Heat 2tbsp oil, stir fry spring onion and garlic till brown. Add pork. Stir fry for a minute. Add soy sauce, oyster sauce and sugar. Pour dissolved cornstarch over the pork. Stir fry until pork is glazed. Remove and cool. Knead dough into a long roll and slice into 1 inch pieces. Flatten and roll each piece into a round shape skin, place 2tbsp of filling in its centre. Gather dough around the filling by pleating along edges. Bring the pleats up and twist firmly. Place buns on aluminum foil on steamer tray. Cover with a towel. Keep it for 30 minutes till it rises. Remove towel. Steam over boiling water for 15 minutes. Serve.

WHAT'S ALL THE FUSS ABOUT? Meets someone for whom a menu is a list of things he’ll never eat, rather than a choice of things he might

WHAT'S ALL THE FUSS ABOUT?

Meets someone for whom a menu is a list of things he’ll never eat, rather than a choice of things he might


In all the time that I have spent observing people, analysing their habits, hoping to get an honest glimpse into their interior monologue, never have I chanced upon one quite as fussy as K. The fact that he would have people refer to him by the sound of a letter — ‘K’ for some sodden Kafkaesque reason — rather than the elaborate name of on his passport is just evidence of how exacting he can be. But if it is proof of fastidiousness that you were looking for, there are more obvious places you can look. The man’s dinner plate, his bin liners, or better still, you could start where I had, with his grocery basket. Nothing, I assure you, can look so curiously meagre.
This is the story of how K and I first met. A common friend, who had legitimate aspirations of being a masterchef, had invited a bunch of us over for an experiment. We would all go to this upscale supermart and fill our baskets with ingredients that the host would then use to rustle up a meal of semi-gourmet standards. So as the rest of us busied ourselves with finding the right bunch of arugula, that perfect slice of pink salmon and an accompanying teriyaki sauce, K was the first in the checkout line. His basket had a chicken breast and a bottle of brownish sauce (that would eventually turn out to be oriental and utterly unusable.) I remember looking over his shoulder and asking, “That’s it?” And he said, “There was too much to choose from. I felt intimidated by the choice. Happens all the time.” The truth of the matter, I later learnt, is that K has been denied the possibility of choice for as long as he can remember.
As we waited for the budding cook to work her tentative wonders in the kitchen, K came to sit next to me and after exhausting his second cigarette, he confessed, “I lied earlier. It’s not like I am intimidated. It’s just that I hated everything else that was in there.” I paused before I chose to interrogate him a little further. “But what you had there was pretty much all that the good lord has on offer. So what you’re saying is that you hate food?” K smiled at this, in a manner that made you feel proud. Proud to have hit a nerve itching to be hit. “That’s not at all actually. I like eating. My girth is testimony to that. It’s just that I cannot eat fruits, vegetables, rice, fish with bones, anything sweet other than chocolate, cereal in the mornings or peanut butter at night. And when I say I cannot eat any of this. I mean it. I just can’t stand the sight or taste of any of it.”
K and I have met often since that day, a day when K was the least effusive in his praise for a chicken that he found too insipid for his glorified palate. Strangely our meetings usually take place in cafes and restaurants. He is a regular almost elsewhere and shares a familiarity with the staff I find daunting. You can bet your last dollar at most times that he will never veer from his usual order — a pasta, sandwich or a slab of some meat. One would imagine boredom to set in, but in his case, the more he eats the very same dish, the more he says he gets to know them. And the more he does, the more loyal he feels. “I need to feel that for something,” he jokingly affirms.
It is fairly unbelievable to think that K grew up in a vegetarian household. He was “saved”, he says, by an indulgent grandmother who subverted the norms of a liberal upbringing by disallowing other members to force-feed him apples and cauliflower. “He’ll come around,” she used to say, while topping up his milk with tea and getting him a little burger after school. K never did come around. He ate a chicken sandwich when he was 16 and as he describes it, “Started believing in very basic notions such as heaven and hell”. The trouble with K now, is that not very many people want to invite him home for a meal. “Specification is a bit of a dirty word and I can completely see why,” says K while sipping his morning cappuccino, “but you’d never get that response for vegetarians. They are saving the world. Me...I am only rejecting it.”
I can safely assure you that the obvious self-pity is an act. The outrage with which K guards his habits — how he pits choice against levels of nutrition, how he campaigns for conscious mortality against healthy living — is all a sign of how he may never change or at least not change for now. But that said, if you do invite him over, he’ll bring the chicken. I should know after all. I am K.

TALE OF THE RELUCTANT COOK

Abandoned by her cook, found salvation in the very thing that she feared



What?! You are pregnant?” Hardly the congratulatory message that I expected myself to blurt out when my cook announced that she was about to embrace motherhood and quit her job. To understand my reaction, let’s consider the facts. My cook, despite her limited culinary repertoire, was basically running the kitchen at home, right down to planning the day’s menu. My participation was fairly limited: She would announce that we had run out of vegetables and I would direct her to my husband, who in turn, would run out to get them.
So while the cook delightedly explained to the unlikeliest of audiences (my husband) why she hoped to have a daughter this time, I bid her farewell and got down to emptying the tissue box. The husband, on the other hand, thought we might be better off looking at our cook’s sudden departure as the beginning of something good. “Maybe we can get a Malayali cook,” he said. “Steaming puttu and kadala every morning. Yum!” The only Malayali cook that we liked demanded to be paid Rs12,000 per month. And so, while we continued our search for the perfect cook, we ate Maggi noodles. Thrice a day.
One day, while I was furtively Googling ‘What overeating noodles can do to you’, I realised that it was time to address the big elephant in the room. Clearly we were not making any headway in hiring a cook, so who should step up to the task at hand and save the two of us from overdosing on maida? This being the century of women power and all, my most obvious answer was my husband. He, on the other hand, resorted to dropping banking terms into the conversation. His way of saying, “I am too busy with work.”
So one day, after watching Julie and Julia for inspiration, I stepped into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and did a quick scan of the vegetables at hand. Which didn’t take too long, for there was one lone, sorry looking cauliflower holding the fort. I went about making a cauliflower curry, which if you overlook the burnt cauliflower pieces, turned out to be almost edible. My husband was just glad that the house was still standing straight. He even used the word ‘miracle’.
While he agreed to take care of breakfast, I was responsible for lunch which could double up as dinner. I would wake up insanely early (and by that I mean 7:30am. What can I say, except that I am a journalist?), switch on the radio and make tomato rice, paneer, spaghetti or whatever my mind fancied.
What started out as a much hated chore quickly became something interesting, a hobby and later, a stress buster. I took great glee in downloading recipes from the internet and couldn’t wait to get home to try them out. Once, I woke up at 6am to make cutlets for my cousin’s weekly get-together with his friends and loved feeling how warm the cutlets were through the aluminum foil that I used to pack them. I enjoyed smelling garam masala powder first thing in the morning and looking at my turmeric yellow fingernails. I loved watching mustard seeds splutter in oil and then frantically jump on to a curry leaf floating in the oil, like a lifeboat. Cooking stains on my apron to me were what wounds were to a victorious soldier.
I soon began to realise that if you really warm up to cooking, it has the potential to change most aspects of your life. My mother and I started calling up each other more often — she, to exchange a recipe that has been in the family for generations, and me, to discuss my newfangled cooking ideas. I started inviting people home more often, insisted on cooking, and even managed to make some very good friends in the bargain. And most importantly, I now have an attractive backup plan post retirement: a catering business.
Recently, a cook who wanted a salary that was well within our budget and seemed to uphold high standards of hygiene, landed up on our doorstep. I calmly declined her offer and promised to get in touch with her if we do want a cook.
My husband was left amused. He even used the word ‘miracle’

Marinades and rubs are often a cook’s best-kept secret. They add a great deal of flavour and often tenderise the meat in the process.

Go ahead, rub it in!



Marinades and rubs are often a cook’s best-kept secret. They add a great deal of flavour and often tenderise the meat in the process. Slapping a piece of meat on the grill sprinkled with just salt and pepper is passe.With the advent of food television, palates were awakened and cooks suddenly became more aware of what they put on tables . Then came the health food trend and now everybody wants food to taste good and be good for you. The solution is simple; make healthy food taste good.
Grilling and roasting are considered to be the healthiest cooking techniques, and a rub is a great way to prepare meat, fish, seafood or poultry. Rubs are of two kinds: dry and wet.
Dry rubs are usually a blend of flavours that enhance the flavour of the meat rather than overpower it. Using coarse salt helps give dry rubs texture. Dry herbs and spices, powdered mustard, onion flakes, garlic or ginger powder, raw sugar, ground roasted nuts and seeds can be used to make a dry rub. The upside is that it keeps well for a few months, after which it may lose its flavour. it’s good to start simple — make a batch of pasta spice with Italian herbs, crushed red pepper, garlic flakes and Kosher salt and gradually work your way to Hot Cajun spice mix, Jamaican Jerk seasoning, Korean rub or Moroccan spice mix. Once the rub is ready, score the meat or fish and massage it in. Keeping it refrigerated overnight or at least for a few hours’ helps the flavours sink in. Adding a liquid to the dry rub turns it into a wet rub or paste, which can be easier to slather. You could also try using a favourite sauce, fruit juice, soda, wine, oil or even a few generous slugs of brewski!
A marinade usually comprises of combinations of vinegar, wine, oil, yogurt, hot peppers, honey, herbs, syrup, ginger, garlic and spices. These must be used within a day but serve the same purpose as a dry rub. A marinade is better suited to a tough cut of meat, which requires tenderising as well. It also helps the meat retain its moisture, which is useful while cooking pork or turkey, which can dry out quickly. Extra marinade can be used for basting or brushing on to the meat while it is cooking on the grill. Rub out fat and rub in flavour with lean cuts of meat, poultry, fish and seafood.

PARTY TIME FOR OLD DISHES A new demand for traditional fare like the Goan prawn baffad, the Parsi khaman na ladva and the Maharashtrian panchamrut has caterers poring over their grandmothers’ recipes to get the flavours right

PARTY TIME FOR OLD DISHES

A new demand for traditional fare like the Goan prawn baffad, the Parsi khaman na ladva and the Maharashtrian panchamrut has caterers poring over their grandmothers’ recipes to get the flavours right, reports
 
Decades ago, when Francis Caraciolo, now 70, moved to Mumbai from Goa, he gradually lost touch with old Goan dishes such as prawn baffad and fish jeira meera. “What do people in metros know about traditional preparations? Everyone thinks Goan cuisine is limited to pork vindaloo and sorpotel.”
Whenever Caraciolo visited that dear aunt or distant relative in Goa, he would beg them to make his favourite dishes. Back in Mumbai, however, he made his peace by calling for cutlets, tikkas and curries for house parties until he came to know that Ann Dias, 59, a caterer in his vicinity, was ready to recreate traditional recipes. Now, for a get-together, or his children’s birthday parties, Caraciolo says he doesn’t need to settle for the typical fare.
Back to their roots
Dias, on her part, is surprised at the sudden rise in requests for old Goan dishes. “I’ve been churning out vindaloo and dodol for years now. But now, I think people are well-travelled and are more interested in reliving some part of their history. They want to eat what their elders ate. Others, like Caraciolo, just miss their childhood,” she smiles. Today almost a third of her orders are for authentic Goan dishes.
According to Dias, traditional Goan recipes are not that difficult to make. But you do need to put your heart into it because you may be out of touch with some techniques, she says. Then there are ingredients that must come only from Goa. Dias makes her masalas at home and gets other ingredients — like dried fish and palm vinegar — from Goa. “I wouldn’t touch local products,” she claims.
Every now and then, she visits Goa, where her brother has a catering business, and taps relatives for old recipes handed down by her grandmother and mother. “Tastes stay with you, you know. When I try out an old Goan dish, I don’t have an elder who can tell me what’s right and wrong. I rely on my childhood memories and decide what’s best.” Dias has no faith in the plethora of recent cookbooks. “It’s all half-baked and full of shortcuts. For xacuti, they simply say that you must fry onions. But you actually have to brown them really, really well. And the chillies should make your neighbour’s eyes water,” she says.
Heard of Vasanu?
At her Mahim home, Naynaz Munsaf, 35, says she’s expecting her next order for vasanu any day. Though the old Parsi dessert is unheard of in most places, Munsaf is comfortable with what it means to rustle it up. “It takes eight hours to cook,” she says.
In the past year, Munsaf has been cooking only authentic Parsi cuisine for clients, and says the demand has gone up manifold recently. “Parsi food served in most restaurants is sweet and sour, but authentic Parsi food is more balanced, and spicier than what you get there.”
Most old Parsi dishes, says Munsaf, have disappeared from daily cooking because they weren’t well documented. Only a few have survived. “Dhansak is just as old as vasanu, but people still make it because it is a part of your Sunday lunch routine, like the Sindhi curry for Sindhis.”
Some old dishes, like popatji (similar to appam), need specific utensils that aren’t available in the market. Munsaf, who is from Navsari in Gujarat, says she is thinking of going back and getting the vessel. If you want to sample authentic Parsi food, says Munsaf, you only need to step
into Navsari.
Just then, Munsaf’s brother enters her home with three bags of ingredients for masalas. “I grind the masalas here, but the flavour in my dishes comes from these Navsari ingredients.” Little details go a long way in getting old dishes right — one must never, says Munsaf, attempt to put chicken into an old dish like bhaji dana nu gosh (a dish made with spinach, coriander and green peas). “It is authentic only if you put mutton in it. You can’t interchange the meat like we do for contemporary recipes.”
Shermeen Merchant is not a Parsi, but cannot stop raving about how she has found the perfect answer to her Parsi cuisine cravings thanks to Munsaf. The 35-year-old HR executive studied in a Parsi school and remembers how, as a six-year-old, she craved for old Parsi delicacies that were served at the school every Friday. “My mother’s adoptive mother was Parsi and even today, my mouth waters when I remember her get-togethers. I get the same kolmi no patio, moora dal and chicken farcha from Munsaf’s kitchen. I thought I’d have to give up on certain old dishes before I heard of her kitchen,” says Merchant, who has been calling regularly for traditional Parsi dishes for the past few months.
A night of nostalgia
Shrirang Khatavkar, 40, who runs a catering service in Thane, says the demand for traditional Maharashtrian and Gujarati dishes has gone up because people are tired of the same old Chinese and Punjabi cuisine. Recently, a client asked for traditional, authentic Maharashtrian, Gujarati and Sindhi dishes for a three-day celebration.
“I do not agree to make every traditional dish, of course. For instance, a client recently asked me to make a Maharashtrian dish that few have heard of — appe (it is prepared like a puri, steamed and boiled). I refused because if I claim it is authentic, then it must be served piping hot. That’s not possible when you have 100 guests,” says Khatavkar. He does oblige when his clients are craving for aduche fudfude, a traditional dish made from adu leaves which aren’t easily available in most vegetable markets.
The caterer says his Bible for the recipes are yellowing papers and diaries left behind by his grandmother and mother, who tried all cuisines. “Thanks to those, I now know that authentic payasam (a south Indian sweet dish) was actually made with banana or jackfruit, and coconut milk drained thrice was used instead of water,” he says.
Six months back, when Madhavi Ranade wanted to throw a housewarming party, she wanted traditional Maharashtrian fare as a good omen. “I was thrilled when Khatavkar told me he can make panchamrut, an old Maharashtrian chutney that no one really gets right — most of us either get it too tangy, or end up with a sweet mess.”
Served with Khatavkar’s bhardyacha vada (red pumpkin vada) and bhajniche vade (vadas made of pulses), Ranade’s party became a rather nostalgic affair. “We sat late into the night and reminisced about our elders cooking, and how close this came to their preparations. I began my life in my new home on a very positive note with all that wonderful food,” says Ranade.


Traditional Payasam
Ingredients
l4tbsp rice l4tbsp moong dal l4tbsp jaggery l2tbsp ghee l1 ripe bananal1 cup freshly grated coconut, 1 cup l3-4, powdered cardamom lCashews and raisins to garnish l2tbsp ghee
Pressure cook the rice and moong dal, or cook in a pan till it has the consistency of khichdi. Grate the coconut and sieve with a muslin cloth. This is the first milk. Keep aside. Add some water to the grated coconut and sieve again to get the second milk. The third milk goes into the rice and moong dal mixture. Heat ghee in a thick-bottomed pan, add cashews and raisins and cook till light brown. Add jaggery and stir. Bring to a boil, add rice and moong dal mixture and boil again. Then add the second and third coconut milk. Mash a banana or jackfruit by hand and bring it to boil. Add cardamom powder and serve.

Fish jeira meera

Ingredients
lFish-surmai, pomfret or rawas, salted for l15 minutesl2, medium onionsl2-3 slit green chilliesl8-10 red chilliesl1 tsp jeeral10 pepper cornsl1 tsp turmericl15 flakes garlicl2tbsp oilla small ball of tamarind soaked in waterl2-3 cups water lSalt to taste
Grind the red chillies, jeera, pepper corns, jeera, turmeric and garlic and keep aside. Heat oil in a pan and fry onions and green chillies till light brown. Add the ground masalas and some salt. When you begin to get an aroma, add the tamarind juice and water. When the gravy boils, throw in the fish and cook till well done.

Bhaji dana nu ghosh

Ingredients
l2 onions l200gm green peas l1 pureed tomato l2 cups methil 2.5 cups corianderl1tsp red chilli powderl1.5tsp turmeric powderl 3-4 sticks cinnamonl 3-4 pieces clovel 3-4 black pepperl 1/2tsp garam masala l300gm mutton l1tsp each ginger garlic paste l1cup water
Take oil in a pan and brown onions. Add all the spices. Add the ginger garlic paste and fry for 30 seconds. Add the red chilli and turmeric powder and cook for 30 seconds. Now, add the tomato puree and cook till oil starts separating from the mixture. Here, add the mutton, methi leaves, half of the coriander, the green peas and cook for 4-5 minutes. Sprinkle the garam masala and add water. Pressure cook the dish for about 3-4 whistles till the meat is tender. Sprinkle the rest of the coriander on top and serve hot.

Aduche fudfude

Ingredients
l15 medium-sized, soft adu leaves, chopped into small pieces (make sure you don’t buy the thick variety) l1 bowl (mix another 1tbsp with water) gram flour la fistful peanuts l2-3 tbsp oil l1tsp cumin seeds l1tsp fenugreek seeds l1tsp curry leaves l1tsp turmeric powder l5-6 finely chopped garlic flakes lmedium sized-ball tamarind l1tbsp jaggery lSalt to taste
Clean adu leaves and pressure cook for about 3-4 whistles with gram flour and peanuts. Keep aside. Heat oil in a pan and add cumin, fenugreek seeds, curry leaves, turmeric and garlic. Add the cooked adu to this. Add the mixture of gram flour in water at this stage. Put tamarind in this mixture and bring to boil. Then add jaggery and salt and boil for 10 minutes. erve with roti or rice.

Warm winter cocktails

This winter, spruce up your spirits with these heady drinks that will warm not just the body, but hearts too
G one are the days when all you could have to satiate your cocktail craving, was a Margarita, a Mojito or one of those old traditional cold concoctions, even on a chilly winter evening. Today, with warm winter cocktails such as toddies, spiced rums and even good ol' brandy brews served across bars and restaurants, there is no dearth of options for guzzlers to beat the chill. “While cocktails are generally served chilled at 6-7 degree, in winters, warming ingredients such as brandy, red wine, rum and cognac are used, and served at a temperature of 12-13 degree,“ says mixologist Deepak Fartyal of Club Quantum, The Leap.
Most winter cocktails are also loaded with natural warming ingredients such as allspice, cinnamon, ginger syrup and even tea decoctions.
“Allspice and ginger help fight cold and bad throat.
Winter cocktails often contain Kahlua, which is high in caffeine that keeps the body warm,“ says Ashish Malhotra, bar manager, F Bar & Lounge.

From Spain, with love

Enjoy tapas and paella as chef Jordi Gimeno brings Mediterranean delicacies to the city
L overs of Spanish cuisine have a lot to look forward to at the ongoing food festival at 022 Bar Lounge at Trident, BKC, that features fare from the heart of the Mediterranean country. “We wanted to bring the regional dishes of Spain to India through this festival,“ says chef Jordi Gimeno, who is also the chef at Antic Mas, a restaurant in the Pyrenees region of Spain. “People can try an extensive selection of dishes like Mar I Muntanyas, Fish Cakes, Spanish Tortilla, Chicken with Spanish Garlic Sauce, Meatball with Cuttlefish, Beans Casserole and Zarzuela, among others,“ he adds.
The festival features an extensive selection of Pinchos -a mouth-watering Valencian favourite and Fideuà -noodle specialty served with aioli sauce. “One of the highlights of the fest is the variety of dishes for vegetarians. People can choose from hot vegetarian Tapas, Spinach Balls and Dumplings,“ says Gimeno, adding that a live counter would serve Paella, the typical Spanish rice, at the fiesta.
Ask him about how different are the regional cuisines within Spain and he says, “Food is cooked differently in different part of the country.
While they indulge in fried food in the southern region, food is mainly roasted in the central region. And, the eastern and northern regions specialise in different sauces.“
He adds, “A secret ingredient called picada, is used to make sauces. We call it the magic powder. It is simple, yet changes the taste of every dish. Also, we cook a lot with wine.“

A Soft Shell Crab, Flame Roast Coconut Chips and Crispy Curry Leaves

CHEF MANISH MEHROTR

 

A Soft Shell Crab, Flame Roast Coconut Chips and Crispy Curry Leaves 

 

INGREDIENTS 4 soft shell crabs 2 tsp ginger paste 2 tsp garlic paste 1 pinch red chilli powder 2 tsp chicken broth powder 1 tbsp lemon juice 2 fresh coconuts 2 tsp mustard seeds 1 tbsp urad dal, washed 1 tbsp curry leaves 1 tbsp chaat masala 1 tsp garam masala powder 1 pinch turmeric powder 1 tsp black peppercorn powder 3 tbsp tempura batter mix 2 cups cornflour 3 tbsp coarse rice powder refined oil, for frying 3 tbsp fresh coriander, chopped 1 banana leaf METHOD Wash, clean and pat dry soft shell crabs carefully.Marinate crabs in ginger and garlic paste, red chilli powder, chicken broth powder and half lemon juice. Keep it aside.
Slice coconut finely and dry it in salamander heater.
Heat some oil in a pan.
Add mustard seeds, urad dal and curry leaves to prepare tempering (tadka).
Toss dried coconut chips in a bowl with chaat masala, garam masala powder, turmeric powder, crushed black pepper and tempering and keep aside.
Dip marinated crabs in a thick tempura batter, dust with cornflour and rice powder thoroughly and deep fry in hot oil till golden and crisp.
Toss crabs in coconut masala. Mix along with fresh chopped coriander and remaining lime juice.
Serve on banana leaf.

 
  CHEF KARAN SURI

Karare Chaawal Aur Macchi Ki Tikki and Lehsoon Aur Mirch Ki Chutney 

INGREDIENTS 3 tsp cumin seeds 100g red onion 2 1/4 tbsp green chilli 2 1/4 tbsp garlic 21/4 tbsp ginger 3 tsp degi mirch powder 3 tsp turmeric powder 3 tsp roasted cumin powder 2 tsp chaat masala salt to taste 150g basmati rice 2 1/4 cups chicken or fish stock 4 tbsp yogurt 2 tbsp bhunna masala 2 1/4 tbsp butter, salted 80g green coriander 400g bassa fish fillet salt to taste pepper to taste 100g tempura flour 150g panko breadcrumbs 2 1/4 tbsp sesame seeds (black and white -mixed) 3 ltr vegetable oil FOR CHUTNEY: 1 tbsp oil 100g garlic 1 tbsp degi mirch powder 100g tomatoes 1 red onion, chopped salt to taste METHOD FOR KARARE CHAWAL: In a pan, heat some oil.
Add cumin seeds when hot and allow to crackle.
Add chopped onion, green chili, garlic, ginger.
Add rice to powders and mix well for two minutes.
Add the warm stock, bring to a boil and cook rice till cooked, with all the water absorbed.
Add whipped yoghurt, bhunna masala and butter.
Finish with coriander leaves.
Cut the fish into small cubes and steam till soft and cooked.
Chill the rice and the fish.
When cold, mash with hand and adjust seasoning.
Shape into balls and dip in tempura flour. Then roll in breadcrumbs to which the sesame seeds have been added.
Deep fry in moderate hot oil and serve with lehsoon chutney.
FOR CHUTNEY: Heat oil, add garlic and cook.
Add degi mirch powder, tomatoes, red onion and salt.
Cook till tomatoes mash, then season and add coriander leaves.

RID YOURSELF OF THE MULTIPLEX HABIT. THE POPCORN AND SODA COMBO OFFERS TEND TO ADD UP

Now that it's time to tighten our belts a little, which luxuries are you willing to give up? RID YOURSELF OF THE MULTIPLEX HABIT. THE POPCORN AND SODA COMBO OFFERS TEND TO ADD UP
IT'S THAT time of the year again. When the office grapevine begins to buzz with how the raise scenario will play itself out this year. If you are one of God's chosen creatures, you will probably end up scoring a decent raise. But if you're not ­ and given the state of the economy, I'm guessing this is far more likely ­ you will be fobbed off by a token increase that is risible given the rate of inflation. And if the Fates truly have it in for you, then you will be sent a sad little form letter from the HR department telling you this is the time for all good men and women to come to the aid of the company by sacrificing their salary hikes at the altar of corporate profitability.
In that case, like millions of other hapless souls, you will be forced to live on a wage that buys much less than it did and doesn't, in fact, go very far. And that means those dreaded words that strike terror in every middle-class heart: budget cuts.
Cuts. How cruel it sounds! Cuts: as in something that hurts, causes you pain, injures you and leaves you less than whole. But however traumatic we find it, cuts are something that all of us will have to make as our salaries fail to keep up with our expenses. And the first thing to go will be the little luxuries that make life a bit more fun.
But when it comes right down to it, what luxuries would you be willing to forgo? And which of them would you find impossible to live without? In other words, which of your luxuries do you need rather than just want? Which of them are just luxuries; and which of them have become that dangerous thing called Luxecessities ­ luxuries that have turned into necessities as you try to cope with your daily grind.
Speaking for myself, there are some things that I simply refuse to forgo, no matter how frivolous they may seem to the rest of the world.
And on top of that list is hair-styling: highlighting, trimming, conditioning, blow-drying. The rituals just add up every year ­ as indeed, does the expense. But I don't grudge a rupee that I drop at my friendly neighbourhood hair salon because it is simply the best pick-me-up in the world. Fine, go ahead and judge me (as I am sure are!) but I consider the money spent here the best inves ment ever. It makes me feel good about myself, and there' no substitute for that in an increasingly gloomy world.
To make up for this profligate spending, I have given u on my coffee habit ­ well, after a fashion anyway. I no longe drop by Barista for an early morning cappucciespresso shots in the late afternoon; I don't buy a tall glass of creamy cold coffee when I'm feeling a bit peckish. Instead, I've invested in a coffeemaker which is considerably less complicated to operate than it looks and spews forth coffee that would do any Italian restaurant proud.
It makes espresso, it serves Americanos and froths up a mean cappuccino. (Word to the wise: use south Indian roasted beans; they're a fraction of the price of Illy and Co and just as good.)
Another luxecessity I find hard to give up is boo buying. There is something so supremely addictive about the high that I get from browsing through book shops that I find it hard to go cold turkey. I love the smell of freshly-bound books, the clutter on the shelves, the colourful covers, the juxtaposition of the sublime with the ridiculous. I love the inevitable dithering between two equalling compelling volumes and then heading home, warm with the anticipation of spending the evening curled up with my latest purchase.
To fund this addiction, I've given up on magazines. I've always been a bit of a mag hag, devouring everything from shaming gossip rags to elevated publications that lecture me about the state of the world. But of late, I've begun to feel that the expense is simply not worth it. There's nothing here that I can't get for free on the Internet.
And if there's some really compelling content then it's easier and cheaper to download the app on my iPad anyway.
Don't ask me if any of my cuts have made the slightest difference to my household budget. I haven't the foggiest.
But just the thought that I'm trying to cut down on frivolous expenses does make me a little better.
If you're looking to make a few economies of your own, here are some ideas.
Cut down on eating out; restaurant bills have a way of piling up. And if you're paying by credit card you may not even notice until it's too late. Instead, tap into your inner Domestic Goddess (or whatever the male equivalent is) and turn cooking into a fun, family activity.
Rid yourself of the multiplex habit. The expensive tickets, the popcorn and soda combo offers begin to add up after a while. Discover the joys of ordering movies on Showcase or the delights of DVD box sets. Forget about exploring exotic, foreign locales on your vacations. Revive those oldstyle home-stays you enjoyed as a child when you spent holidays in the houses of family and friends. Who knows, you may just end up gaining much more than the money saved.

Modern Japanese cuisine was more or less invented by chef Nobu Matsuhisa, and today you will find Nobu-style restaurants all over the world. In India, you already have Wasabi. Now Megu seeks to introduce its own brand of modern Japanese CHEF RAINER BECKER STARTED ZUMA WHICH WAS A FRESH TAKE ON MODERN JAPANESE BUT OWED ITS SUCCESS TO NOBU'S PIONEERING WORK
D O YOU think that Punjabi Chinese or Sino-Ludhianvi cuisine could spark an international trend? It's a serious question and I ask it because of the global success of modern Japanese food. Most of us know that modern Japanese cuisine was more or less invented by the chef Nobu Matsuhisa who now owns restaurants all over the world. Some of us may also know that Nobu developed his cooking style when he was in Peru working in a Japanese restaurant there. Initially, before the term `modern Japanese' came to be applied to his food, it was often described as Japanese-Peruvian.
What is less known is that Nobu had his Eureka moment in Peru because of the Chinese food he ate in that country. Because Peruvians like spicy food, local Chinese restaurants added chilli and other South American flavours to their cuisine.
Nobu ate Peruvian Chinese, recognised that it bore little resemblance to the Chinese food served in China and wondered if the same sort of variations could be introduced to Japanese food.
By the time he was through with South America (he cooked in Peru and Argentina) he had the germ of an idea in his mind. Why not take traditional Japanese dishes and spice them up? So he invented New Style Sashimi which is essentially raw fish which is cooked by the addition of citrus juices or warm oil and then spiced up with jalapeno peppers and the like.
So successful was this experiment that Matsuhisa, the restaurant he ran in a strip mall in Los Angeles, soon became one of that city's most popular places. The director Roland Joffe who was then filming The Mission with Robert De Niro took his star to Matsuhisa. De Niro loved the food so much that he begged Nobu to open a restaurant in New York in partnership with him. Matsuhisa took four years to agree but when he did, De Niro went the extra mile in promoting Nobu (a much easier name for restaurant goers to pronounce than Matsuhisa) and turned Nobu Matsuhisa into the world's most famous chef. (How many other chefs can you think of who are known only by their first names?)
Nobu has opened many branches (most in partnership with De Niro who probably makes more money from restaurants than he does from acting, these days) all over the world but what's more important is that he has created a cuisine: modern Japanese.
If you've never been to a Nobu, then here's what the food is like: it has Japanese roots but it uses ingredients that are not part of the Japanese tradition ­ olive oil, cheese, cream, chilli, peppers etc ­ to create flavours that are fuller than the customary starkness of real Japanese food. Plus, there are concessions to popular taste. Most Japanese people eat nigiri sushi (the kind where they put a piece of raw fish on a pellet of cooked rice) but Nobu specialises in rolls (where cooked rice encases a variety of ingredients which are usu

ally cooked and spiced), many of which are unheard of in Japan. You will now find a Nobu-style restaurant in nearly every major city in the world. Even if it is not owned by Nobu it is probably run by a former collaborator or by an imitator. For instance, Masaharu Morimoto was the first executive chef of the New York Nobu. He has now gone on to open many successful restaurants of his own (including branches in Delhi and Bombay) where he serves a modern Japanese cuisine based on Nobu's principles. In London, the German chef Rainer Becker started Zuma which was a fresh take on modern Japanese but owed its success to Nobu's pioneering work. There are now Zumas in many major cities (the Bangkok branch opened a few months ago) and most of the guests treat them as alternatives to Nobu.
Efforts to get Nobu to open in India have always failed. The Taj approached him before it spoke to Morimoto but could not strike a deal. The Leela signed him up for four restaurants but at the last moment, Nobu backed out claiming that after 26/11 he feared that India would be hit by a recession and arguing that he had suffered in Dubai because of a downturn in the economy.
No matter. There are other restaurateurs serving modern Japanese. The Taj went to Morimoto. And the Leela went to Megu, a chain of flashy, upmarket restaurants that have received mixed responses from food critics but appeal neverthesless, to an audience of global travellers. Apart from the two original New York Megus, there are now branches in Doha and Moscow.
I wondered what the Delhi Megu would be like. I thought the Leela had a problem in deciding how to pitch the cuisine. If you get Nobu then you trump Morimoto's Wasabi by saying that you're offering people the original. But how do you introduce people in Delhi and Bombay (a new Megu will open in the space where the Great Wall restaurant now stands at the Bombay Leela) to modern Japanese when they are already familiar with Morimoto's take on Nobu's food? Do you not run the risk of seeming me-too?
In the event, I think the Leela has solved the problem brilliantly.
There is, first of all, a differentiator when it comes to the food. Though Morimoto's own restaurant in New York has many innovative dishes that he has created himself, his Indian restaurants rely on menus stolen from Nobu. (When I had dinner with Nobu in Dubai some years ago he told me that Morimoto confessed to him: `Ninety per cent of my Indian menu, Nobu-san, is completely your food.' When I asked Morimoto about this, he was ambivalent.)
It's difficult to do modern Japanese by using only traditional Japanese ingredients but Megu tries to avoid Nobu's over-use of European flavours. Instead, it relies on the complexity of Japanese cuisine (the quality of the miso, the lightness of the fresh wasabi etc) to give the food an oomph. So, you will get Nobu-style dishes (New Style Sashimi, rock shrimp tempura etc) but they will usually have a twist. For instance, their fried shrimp does not rely on a sauce (as Nobu's does) but introduces a depth of flavour to the shrimp itself.
Another example: Nobu's most famous dish is black cod in miso.
Though this has now become a menu staple and the most ordered dish at nearly every modern Japanese restaurant, Megu does a variation with silver cod and without the crispiness at the base of the Nobu version.
Some of it works. Some of it is less successful ­ I'll take Nobu's black cod over the Megu dish any day. But the food is certainly distinctive. Plus there are other dishes that do not have their origin in Nobu's work.
The real difference between Megu and the NobuWasabi kind of restaurant however, is in the experience. Nobu's restaurants are large, cheerful places.
The two Indian Wasabis are small, clubby enclaves where everybody knows everybody. Megu, on the other hand, is very much a special occasion restaurant (like, say, The Orient Express or the old Zodiac Grill in Bombay) where every guest feels pampered and the staff strive to provide a sense of occasion. You go to Wasabi for the food. But at the Delhi Megu, even if you don't like the food (which, by the way, was excellent the night I went) there is still a sense of partaking of a dining experience in a spectacular-looking restaurant. In that sense, Megu is not unlike the Leela's great success story, Le Cirque, which manages to appeal to diners who can't tell their Florentine steak from Eggs Florentine.
It helps, I think, that the service at Megu is outstanding and well informed. The delays in the opening have allowed the staff to become familiar with the cuisine and its complexities. Plus there are innumerable serving rituals ­ steak flambéed at the table, carpaccio seared at 1,000 degrees Centigrade by smokeless charcoal on your plate, fresh wasabi grated into your sake etc ­ that make the experience seem more special and luxurious.
So my guess is that the restaurant will do well. It's not aiming for he Wasabi clientele (though prices are on par and you can eat more cheaply at Megu than you can at Le Cirque plus the wine pricing is not as ridicuous as the Leela's reputation suggests) and will hit special occasion places much more than it will affect the Wasabi-Sakura kind of place. With Hakkasan looking for a location in Delhi after its success in Bombay, Megu could well be the pioneer of a new trend of glamorous Asian places.
But that brings us back to where we started. If Sino-Peruvian cuisine could inspire Nobu to tinker with centuries of Japanese culinary tradition and to invent a globally famous cuisine, then why has Sino-Ludhianvi been able to inspire nobody except for your local thelawallah?
It's a good question. And I don't have an answer.

Let’s swirl! The start of 2012 is expected to see Mumbaikars indulge in wine drinking, as a host of wine fests storm the city...

Let’s swirl!

The start of 2012 is expected to see Mumbaikars indulge in wine drinking, as a host of wine fests storm the city...



Escaping from the confines of high-end restaurants and hotels, wine culture has rapidly spread across Mumbai and has almost become a regular drink of celebration. From being a symbol of sophistication and affluence it has now become the staple drink of the rich and the famous. And to enjoy the taste of this, Mumbai city is offering a variety of wine festivals in the coming few weeks.
York Live, a two day-long celebration of wine, music, food at the winery itself, kick starts the wine festivals of this year in the wine capital of India — Nasik, from today. This festival will encompass a variety of boutique wines, astounding performances by leading bands and a la carte menu to boast of, in an attempt to promote wine culture in India. The festival starts at 12.30 pm from today and will include activities like grape stomping, carnival games and wine tours and tasting sessions. Commenting on the festival, Ravi Gurnani, owner of York Winery, says, “This fest is an attempt to celebrate the good things in life and will showcase an interesting and award winning melange of wines, coupled with amazing performances by Shrilektric with Nasik Dhol, Something Relevant and the headlining act by Karsh Kale.”
Sula Fest will closely follow on February 4 and 5. The festival is a gourmet live fest with terrific food, wine and tons of other fun activities including performances by Nitin Sawhney, Reggae Rajah’s, Ankur and the Ghalat family and Dualist Inquiry at the picturesque Sula Vineyards in Nashik.
Lastly, it will be the Kala Ghoda wine festival on February 11 and 12. It offers wine and cheese tasting, grape stomping, wine accessories and gourmet food with music and live entertainment. With wine culture permeating the society, these wine festivals promise to please connoisseurs and wine enthusiasts alike, and will appeal to anyone who appreciates good food and music.

A healthy TADKA For a healthy take on Indian cuisine, get a table at this restaurant in the ’burbs

A healthy TADKA
For a healthy take on Indian cuisine, get a table at this restaurant in the ’burbs



I’m a true-blue foodie at heart, but am equally diet conscious too. Not an easy balance to maintain, considering that one of my favourite cuisines — Indian — is high on exactly the rich ingredients that would guarantee, you’d have to spend several extra hours working out to burn up all the extra kilos that come with the delectable taste. So, reviewing the very first restaurant came in as a very pleasant surprise. For Masala Bay not only offered authentic Indian platter, but was also extremely healthy in the way the dishes were prepared. And that’s the biggest plus point of the place as we discovered in due course.

We started off with a non-veg platter of Galouti Kebab, Doodhiya Murg Tikka and Bhatti Ka Jheenga along with parathas. Of these, the kebabs especially were extremely succulent and soft, that just melted in the mouth. Perfectly done and not spicy at all, it was difficult to resist ordering for another round of the same platter, but we were equally keen to try out the main course as well, so that worked as a check. For drinks we opted for a healthy glass of sugarcane juice, and it was really fresh!
Next came the main course. For this we tried out Murgh Sagwala. This was again not too spicy, but the masala flavour was not compromised at all. I also insisted on having a paneer speciality, Paneer Khatta Payaz and didn’t regret it one bit. Then we had Dal Makhani, which trust me, was one of the best I’ve ever had. The naans and kulchas tasted good, but not heavy like they mostly do, which is a plus. The Baingan Ka Bharta was equally delectable. It had a rich buttery flavour, but not a drop of excess oil in any of the preparations at all, and that goaded the fitness freak in me to indulge in my taste buds without a worry. Also I think olive oil was used in several dishes that made them very healthy. Being a Punjabi, I’m very particular about my chicken and dal and both were up to the mark. And if the food makes me break my diet, I’d say it’s saying a lot. For dessert we had Moong Ka Halwa. Though the chef would recommend having it with kulfi, we chose to have it without it and in itself the halwa tasted quite good.

Food apart, I think the ambience and presentation is quite impressive too. The tables are well-spaced and do not give that feeling of over-crowding. Also the staff, though hospitable, give you enough berth to not feel like they are invading privacy. The pricing would be considered a bit on the upper side, but totally worth the experience. I would recommend the Dal Makhani, the Galouti Kebabs and the kulchas for sure.

KALLI IS VERY MUCH A REGULAR WOMAN ­ A WIFE, A MOTHER, A PROFESSIONAL ­ WHO LOVES HER DARK CHOCOLATE AND HER RAJMA-CHAWAL

The truth is that we all struggle with our weight, one time or another 

KALLI IS VERY MUCH A REGULAR WOMAN ­ A WIFE, A MOTHER, A PROFESSIONAL ­ WHO LOVES HER DARK CHOCOLATE AND HER RAJMA-CHAWAL

HOW DO you react when someone you meet after a long time tells you, “Wow, you've lost a lot of weight!“ Do you gobble up the compliment as if it were a piece of cake and respond with a graceful “Thank you“? Or do you stick on a fake smile as you wonder silently about just how fat you were to begin with? I have to confess that I find myself squarely in the second category.

The moment someone asks, “You've lost some weight, haven't you?“ I find myself cringing inwardly about just how overweight I must have looked before. And it doesn't help that the scales have told me that morning that I am exactly the same weight I was a month ago. The compliments are probably down to clever tailoring or the brilliant use of black as a camouflaging agent rather than any real loss of weight.

Ah, weight! It's been the bane of my existence for too long now.

Which is rather ironic considering that I was a wiry child, a thin teenager and a slim young adult ­ all of it managed without the slightest bit of effort. Growing up in a Punjabi household meant that my day began with paranthas soaked in ghee, the packed school lunch was whitebread sandwiches slathered with butter and jam, evening snacks were pakoras or samosas, and dinner meant copious quantities of rice and curry, with potato chips to provide texture.

The motto of our home kitchen was: when in doubt, deep-fry. And yet, despite a diet that seemed to consist entirely of trans-fats ­ and no exercise whatsoever ­ I never put on even a scintilla of weight.

And then, suddenly, it all changed. I turned 30 and it was as if the switch to my metabolism was turned metabolism was turned off as well. Now, every parantha found its way to the extra tyre rapidly building up around my waist, every samosa settled down comfortably on my hips, even as the white butter and cream went straight to my thickening upper arms.

Ever since then, it's been a slippery slope down the road to porkiness.
And it's not as if I haven't tried every trick in the book to get back the slim, lissom self of my twenties. I've pounded the treadmill, rocked the cross-trainer, signed up for Pilates, tried my hand at yoga, hired a personal trainer. I've joined slimming centres, gone to personal dieticians, tried every fad diet in the world in the world and then some.

Sure, the weight goes off ­ though, with every passing year, it takes longer and longer to melt away. And then, once I get off the diet or slack off on the exercise, it comes creeping back on until I'm right back where I started.

Given how the diet industry is flourishing and getting bigger every day (ironic or what?) I'm guessing that this is probably how it is for every woman ­ and most men ­ who are on the wrong side of 35. We go on a diet, we lose weight, we lose our minds, we go off the diets, we put on weight... and thus the vicious cycle goes on and on.
Sounds familiar? I bet it does. We've all been there, done that, and have the stretch marks to prove it. Kalli Purie, however, has done one better. She has written what she calls a `weight-loss memoir' to chronicle her path to skinniness. In her new book, Confessions Of A Serial Dieter, she recounts the 43 diets and workouts that took her from 100 kilos to 60.

I have to confess that I'm not really one for diet books. I invariably end up resenting the po-faced advice that dieticians keep dishing out in their best holier-than-thou manner. Especially since it's so clear that not one of them has had a decent meal in years ­ or even has the slightest interest in good food. Not to mention the fact that they've never been fat themselves ­ and so couldn't possibly know what it feels like.

Kalli is nothing like that. She is very much a regular woman ­ a wife, a mother, a professional ­ who loves her dark chocolate and her rajmachawal. She has struggled over the years to control her appetites just like you and me. She's failed sometimes. And sometimes she has succeeded. And she feels no shame in sharing both these narratives with her readers.

There is a certain searing honesty in Kalli's account of her journey to her fattest self and the struggle to find the skinny girl inside her. It takes courage to admit to your own vulnerability ­ and how heavy you really were. But Kalli has done just that, allowing us to accompany her on what is as much an emotional journey as it is a weight-loss plan. She comfort eats; she binges; she purges; she works out like a maniac; she fall off the exercise wagon. She is full of self-loathing one moment; and on an endorphin high the next.
Yes we've all been there; but some of us have come through on to the other side. And for that alone, the story is worth telling. Try chewing on it instead the next time you find yourself reaching for the jar of cookies.

Our changing tastes in food and ambience are showing up in restaurants all over the country RAHUL AKERKAR HAS TURNED HIS FORMERLY EUROPEAN RESTAURANT AT THE RACECOURSE, TOTE, INTO AN INDIAN PLACE
HERE'S WHAT'S becoming an almost annual roundup of current food trends and of what to expect in the coming year. I understand that some of this may seem repetitive but remember that trends take several years to unfold and that they don't begin and end with the calendar. SOUTH INDIAN FOOD The obvious growth area. In the first wave, south Indian food conquered the country with idli-dosa places. The second wave was the rise of seafood places with vaguely if not entirely authentic (i.e.
Trishna) coastal reference points.
My guess is that we will now go beyond the ethnic (Gajalee, Mahesh Lunch Home etc) kind of place and have mainstream restaurants that serve non-vegetarian south Indian food in a fun ambience.
It's already happening in Delhi with the Zambar chain and as more Zambars open in Pune, Bombay and elsewhere, they will probably be joined by others.

MODERN INDIAN Already established as a successful trend despite some false starts PHOTOS: THINKSTOCK (the first menu at Veda etc), this is certain to gather steam. Vineet Bhatia's Ziya at the Bombay Oberoi is slowly finding its feet, Hemant Oberoi's Varq packs them out every night in Delhi and once Foodistan goes on the air in late January I suspect that such chefs as Manish Mehrotra will emerge as the most widely recognised superstars of Indian cuisine. (Till then, Manish's Indian Accent flourishes in Delhi anyway).
But the single best modern Indian meal I had in 2011 was not at any of the better known places but at Amaranta at the Oberoi in Gurgaon. The food was brilliant and the flavours were authentic.
This is the best Indian restaurant the Oberois have ever run.
VEGETARIAN Chefs are slowly coming to terms with the fact that the people with the money tend to be those who don't eat meat. This is especially true of Bombay, Calcutta and the south. But while some restaurants such as Calcutta and Bombay's Souk are specifically targeted at vegetarians, there is still a need for purely vegetarian restaurants because many vegetarians feel uncomfortable eating at places where meat is served.
The ITC chain is launching an all-vegetarian brand of restaurants called Royal Vega and I suspect the trend will catch on.
AUTHENTIC CHINESE The big restaurant trend of the last few years has been the growth of restaurants that serve real Chinese food. The Hyatt's massively influential China Kitchen took authentic flavours to a new audience and there have been many other breakthroughs: Royal China in Delhi and now the branches of Hakkasan and Yauatcha in Bombay.
I was sitting with Nelson Wang the other day and though he is the man who invented Chicken Manchurian, Nelson feels that audience tastes are changing and that stand-alone restaurateurs cannot ignore the new wave of authentic Chinese restaurants with expat chefs. (For the record, Nelson rates the Delhi Royal China over its Bombay siblings.)
What's interesting is that with a few exceptions you can now get better Chinese food outside the hotels than you can inside them.

CONTINENTAL/EUROPEAN For years, we thought the category was dying but it has received a fillip recently with the success of such places as Le Cirque in Delhi. I was there last week and despite the absurdly overdone pricing, the restaurant was packed and people were waiting for tables. (I counted 106 covers.)
What was most interesting for me was that many of the guests had travelled a long way to get to south Delhi. If Le Cirque can successfully interest the west Delhi rich in authentic French/Italian food, then clearly there is a nouveau market that the other chains have missed.
Outside of Delhi, the Taj is about to launch an Italian Riviera cuisine place in Bombay and ITC will open a classy Italian in Madras.
Meanwhile, Bangalore continues to enjoy quality European cuisine. So the trend spreads across the country.
TRENDY CAFES The two most difficult reservations in Bombay and Delhi are both stand-alone café-type restaurants with a relaxed ambience but serious food. In Delhi, you have to beg for a table at lunch at Café Diva and in Bombay, The Table is the hottest restaurant in town.
Both offer the same kind of experience: sophistication without a five star hotel touch and an eclectic menu of food that is up to international standards.
This is probably the future, far away from five star coffee shops which are beginning to seem dated nowadays.
JAPANESE Okay, the verdict is in. For years restaurateurs have been astonished by the Indian fascination with Japanese food; something nobody had predicted.
But we now know that this is misleading. Indians don't really like Japanese food. A tiny minority of rich people wants a Nobu-type experience (hence Wasabi or Megu) but for most diners, the interest is restricted to sushi ­ which they love.
The parallel is with Italian food. Just because people love pizza it does not follow that they have any interest in real Italian cuisine.
So it is with Japanese. Just as Italian food in India means pizzapasta, Japanese food in India means sushi-sashimi.
The lesson from all this is that you don't need to open a Japanese restaurant to satisfy this demand. You can just open a sushi counter at any casual restaurant. WINE Yes I know. We've been talking about the wine boom for decades but we don't seem to be any nearer the experience of China which has now emerged as one of the world's greatest wine markets.
One of the problems is that various state governments impose absurd laws and duties which are then exploited by corrupt excise officials. It is almost impossible to make money selling wine in India if you are an honest merchant.
Even so, you have to be blind not to notice that a wine revolution is in progress. Last week I wandered into my grocer's in Defence Colony (Godrej Nature's Basket) and was astonished to find that they were conducting a wine-tasting (with Riedel glasses, no less) to huge public interest. You can now buy reasonably priced wine at many non-traditional outlets, people take bottles of wine to parties and most people keep wine at home. None of this was true five years ago.
Part of the reason why the revolution has still not taken off to the extent many predicted is because most Indian wine is not very good. (Please note: I have not used the word crap.) But this may be changing. The other day, I tried white wine from the Fratelli vineyard (a collaboration between Italians and Indians in Maharashtra) and was astonished to find that it did not have that characteristic second-rate taste of most Indian wines. So it is possible to make good wine in Maharashtra despite some of the rubbish I have tasted.
If Fratelli can keep this up and if others can match up to those standards then the revolution may move into its second phase.
THE SLOW DEATH OF PUNJABI RESTAURANT CUISINE We don't necessarily recognise this but the entire restaurant sector in India was created by Punjabis (from Kwality to Gaylord to Pandara Road to Churchgate Street to Connaught Place to the Oberois) who were content to serve the kind of food they would never eat at home but put on their menu. Even the kebab-tandoori explosion was created by Punjabis (Moti Mahal) and survives because of Bukhara.
But I suspect that people are tiring of the old Punjabi restaurant formula. The stand-alone restaurants find it difficult to survive in these days of high rents and a new sector has opened up with mall dining. Nor are people that interested in the old style of Punjabi restaurant food. Rahul Akerkar who runs the massively influential Indigo in Bombay has turned his formerly European Tote restaurant at the racecourse into an Indian place called Neel. What's significant is that Rahul's reference point is Lucknow, not the Punjab.
The restaurant is doing very well and the people of Bombay who have no real experience of Awadhi cuisine are loving it.
This suggests to me that north Indian restaurant food will slowly shift away from the Kwality-Copper Chimney kind of cuisine to genuine Lucknow and Awadhi food. So far, only ITC was doing this with its Dum Pukht chain but I think the trend will catch on.

MULTI-CUISINE
In the old days, everything was multi-cuisine. Then all restaurants became specialty places serving say, Chinese or Indian or Western.
The difference was that the food at the multi-cuisine restaurants was never very good while the specialty restaurants invested in good chefs and served authentic food.
That's changing. Delhi's restaurant phenomenon of the moment is still Setz which serves food from multiple kitchens (Thai, Chinese, Japanese, European, Lebanese, north Indian, coastal Indian etc). The reason it works is because each kitchen is run by a specialist. So Setz has the best Thai food in Delhi, the best brasserie-bistro style European food and the best desserts.
Spectra at the Gurgaon Leela tries the same thing as does 361 at the Gurgaon Oberoi. Neither restaurant manages food of the calibre of Setz but both flourish anyway. My prediction is that this is the wave of the future: people want great food and great ambience without being restricted to a single cuisine.
We live in an age of variety and demand it every time we go out.