Here come the grenadiers

The unrelenting rain came pounding down, I knew it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Sweat made my battle fatigues cling like an alternate skin, the slush made the trudging hard, and the dense forest wasn’t making it easier for the seasoned commando in me to move ahead! As I came to a clearing in the thicket, I realized it was too late - I had walked right into the enemy! In a do-or- die moment, I fumbled and the grenade exploded in my hand, there was a gush of blood, pieces of white skin lay around, blood flowed like juice down my hands, unable to move I had no choice but to lick my arms! God! Was this the end? Someone tapped my shoulder, I looked back with trepidation. It was my wife, looking at my clumsiness disapprovingly, and holding out the other half of the open pomegranate.

I accepted it with a smile, thankful at being alive, and let the explosions continue as aril after tiny aril exploded in my mouth - the juice filling me up while bite after crunchy bite released the mild and nutty flavour locked inside the seeds.

For a fruit akin to WW II ammo, the pomegranate sure packs a punch. It’s known to be a high source of fibre (when had with the seeds), it’s superb against a variety of stomach ailments, tones up the skin and is a great tonic for the heart and throat.

Here’s how you can stock up on the vitamins, minerals and all the good thingamajigs it brings along.

Pomegranate zatziki

Thick fresh yoghurt 150 gm

Pomegranate rubies 100 gm

Basil leaves (torn) 5 no

Fresh green chilli (torn into big pieces) 1 no

Fresh top quality mustard oil ½ tsp

Coarse sea salt to taste

Put the yoghurt, pomegranate rubies,basil and chilli in a bowl. Mix with a spoon – let only a few of the rubies get crushed. Top with the mustard oil and mix very gently. Keep aside for an hour for the flavours to develop. Serve along with the coarse sea salt and encourage your guests to top each spoonful with a couple of grains of salt.

Duck for cover as the flavours explode!

Kolaveri pancakes

Yo boys. I am write recipe. Sssimple recipe. Super recipe!!

Kolaveri Di is a raging epidemic. It’s peppy, zingy, has a lovely beat and is easily hummable. It has the quality of all things great - Its simple!

I call it the phulka theory. We take phulkas for granted - try making them perfectly round and perfectly fluffed up each and every time and you’ll see what I mean! Simple doesn’t mean easy.

I am convinced that when we keep things simple and straightforward they go right to the heart - whether its simple songs or simple food!

Heres a recipe that’s great to work with in the coming festive season.

For the pancakes you need

Plain flour - 125gm

Salt – a pinch

Egg - 1 no lightly beaten

Milk – 300 ml

Oil – little to grease the pan

Mix the flour and salt into a bowl, make a well in the centre and pour the egg and a bit of the milk. Whisk the liquid gradually incorporating the flour to make a smooth paste. Whisk in the remaining milk and keep covered allowing it to rest for a bit.

Grease a non- stick pan and heat it well, pour in a measured quantity of the batter and quickly swirl it around the pan. Cook for a couple of minutes and then flip and cook the other side for half a minute or so. Slide the pancake out and make more with the remaining batter.

These pancakes are great to set you off on a culinary ride of your own. Once you’ve got them sussed out, you can use these for any savoury recipe or for mild desserts where you don’t want too sweet a flavour.Experiment with fillings like spinach and cheese, spiced corn, creamy mushroom, strawberries and cream, chocolate and walnuts. Take your shot at making a simple recipe a super hit blockbuster!

The Alfredo Conundrum

As a chef I am often asked whether I doctor my dishes or stick to authentic recipes, and in all fairness that is a question that merits an honest answer. But tell me, how authentic is authentic? And who are the custodians of authenticity? In my view if you manage to make a dish with all its elements of flavour, texture and look intact – you have made an effort to be authentic. A classic case is the Fettuccine Alfredo.

Reputed to have been immortalized by Alfredo di Lelio of Rome, the dish was a take on pasta al burro - a classic dish of hot pasta and butter.

Alfredo, we are told, used to hand toss the hot pasta and pecorino cheese on a large slab of butter! And to complete the drama he would then serve this amazingly simple dish with a golden fork! Such was Alfredo’s style that people always queued up for this experience. You could count yourself lucky if you got anything half as authentic in any Italian restaurant worth its salt as in most places you would get a pasta masquerading in the ubiquitous ‘white sauce' or slathered with cream and reeking of garlic!

Not everyone has hands to handle the heat, nor a golden fork to serve their pasta with!

To make this simple delicious pasta you need.

For 2 people

Fresh or dry Fettuccine 160 gms dry or 200 gms fresh

Butter 90 gms

Grated pecorino or parmesan cheese 90 gms

Cook pasta in hot boiling water as per the instructions on the packet. Fresh pasta should not take more than two and half minutes.

In a pan toss in the soft butter, tip the hot pasta over it, toss vigourously with one hand sprinkling the grated cheese with the other. This could take some practice. Add a little hot water if you see the pasta clumping together. Season mildly as the cheese itself has a slightly salty taste.

Serve at once with a your own signature fork!

Khorma, qaliya aur nattan boltaan!

On a visit to the old city I heard these words in a non-descript eatery ‘Miya ek ghosht khorma dena aur zurra nattan boltaan zyada dalna’ – give me a mutton quorma and be generous with the knobbly bits of meat ! It was hard to miss the romance of language and cuisine – the meat and bone being metaphorically called nuts and bolts! Here was a person who loved his khormas, and as I was to learn, so was the rest of Hyderabad!

Hyderabadi food is much more than just a signature mass market biryani and a jammy Khubani ka meetha – it’s a reflection of how a cuisine has developed over the years by a careful and studied amalgamation of cultures and culinary technique. A lot of this has been credited to the seven generations of Nizams who were patrons of all things fine from literature, art and architecture to jewellery, culture and rich food. Originally believed to be from Baghdad - the Nizams were the administrators of the land and very rich at that, what with Mir Osman Ali Khan Asaf Jah VII being considered the richest man in the world with an estimated fortune of $2 billion (and this was in the forties!) Needless to say where there is wealth there has to be luxuriously great food! The kitchens of the Nizams boasted of culinary masters from all over, creating and innovating with their techniques and the rich palette of spices that India offered.

With this in mind I set out to taste what Hyderabad could put on my plate. From luqmis to saalans, kebabs to pachadis and biryanis to meethas - every day my discoveries amazed me no end. The tala hua gosht - a true tribute to elegant simplicity served with crisp fried curry leaves and chilli and ever so tastefully tossed only with salt and a bit of red chilli powder. The warqi samosa – artisan craftsmanship in the culinary realm, crisp layers of fine samosa dough enveloping a gem of spiced onions or mince. Haleem – the most intense meat porridge in the world! The khormas, qaliyas and the baghars, the killingly sweet Khubani ka meetha or the pastel green kaddu ki kheer; the almost pristine white sufiyani pullao with each grain of rice so wonderfully fluffed, the fragrance of cardamom, the pink doneness of the chicken which had been thoughtfully brined with the skin on before even being considered for the pullao! A subtle hint that this technique came imported from a western kitchen! For that matter even the muttabak - one look and you could swear that it had Italian ancestory, a thin roomali bread topped with mutton mince followed by a layer of egg and cheese topped with an encore! which on baking magically transforms into a kebab with no rival. Sensuous to the look and absolutely insane in texture and form!

Hold on - wasn’t that supposed to be lasagna?

But the biggest intrigue of them all was Hyderabad’s contribution to the gourmet world - The Hyderabadi Biryani - a dish that had me curious for years and I just had to find out what all the fuss was about. My pursuit led me on a trail of the old city eateries, high market restaurants, traditional homes and 5 Star hotels. And the world of me could never find the ultimate Hyderabadi Biryani! Because everybody made the authentic one!! However what I did realize was that it had a pedigree and a genus all to its own. While everybody and their uncle proclaimed that they made the best Hyderabadi Biryani – my determinations had to rest on the few signs of a great one - long grain basmati rice-longer the better, cooked to fluffy perfection, greased just enough to shine and suggest, well marinated raw meat to begin with, spice to excite and tease but not to singe, not too wet nor too dry, fresh minty fragrance, soft fall-off-the-bone-meat, saffron if you please and of course cooked lovingly on the ‘dum’.

Now as easy as this may sound - it takes the biryani master years of toil and patience at the stove in order to achieve the perfect climax of rice and meat! From being able to judge the best quality meat to be able to understand when the rice would reach its culinary zenith! The biryani master could well be the culinary equivalent of a barista, a winemaker or a cheesemaster! And that, to me, was what the Hyderabadi Biryani was all about. Detailing!

While these are the culinary strengths of Hyderabad, I took me a lot of tasting to realize that not everybody could stoke the fire. In the mad scramble for money Hyderabad has spawned dime a dozen eateries that belt biryani and ‘pure ghee- pure goat’ haleem by the tonnes. Arabic, Iranian and Yemeni are terms that lend themselves to sell anything from dates to tea and biscuits, and ajinomoto has become the new salt!

To the seeker though, it still has a lot to offer. The game is in the hunt!

A million culinary experiences, a million linguistic ones.

Hallu khao miyan nahin to pachinga nahin!(Eat slow or you wont digest it!)

PS: Nattan boltaan is a signature dish in Verandah at The Park, Hyderabad – my tribute to the endless joy of being in Hyderabad.

The Flavour war

My aunt found herself in alien territory on the other side of the matrimonial fence.

She was yet to acquaint herself with the ways of the in-laws, and to add to that the ways of the Indian army. It wasn’t going to be easy and whoever said it was, was obviously, the greatest fence sitter of all time!

Life as an army officer’s wife, she soon realized, was tough but rewarding as well. The numerous parties and ‘call-ons’ ensured she had a hectic social life. When there was’nt a party to go to, the party usually came home! She found herself cooking for a platoon of young officers who had yet to find their lady loves. They admired and respected her for her culinary prowess. They loved every little morsel that she dished out but then again these were guys who could devour an armoured tank with a bit of salt and lime! Anyone who has cooked for young army officers could tell you that. Life was good but there was something amiss.

Her culinary virtuosity paled when it came to pleasing my uncle’s palate. She always fell short of his mother’s cooking. The varan, bhat, kap, chutney, amti and phulka were all good but there was always that something that did not merit a hundred percent.

Ten years into their marriage as they sat down for dinner, one evening, her hand trembled as she poured the toop (ghee) on the hot bhat. She watched carefully as uncle had his first spoonful. That morning, she had forgotten the toop on the stove when she went for her bath. The bottom had burnt, and she knew that.

He tasted the delicate mix of hot rice, amti and toop, looked her in the eyes and said “Now you’ve got it right! That’s what I’m talkin about!”

It was a night to remember, he took her out for ice cream and a movie. Little did she know that the deep nutty flavour of burnt toop would win her the ten year war.

It was always about the pasta

My journey with cooking took a dramatic turn at Carluccios famed London eatery - The Neal Street restaurant - famous for its prodigies Jamie Oliver and Gennaro Contaldo.

One nippy march morning, I walked into the warm belly of the basement kitchen to the smells of fresh coffee and chefs preparing lunch for the staff. I watched in amazement as each went about his work like he was born to it. To me this, in itself, was a revelation. The silent synchronicity of passion.

Not knowing what to say or do I quietly attached myself to Luigi, who was making a big casserole of pasta with rabbit ragu. I saw him pour a few glugs of oil into the pan and as the sweet smell of warm olive oil wafted up - I realized I was in a culinary mecca of sorts.

I watched with fascination as he went about deftly stirring the onion sofritto, sloshing in white wine in abundance and then adding the mince. There was an air of superiority that he wielded with every turn of the spatula. The casual nonchalance was all about knowing what to do, but to me he was making the moment more and more magical, the smells from the casserole were strikingly simple- onion, bayleaf and evaporating wine came up in tantalizing wafts.

When the rigatoni was finally tossed up with the ragu – there was no telling that this was a dish for the staff and not for some celebrity visiting the Neal Street dining hall!

To my surprise, Carluccio had seen me observe every step and asked me if I would like to taste a squid ink tonarelli (a type of pasta) made by him - to which of course I nodded my head with vigour that would put a chameleon to shame.

In a jiffy he tossed up glossy black ribbons of squids ink pasta with scallops, prawns and bright orange scallop roe. A spectacular dish emerged; one that would cost top dollar and here it was in front of me - made by the master himself!

Needless to say I dug in with gusto and looked up only after I had wiped the plate as clean as before anything went on it!

I loved every bit of it though I would have liked more prawns and scallops but dare I say that to the master? Dare I did, and said it to him in the most suggestive way.

His reply – was my first lesson in the art of pasta making- he smiled and said “Mandaar, it’s a pasta dish, not a seafood platter. The seafood is just the supporting cast, the star is the pasta!”

Now I knew why the Italians were so crazy about the pasta, the flour, the water, the eggs, the source, the drying, the sauce - the al dente cooking……………………..

It was always about the pasta!

As Fresh as

One Sunday, driving around town, I found myself tailing a milk man on a scooter and my mind went back to when we were children- The doorbell rang- its was the ‘doodhwala’ with his milk can and the indispensible ‘measure’. The smell of the fresh milk made me giddy as he measured and poured it out! Cut to this morning, I open the door and see two packets of milk and I couldn’t help but make the comparison between then and now!

On idle holidays we would sit around watching the lawn being mowed, taking in the smell of freshly cut grass; when grandpa brought mangoes and jackfruit, they still had the sticky sap oozing from the stem, the groundnuts came in bunches with the soil still on! We had to carefully wash them before we popped them open and enjoyed them! Ditto for green gram and peas.

The town market used to be a crazy medley of sights and smells, the fresh coriander in luscious tones of neon green filling the surroundings with a heady perfume, the huge mounds of long runner beans entwined like little snakes, the neat piles of bottle gourd and aubergines, the seductive red tones of ripe tomatoes, the slender pods of drumsticks, huge piles of marigold flowers, earthy looking potatoes, colocasia and yam, white garlic and pink onion with their rustling skins, big heaps of green chillies beckoning to savour their fieriness.

When the market came to town, fresh was a given, but even then we had to do the coconut-shake to see how much water was sloshing inside, the watermelon-tap to check for ripeness, the melon-sniff to make sure they were sweet enough and the okra-top-snap to check for tenderness

The road and the milkman turned and I drove on ahead wondering if I would ever find the milkman to tail again - so that I could relive those fresh days just once more in this tetrapacked world.