Month: July 2015

“Amma, amma… ” says a two-year old tiny tot with a strangely deep, gruff voice.

“Amma, amma… ” echoes her twin in an equally deep voice.

The baby twins of our family – S & S are tiny, delicate creatures whose baritone voices never fail to astonish – they are so unsuited to their physiques! They also never fail to bring a smile to the visage of anyone who hears them!

“Cheppamma,” (tell me) says the harried mother of four children, whose patience never seems to desert her.

“Evaro ostunnaru.” (Someone is coming). The twins are hanging over the back of the sofa and watching the world go by, in a vantage position to watch people coming up the path to their home.

“Who is it?” asks the mom, not having time to look around.

The little ones stare at the middle aged man coming up the path. Realisation dawns. They’ve seen him before – a friendly uncle who never fails to bring them sweets. His name they don’t know but they know him – and, in the manner of twins the world over, have a description of him between themselves!

“Aa konchem juttunde bodigunduvaadu vastunnadu (that bald man with the little hair is headed this way)!!” they announce in unison.

Like I said, their voices are deep and… carrying… and carry all the way to the bald man with the little hair, who has carried himself to the doorstep by now!

Luckily the slightly bald man, or should I say the slightly be-haired man (happens to be my dad, by the way!) has a good sense of humour and is most amused by the twins’ description of himself and shares it with the extended family!

The twins, being the youngest in a large family of many cousins, continue to provide much amusement till they grow up!

On another occasion, I take the two of them to watch Jungle Book in a theatre which is putting on a special screening for children. The theatre is packed with kids, parents and grandparents. Some of the jokes go quite above the heads of our two. Some they get immediately and their amusement is a joy to behold!

But the best are the jokes (like the vultures’ song, which goes, “What are we gonna gonna do? So what are we gonna do?”) which they get five minutes after the theatre has erupted in laughter! Light dawns and they start off with a slow, deep chuckle which turns into a veritable steamroller of deep laughter and continues for several minutes as they get really into the  joke! By now, the rest of the audience has turned around to look at us and is laughing uproariously – all in all, just what a children’s film ought to be!

They also always, but always look out for each other. If one is offered a sweet, she will hold out the other hand promptly, asking, “Paapaki?” (one for the other baby?)

Which is what I want to do every time I’m offered one of these – the melt-in-the-mouth Andhra sweets unromantically called boorelu, except I don’t have a twin, so I have to ask for myself!

 BOORELU

For the dipping batter

• Black gram dal/Urad dal – 50 gms (about 1/4 cup)
• Raw rice – 2 tbsp

For the filling (poornam)

• Bengal gram/Chana dal – 1 cup
• Grated Jaggery – 1 cup
• Grated coconut (fresh) – 1/4 cup (optional) I prefer mine without.
• Cardamom powder – 3/4 tsp
• Salt to taste

OTHER

• Oil for deep frying

Soak the urad dal and rice separately for about 4 hours.

Grind the rice to a fine paste, 1/4 tsp of salt and the dal. Grind together to a fine paste adding about 3-4 tsp of water. The batter is thick, coating batter – like idli batter.

Soak the chana dal for an hour in about 2 cups water. Pressure cook for three whistles till soft. Drain and cool.

Mix 1/4 cup water to the jaggery and cook to a single string syrup.

Grind the cooked, drained chana dal and coconut along with the cardamom and 1 pinch of salt.

Gently mix in the jaggery to bring it to a not too soft dough. If it is too watery, cook it for a few minutes on a gentle flame, stirring constantly. The water evaporates, leaving a pliable dough.

Cool this jaggery mixture and form into small balls – about the size of a small lime.

Heat the oil till below smoking point.

Dip the jaggery balls into the batter till it is coated thickly and evenly and fry till golden brown.

Drain and serve. These are traditionally served at the begiining of an Andhra meal along with gaarelu  as vadas are called in Telugu.

Want another one for paapaki?

“Doctor, my child won’t eat anything. He’s losing weight and I’m worried.”

Hands up all those with children who have asked this question at least once in your life. All the other liars, please prepare to meet your Maker!

Almost all kids, even the most unfussy ones, seem to make that effort to fit in with the herd by throwing the occasional food tantrum!

Anyway, the story goes that the doctor in question took the kid (not to mention the mother!) seriously and decided to use some psychology on him (must have read the same Melanie Klein series on psychology that Bertie Pollock’s mom subscribed to in Alexander McCall Smith’s Scotland Street series!) and plays along.

“Well, young man, what do you have to say?”

“I don’t want to eat” – baldly and without any embroidery as only a child can.

Some coaxing and cajoling happens – to no avail.

The doctor finally asks, “If you could eat anything in the world, what would you like to eat?”

Seriously?? Forget psychology – common sense would dictate that is a very loaded question!

The kid eyes the doctor sidelong – this is a gift he’s not bargained for!

“A worm,” he says – trust a seven-year old to judge adults to a nicety in terms of how far they can be pushed!

The doctor blanches but continues down his suicidal Melanie Klein path… (I have no sympathy – he deserves what he gets!)

“Wait here,” he tells the patient and goes out to the garden and digs around after elusive worms, finally managing to run one hapless specimen down… and bears it triumphantly into the clinic.

The kid has had plenty of time to marshall his wits.

“Cut it in half,” says he.

Taking a clean scalpel (for a worm that eats mud??!), the doc proceeds to obey orders.

The kid, let’s call him Dennis, sizes up the situation.

“You eat one half,” he tells the doc, waiting to scoot if there is any sign of the doctor breaking and resultant retribution…

The doc, whose knowledge of kids seems to stem primarily from the textbooks of that awful woman Melanie Klein again, blanches but is determined to call the kid’s bluff. He picks it up, opens his mouth wide (they practise saying “aaah” on themselves before they enter practice!), pops it in and manages to swallow it!

“Waaanh!! WAAANHH! WAAAANNNNHHH!” wails the kid, throwing himself back on the examination table in a classic tantrum, “He ate MY half!”

And you thought you could get the better of a seven-year old using a textbook on psychology??!

Thankfully, my kids were never fussy – at least they weren’t allowed to be! I used a very simple technique – everyone in the family got to choose the menu on one day – provided they ate whatever the others chose on the other days! Kids were easy to train but husbands are a different matter!

Even the fussiest eater though, won’t cavil at these specialties of my aunt Malathi Mohan – the…

DOUGHNUT

• Maida/plain flour – 250 gm
• Butter – 55 gms
• Eggs – 2
• Sugar (powdered) – 85 gms
• Salt – 1/4 tsp
• Vanilla essence – 1 tsp
• Baking powder – 1.5 tsp
• Oil for deep frying – 300 ml

Sift the flour with the baking powder and salt.

Cream the butter and add the sugar. Add beaten eggs along with a tbsp of flour so it doesn’t curdle.

Add vanilla essence, the rest of the flour and mix with a very light hand to a soft dough.

Roll out on a floured surface to 1/2 cm thickness. Cut out rings with a lid with a handle. In the centre of the circle, cut out small rings with a smaller lid (say the essence bottle) – see pics.

Roll out all the doughnuts and start frying the doughnut holes on a very low heat till golden brown. Drain.

Fry the doughnuts, 3 or 4 at a time – ditto.

Box when completely cool, if there’s any left!

If you like them sweeter, roll in powdered sugar. Or dip one side in chocolate sauce.

Get ready to face your seven-year old!

“Naans, naans, can I also tell you a story?” asks my two-year old nephew Parashu excitedly, jumping up and down!

‘Naans’, his short form for ‘naannamma’ (paternal grandmom), has been telling them stories the whole evening and the little lad is simply bursting with excitement and all the tales from the Panchatantra he’s been listening to, his head buzzing with talking animals, heroes, magical plants and suchlike.

“Do tell,” encourages his Naans…

Parshu takes a deep breath in preparation for this very important adult task… and starts off…

“Once there was a tiger… (deep breath again as suspense builds up!) The tiger came to one village… and, and… and (phew, we’re falling off our seats, nails are being chewed to the quick!)…

“And what, Parshu?” asks Naans.

“And the tiger went away!”

“And then?

“Anthey! The story is over!”

“Aiyo, thums!” protests his four-year old brother – in disgust! (‘thums’ is short for ‘thammudu’ – younger brother in Telugu)

 “Ok, I’ll tell another story?” asks  cherubic two-year old, wanting to please and not in the least discouraged by this response!

“Noooo,” protests the elder sibling, in the manner of all elder siblings, having no faith in the young ‘uns of the family! And who can blame them? They’ve seen the little ones when they are born and about as capable as wingless fledglings, or for this vegetarian blog, as a custard pudding!

Naans overrules. “Of course,” she encourages the budding Aesop.

Parshu’s brow furrows – in deep thought… this is hard…

“One man comes… ” …more furrowing of aforementioned chubby brow, more deep thinking…

“He plants some seeds… ” the effort is now palpably strained!

The older brother is already making snorts of derision!

“And… and… he GOES!” That last produced with all the energy befitting such an exciting denouement!

There is one thing to be said in favour of our Shakespeare though – he doesn’t tell tall tales!

And to celebrate my nephew the storyteller (aka Mr ABO – Always Batting Only – he refuses to walk when out at cricket citing the most inventive of excuses – you see his story telling skills did improve! – the christening being done by Ramana Murthy Nemali), here’s a very special and unusual cake… from Bombay…

MAWA CAKE

• Plain flour – 160 gm
• Baking pwd – 3/4 tsp
• Finely powdered cardamoms – 3 (powder with 1/2 tsp of sugar to get  areally fine pwd)
• Table butter – 100 gms
• Mawa (dried whole milk or milk thickened to an almost crumbly consistency by heating in an open pan) – 100 gm 
• Sugar – 170 gm
• Eggs – 2
• Whole milk – 90 ml
• Cashewnuts for topping

Grease a round, deep cake mould – this is one of those fat cakes!

Mix together, the flour, baking powder and cardamom pwd.

In a separate bowl, beat together the butter with sugar and mawa.

Add eggs, one at a time, whipping well.

Fold in the flour mixture and pour into the cake mould. You could also use muffin tins but then you don’t get thos really satisfactory fat slices!

Top with cashewnuts and bake at 180 C for 25-30 minutes till golden brown on top.

This cake is the best tea-time cake ever! What sets it apart from the run of the mill, everyday plain cakes is the sheer butteriness of it on your palate – as it slips down… and settles on your hips!

(Pic courtesy internet)

Am in shock!

TOTAL SHOCK!

Idly opened my webpage and looked for the recipe to my very favourite, TOP-of-all-the-pops dessert, sure that I must have blogged it early on in the blog and find I HAVEN’T! Omg, OMG! What’s rasmalai going to do to me in revenge? How could I have forgotten?

Better sense prevails – rasmalai is too sweet to do anything to me in return, except maybe look at me reproachfully! All I can say in my defence is that rasmalai has been responsible for at least half the superfluous pounds I carry and therefore my subconscious must have blocked it out! And kudos to the subsconscious too – having come back from Amreeka with excess  baggage that I didn’t have to pay for since I was carrying them strategically positioned on the nether end and the tum (and no, you may not know exactly how many!), i have put myself on a diet and now I just have to go make rasmalai! Never mind, I’ll be extra good for the rest of the week… famous last words?

The love affair with rasmalais has lasted me my entire adult life – which is when I first tasted them and I am sure that you will find a rasmalai-shaped hole in my heart when I die!

Kolkata, you may have a Black Hole, you might need a bath more often, you may have inflicted an incomprehensible music genre on the rest of India (apologies to Robindra Sangeet – the fault is totally mine for having the most unmusical ear in the world!) but… and  it’s a VERY big but – (please refrain from making obvious comparisons with another similar sounding noun which refers to the result of many years of putting away Bengali sweets with gusto!)… but… all is forgiven! Your genius in creating this most delicious of all desserts (whether you did or Odisha did can be settled at another slugfest!) has ensured you a place in culinary paradise forever and ever amen!

There are those (forever consigned to the Hades!) who have attempted to re-work this piece of perfection by flavouring it with strawberries and even, horror of horrors – chocolate! To those I say, repent while you are still alive! Salvation is nigh – if only you will go back to the Goddess of Bong sweets and swear that you will never again interfere with its perfection of cottage cheese dumplings in cold thickened milk and saffron… wait, let me go make some before I perish of want!

Here’s how.

RASMALAI

• Milk 2 litres + 2 litres for the rabdi
• White vinegar 40 ml
• Plain flour/maida 2 tsp
• Cornflour 1/2 teaspoon
• Sugar 1.2 kilograms + 6 tbsp
• Milk 2 tablespoons
• Saffron strands – a few
• Slivered pistachios and almonds – 2 tbsp

Bring 2 litres of milk to the boil. Add the vinegar and 2 cups of cold water and stir for a minute. Switch off.

Let it settle for ten minutes and then strain through very thin muslin. Discard the water (or freeze it in cubes for kneading roti dough later!) The water should be completely removed.

Knead together the chenna (the cheesy stuff that you’ve just strained out) with 1 tsp of maida and the cornflour. Knead to a very smooth dough.

Divide into about 25-30 balls and roll till the surface is smooth. Press slightly to flatten them a bit. Set aside.

In the meantime, start another an with the other two litres of milk in it. Reduce milk, stirring frequently till it is reduced to about 1.5 litres.

In another pan, bring the sugar to a boil along with 1 litre of water. Boil for a few minutes, removing the scum as it rises.

Make a slurry of 1 tsp of maida and 1 cup of water and add to the syrup.

Gently slide the chenna discs into the syrup and boil for fifteen minutes, drizzling a few tbsp of water down the sides every few minutes to keep the syrup from getting too thick.

To test, take out one and press with your finger or a spoon (recommended!). If it is spongy and springs back, its done!

Let them soak for ten minutes then squeeze out and slide gently into the rabdi.

Dissolve saffron in 2 tbsp of milk and add.

Cool and then refrigerate.

Serve in bowls with the rasmalai sitting prettily in the middle of a some rabdi and slivered nuts on top.

Do obeisance to the woman/man who invented this!

(Pic courtesy internet)

“How was your day at school today, Maarut?” asks my friend Viraja of her three year old grandson who has just started school – that day!

“It was okay” – phew they learn young, don’t they – that “it was okay” is a statement which covers everything- and nothing!

“But what did you do?” she persists.

“Oh, I beat up my friend,” said with complete nonchalence!

“And what did he do?”

“He cried” – he offers in the rather cutely gruff voice that the little boy has – the attitude and the voice are a positive invitation to merriment! We restrain ourselves, however and continue down this path which now seems fraught with possibilities!

“And then?” we ask, waiting with bated breath to hear what the teacher did!

“He beat me up” – phew!

“And then?”

“I cried.”

“And then?” – this tale is bidding fair to rival even “Die Hard” for suspense!

“Then I came home. And here I am!!”

I am by now in love with this little Dennis and William rolled into one combination!

Am also reminded irresistibly of his mother D, my friend’s daughter, thirty years ago. I walk into their house, proudly showing off my brand new pair of high heeled sandals – with gold lace and all. D, who is about two years old and very fond of pretty things, is promptly smitten!

I take off my sandals at the door and Divya promptly slides her tiny feet into them and proceeds to give me a serious sales pitch. “Anu aunty, these are lovely! Don’t they look pretty on my feet? Can you give them to me? Ask your mother to buy you one more”...the chatter goes on as she clomps around the room and I chase her – terrified in case she should trip and break something – a bone maybe!

She doesn’t trip and nothing is broken. The nonchalance is unimpaired even thirty years later and her love for pretty things is still intact! Quite amazing the things our kids inherit from us!!

And equally amazing the dish that she served for lunch… the very, very Andhra delicacy…

AAVAPETTINA PANASA POTTU KOORA (Quite a mouthful but it’s basically raw jackfruit curry flavoured with ground raw mustard seeds)

• Raw jackfruit  chopped – 2 cups (you get this canned in the US – would you believe it?? Here in India, you buy one whole fruit and spend an hour and a half cutting and cleaning it and then another hour and a half getting the sticky bits off your hair and your nose (you try not to scratch that itch on your nose as you’re cutting!)
• Tamarind paste – 1 tbsp
• Green chilies – 6-8
• Mustard seeds – 1/2 tsp for tempering
• Oil – 3-4 tbsp
• Turmeric – 1/4 tsp
• Asafoetida – 1 pinch
• Red chili powder – 1/2 tsp
• Salt
• Chana dal (Bengal gram dal) – 1 tsp
• Urad dal – 1 tsp
• Ginger – 1/2 ” piece – chopped
• Cumin seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Curry leaves – 2 sprigs

AAVA PASTE

• Mustard seeds – 1 tsp
• Red chili – 1
• Water – 1 tsp – grind together to a rough paste in a mortar and pestle.

Wash the jackfruit pieces well and drain. In a heavy pan, add 1/4 cup water and the jackfruit along with the tumeric. Cook, covered, stirring occassionally till tender – 8-10 minutes. (or microwave on high for 8 minues, turning over once). Cool. Squeeze out the water.

Grind the green chilies and ginger to a rough paste.

In another saucepan, heat the oil. Add 1/2 tsp mustard seeds, chana dal, urad dal, curry leaves, asafoetida, red chili powder and cumin seeds. Saute for a minute till golden.

Add the green chili – ginger paste and saute for two minutes more..

Add the tamarind paste and the jackfruit pieces along with the salt. Stir to coat completely.

Cover and cook for 2-3 minutes more.

Add the mustard-red chili paste and switch off. Mix well and serve with hot rice and ghee.

Died and gone to heaven yet??!

(pic courtesy internet)