It's a weekday-holiday today, Happy Dussehra and all. I was served methi paratha for breakfast, but I wanted to try out something else, with a kitchen and time at my disposal for the morning. I decided to experiment, and try out "paratha noodles" inspired by this video (with whatever ingredients I could find):
This is how it went:
Stack up your parathas, or rotis (bonus points if lachha paratha) and then roll them up together. Now, cut through them, making thin strips out of them. You should get a plate full noodle-like strips of rotis at the end of this activity, and keep it aside. (refer the video)
Heat (medium) oil on a pan, ajwain/mustard seeds sprinkled into them. Just when they start spattering, add chopped garlic and onion to the heat. Allow them to turn into whatever shade you like them best. Add into them julienned carrots and diced capsicums if you have them (I didn't, sad trombone), and the diced tomatoes. Allow them to cook for a minute or so, so the oil works on them all. Lower the flame. Now, sprinkle some chilli powder and salt over them. Here, you may add garam masala and/or other spices too - each give the dish a unique end result. Add crushed black pepper and salt "as per taste". Also add chilli sauce, ketchup (or just the hot and sweet ketchup instead of both). Stir them up quickly.
Before the vegetables get cooked too much, add into them the rotis that you had shredded into strips earlier and mix them well with the vegetables. The rotis must be cool/cold after all the waiting by the side. So, the mixture should cook with the parathas such that the parathas are now hot on the pan but the vegetables don't get overcook to become too soft by the end. Garnish them with coriander leaves for the aesthetics. Serve hot.
Like all things Indian, this can also be customized as per taste and liking, or as was the case with me - as per availability, so try them out. (vegetables - cabbages work fine too, also beans, coloured bell peppers, peas; sauces - soy sauce can be added but not for breakfast; spices - as you like/want) This is a dish to get out of the boredom of the simple roti and paratha with dahi/achaar/ketchup routine, so make it fun.
PS: The South Indian variant - chilli parotta - is the boss of this division, something I hope to master some day (tummy approves).
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Tomato Balls
I have not required to make my own meal in nearly 3 years now, and the last I had to do so, it was only for a period of 4 months. I have just started trying out something out of boredom in the kitchen that is open to use on weekend, while the canteen/mess runs it on the other days.
Last week, I made tomato balls, which I watched on TV, no Carnival Eats on Nat Geo Travel (I think) in an episode that covered the Indiana State Fair.
Here is what is needed:
Tomatoes
Onions (Onion:Tomato::1:2)
Mozzarella cheese
Black Pepper
Coriander leaves
Green chillies
A few cloves of garlic, as you please.
Maida/wheat flour/corn flour (as a binder)
Bread Crumbs (even better binder)
Any spices/masala (I used jeera, chilly powder, and a pinch of chaat masala)
Salt
Oil (for frying)
Recipe:
Dice the tomatoes small, drain them. If they are pulpy, squish them a bit and drain the juice away. (If you can combine this with another dish that can use this tomato juice, it would be brilliant!) Chop the onions fine. Grate the cheese, and fill half a cup with the gratings. Add the tomatoes, onions and cheese to a bowl and add a bit of flour to the mix. Grind and add the black pepper and jeera to this. Chop green chillies, garlic and the coriander leaves and them to the bowl. Also add the spices and salt.
Mix them together, add some fine granules of bread crumbs and continue to mix until the contents can be bound into a ball. Once it is thick enough, roll them into small balls 2" or so big. If you can multitask the frying and the ball-making, that is good. Else, have all the balls made before the oil is put on heat.
On a frying pan, or fryer, have enough amount of oil to submerge the balls. Once the oil is hot enough on med/high flame, drop in the balls carefully and deep fry them. The texture on the outside becomes dark brown with the tomatoes and onions frying. Once so on all sides, take them off the stove and place them on a paper napkin to drain off excess oil. Serve hot with ketchup or mayonnaise.
I enjoyed it when I watched it on TV, and I enjoyed the customised way I had prepared it (above) too. The cheese played some magic inside, the tomatoes and onions tasted well. It went well with mayo, too! This would be a nice evening snack. Do remember: the more wet and pulpy the cut tomatoes are, the more difficult it would be to bind them together. Using more dough would bring down the taste/flavour. Also, you can go innovative on the leaf used - coriander can be replaced with mint. Spices can be chosen as per taste.
Click here for the video of the original.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Kolkata, Digha, North Odisha
A colleague's wedding recently presented an opportunity to pack myself East to Bengal and Odisha. I say such, because I was always holding myself back in visiting Kolkata - I dislike crowded cities and find comfort in the smaller ones. I once was at Kharagpur for a week, and didn't visit Kolkata! Only recently I braved myself to Mumbai, and loved it.
The very moment I stepped out into the Kolkatan air, I could feel the humidity, on my palm, very much like Chennai. Airport is far away from the heart of the city, but the city has expanded well to touch and consume the airport into its arms. A long ride from the airport to Bhawanipore gave a glimpse of the city I had been shunning myself away from all these years. First, the long VIP road, which I think is the road that you can recognize from the sky as you descend to land - a long, wide road, with tall light masts, taking very few turns along its way as it drives you to the city. I noticed there were very few two-wheelers on these roads, which is quite different from Nagpur, where everybody drives approximately 1.3 two-wheelers on the road. We bade goodbye to the VIP and snaked our way towards Bhawanipore, probably touching Park Street on our way through. If I trace the same route, I can buy anything and everything I need to furnish my house, find schools and colleges for kids, places to work, shop, dine and bank the rest.
A friend of mine helped me with lodging, and met us when we arrived. We then dined at Jai Hind Dhaba, which started as a tea stall for truck drivers and is now a three-level restaurant at Bhawanipore, and has branches elsewhere. We helped ourselves to this and that, and more of that. I never thought alu-do-pyaaza could taste exotic. My friend confirmed we had space to spare in our tummy, and took us to Balwant Singh's for a dessert - doodh cola. Yes, cola milk. You never know how two things get together well. There is a lesson on Po - the art of fusing two ideas together and deriving answers, in Lateral Thinking by Edward de Bono. I am sure this is what he intended to mean. Ohh, we also saw Netaji Bhawan, the residence of Netaji Subash Chandra Bose, from where he escaped home arrest.
We woke up early next day to make our way to the railway station. I did know it was summer, and Kolkata is to the East, but I did not expect day break at 4.30 am! The time was 5.00, the roads were empty, the early morning light gave a clear, open look at another side of Kolkata - between the lawns, besides the Victoria Memorial, St. Paul's Cathedral, the Eden Gardens, Howrah Bridge and eventually, the loud and bustling, Howrah Railway Terminus.
The short journey to Digha ran alongside a very beautiful scenery by its sides. Once it was out of the city, it ran through vast greenery. I wanted to make up for the short sleep overnight, with some on the train. So, after I read Neville Cardus describing the most ideal match he ever saw, where Sir Don Bradman and his Australians overcame a hiccup to decimate the English, I fell asleep, dreaming that I am happily bashed to the boundary ropes by the Don as if it was an honour to be bowling to him. That lasted for only that short while as my very loud neighbour wanted to talk to his family seated behind him every 30 second, so loud that the most punk motorbike would be put to shame. Barely hearing my own thoughts clearly, I carried myself to Digha, and in all the excitement, forgot the book on the train. That train is now richer by a beautiful volume of Ramachandra Guha's Picador Book of Cricket.
Digha. Less humid than Kolkata, More windy than Kolkata. The sea breeze lured you to the seashore. We had to put aside our baggage before we did so. Digha has two beaches - the New and the Old, named so. New Digha is to the South of the railway station. It is sandy, longer area to play on the beach, and looks cleaner as you have to work very hard to mess up a very large area. The Old Digha beach is to the North of the railway station, near the heart of the city. It isn't a sandy beach, and has rock-cut steps leading into the waters. So, the waves hitting the rocks are more dramatic than at Old Digha, where the enjoyment is more in letting the waves hit you on the sea bed. The city is mainly lined with trinklet shops, and sea-food.
Local transport looks very interesting, probably unique. The cycle rickshaws look like horse carts. There are autorickshaw vans. And, the most unique ones are the motor driven carts which look no more than vegetable carts, but carry people instead of vegetables, who tug a metal bar running through the middle of the cart while sitting around it, to prevent falling off it.
We made two trips to Odisha from Digha over the next couple of days. The density of greenery is beautiful. The one time I went to Bengal earlier, through what was then Orissa, I had seen the greenery alongside the tracks and made me wonder what the land was like inside. I had time to see. And this time, during wedding festivities. Unlike Baroda, where a Baraat would be a nuisance, in the village here, it was a festival for everyone. People enjoyed as the carriage went past their place, even thought it was touching midnight. It brought light to their places, which is at some places rare.
Back to Kolkata on our way back, we had half a day to spare before we rode through traffic to the airport again. We visited Kalighat Mandir before it got crowded. It is a pity how commercial temples have become, the temple staff make it such that the darshan is so chaotic, you don't want to try a second time. You can't seek peace in such temples. Gods listen to prayers wherever you are.
With time to spare before a mini-tweetup, we ticked off Victoria Memorial, only the lawns. The architecture is so beautiful, everyone will find something to appreciate. It also seemed to match sculptures of others too, like the minarets. The humid heat was all forgotten in the neat beauty of the lawns and the majestic monument itself.
My friend then helped me start what I had been eagerly waiting to all trip long - eat sweets. I lost track of all the sweets I tried at Balram Mullick's. The Sondesh were so good, you wanted more of the same, but had to balance that with trying all other flavours. The dahi bora was filling and excellent! The rosagullas tasty! (duh!!) Mishti doi smooth! The thing that took the cake - kheer kadam. It has the ecstasy of rosagullas (or something equally woof!) and condensed milk rolled into one. Literally. Our breakfast, was at Sharma's, where we had a delicious serving of kachoris with alu ki sabji, the kachoris being as soft as a puri, but well flavoured. That was flushed down with a clay cup filled with chai, with saffron. Now, that is a rich tea!
A visit to the Park Street reminded me of South Bombay. The buildings were old, and looked like it had a splash of the new, with modern retail shops, eateries and libraries all lined side by side. It was spacious, unlike Bombay. It helped that people adhered to traffic rules, very well. Also, what I noticed right there at Park Street was a lady, a beggar, with a child who was tied to a railing. A stark reminder of the other side of the city, that I didn't see on this short visit.
It was a beautiful trip! I am left wondering if I should have planned a longer stay there, cover more of the city. For now, I will just flush my insides with the essence of the rosagullas, enjoying the Kolkata I could.
The very moment I stepped out into the Kolkatan air, I could feel the humidity, on my palm, very much like Chennai. Airport is far away from the heart of the city, but the city has expanded well to touch and consume the airport into its arms. A long ride from the airport to Bhawanipore gave a glimpse of the city I had been shunning myself away from all these years. First, the long VIP road, which I think is the road that you can recognize from the sky as you descend to land - a long, wide road, with tall light masts, taking very few turns along its way as it drives you to the city. I noticed there were very few two-wheelers on these roads, which is quite different from Nagpur, where everybody drives approximately 1.3 two-wheelers on the road. We bade goodbye to the VIP and snaked our way towards Bhawanipore, probably touching Park Street on our way through. If I trace the same route, I can buy anything and everything I need to furnish my house, find schools and colleges for kids, places to work, shop, dine and bank the rest.
A friend of mine helped me with lodging, and met us when we arrived. We then dined at Jai Hind Dhaba, which started as a tea stall for truck drivers and is now a three-level restaurant at Bhawanipore, and has branches elsewhere. We helped ourselves to this and that, and more of that. I never thought alu-do-pyaaza could taste exotic. My friend confirmed we had space to spare in our tummy, and took us to Balwant Singh's for a dessert - doodh cola. Yes, cola milk. You never know how two things get together well. There is a lesson on Po - the art of fusing two ideas together and deriving answers, in Lateral Thinking by Edward de Bono. I am sure this is what he intended to mean. Ohh, we also saw Netaji Bhawan, the residence of Netaji Subash Chandra Bose, from where he escaped home arrest.
We woke up early next day to make our way to the railway station. I did know it was summer, and Kolkata is to the East, but I did not expect day break at 4.30 am! The time was 5.00, the roads were empty, the early morning light gave a clear, open look at another side of Kolkata - between the lawns, besides the Victoria Memorial, St. Paul's Cathedral, the Eden Gardens, Howrah Bridge and eventually, the loud and bustling, Howrah Railway Terminus.
The short journey to Digha ran alongside a very beautiful scenery by its sides. Once it was out of the city, it ran through vast greenery. I wanted to make up for the short sleep overnight, with some on the train. So, after I read Neville Cardus describing the most ideal match he ever saw, where Sir Don Bradman and his Australians overcame a hiccup to decimate the English, I fell asleep, dreaming that I am happily bashed to the boundary ropes by the Don as if it was an honour to be bowling to him. That lasted for only that short while as my very loud neighbour wanted to talk to his family seated behind him every 30 second, so loud that the most punk motorbike would be put to shame. Barely hearing my own thoughts clearly, I carried myself to Digha, and in all the excitement, forgot the book on the train. That train is now richer by a beautiful volume of Ramachandra Guha's Picador Book of Cricket.
Digha. Less humid than Kolkata, More windy than Kolkata. The sea breeze lured you to the seashore. We had to put aside our baggage before we did so. Digha has two beaches - the New and the Old, named so. New Digha is to the South of the railway station. It is sandy, longer area to play on the beach, and looks cleaner as you have to work very hard to mess up a very large area. The Old Digha beach is to the North of the railway station, near the heart of the city. It isn't a sandy beach, and has rock-cut steps leading into the waters. So, the waves hitting the rocks are more dramatic than at Old Digha, where the enjoyment is more in letting the waves hit you on the sea bed. The city is mainly lined with trinklet shops, and sea-food.
 |
| New Digha |
 |
| Old Digha |
We made two trips to Odisha from Digha over the next couple of days. The density of greenery is beautiful. The one time I went to Bengal earlier, through what was then Orissa, I had seen the greenery alongside the tracks and made me wonder what the land was like inside. I had time to see. And this time, during wedding festivities. Unlike Baroda, where a Baraat would be a nuisance, in the village here, it was a festival for everyone. People enjoyed as the carriage went past their place, even thought it was touching midnight. It brought light to their places, which is at some places rare.
 |
| The light of the Baraat |
With time to spare before a mini-tweetup, we ticked off Victoria Memorial, only the lawns. The architecture is so beautiful, everyone will find something to appreciate. It also seemed to match sculptures of others too, like the minarets. The humid heat was all forgotten in the neat beauty of the lawns and the majestic monument itself.
 |
| The Victoria Memorial |
My friend then helped me start what I had been eagerly waiting to all trip long - eat sweets. I lost track of all the sweets I tried at Balram Mullick's. The Sondesh were so good, you wanted more of the same, but had to balance that with trying all other flavours. The dahi bora was filling and excellent! The rosagullas tasty! (duh!!) Mishti doi smooth! The thing that took the cake - kheer kadam. It has the ecstasy of rosagullas (or something equally woof!) and condensed milk rolled into one. Literally. Our breakfast, was at Sharma's, where we had a delicious serving of kachoris with alu ki sabji, the kachoris being as soft as a puri, but well flavoured. That was flushed down with a clay cup filled with chai, with saffron. Now, that is a rich tea!
 |
| This building is just at the mouth of Park Street - Old, with a Domino's. |
 |
| Park Street |
 |
| Also, Park Street |
We went to Netaji Bhawan to see the house that is now converted as a museum, to display some photographs and belongings of the Netaji and his brother, Sarat Chandra Bose. I packed some lunch and also sweets from Balram Mullick's for the trip back.
 |
| Netaji Bhawan |
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Mein tenu samjhawaan ki : Rahat's magic
I've lived in many places in India so far - childhood and beyond. There are songs that, when you hear, remind you of a certain place or period.
I was in Punjab until recently, moved to Nagpur. I loved Punjab. It has almost everything that you would want out of it. A few weeks before I moved, I heard the song "Main tenu samjhaawan ki..." sung by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan (and a cameo by Farah Anwar). It is a Punjabi song, from a Indo-Pakistani movie, Virsa. I heard it only by chance, because a remake of this was coming up in a Bollywood movie.
It is a sad song, where Rahat lends his voice to spell out the pain of broken love. And, he does a stunning job with this task. Rahat has impeccable control over the tones, and a beautiful, echoing voice that sends ripples of the sweet tones to your ears. The story of this stranger's sadness ispresented sung in such a lovely manner, you want to sympathize with him, comfort him, bring the girl back... My eyes lose focus when I'm listening to this. It is touching. I made sure this is the first song I listen to on my way to work or back. This is one sad song you would enjoy. Rahat is the magician.
My favourite part of the song? Farrah Anwar's cameo. That part of the song is like two big synchronous waves of eternal beauty flowing across a serene sea of beautiful music, flushing your face with freshness carried from distance. She has a stunning voice, you will notice.
We all miss what we loved so much but got separated. There is no closure. I miss Punjab. For n number of reasons. And this song fits in so well for someone who misses something(s) out there.
Here is a video link to the song : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eSoUqjRLVA
Lyrics/translation : http://lyricstranslate.com/en/main-tenu-samjhawan-ki-mein-tenu-samjhawan-ki.html
I was in Punjab until recently, moved to Nagpur. I loved Punjab. It has almost everything that you would want out of it. A few weeks before I moved, I heard the song "Main tenu samjhaawan ki..." sung by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan (and a cameo by Farah Anwar). It is a Punjabi song, from a Indo-Pakistani movie, Virsa. I heard it only by chance, because a remake of this was coming up in a Bollywood movie.
It is a sad song, where Rahat lends his voice to spell out the pain of broken love. And, he does a stunning job with this task. Rahat has impeccable control over the tones, and a beautiful, echoing voice that sends ripples of the sweet tones to your ears. The story of this stranger's sadness is
My favourite part of the song? Farrah Anwar's cameo. That part of the song is like two big synchronous waves of eternal beauty flowing across a serene sea of beautiful music, flushing your face with freshness carried from distance. She has a stunning voice, you will notice.
We all miss what we loved so much but got separated. There is no closure. I miss Punjab. For n number of reasons. And this song fits in so well for someone who misses something(s) out there.
Here is a video link to the song : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eSoUqjRLVA
Lyrics/translation : http://lyricstranslate.com/en/main-tenu-samjhawan-ki-mein-tenu-samjhawan-ki.html
Friday, November 14, 2014
Childhood
Woken up by others, the warm sun if a holiday, sounds of birds if vacation, reminder of school if weekday.
Outgrew the clothes we wore in just weeks.
Invented games out of anything available - sticks, leaves, stones.
Every person was a story teller.
Every story told a moral.
There were rules to keep you straight. Memories were born out of the broken rules.
Schools were fun when we were young. Homework spoiled it.
Rarely did homework at home. It was done at school, if at all, before leaving for home or after reaching school the next day.
Tests were routine. But exams were fun, because they came with the lure of a vacation.
Vulnerable to myths and blackmails. Ate carrots because I liked Bugs Bunny, spinach because I wouldn't be allowed to watch Popeye if I don't, and lady's finger because I had to do well in math.
99 was my favourite math score. My classmates were envious, my parents thought I let them down. "99 is not centum."
Biology and chemistry can eat you inside out. Gave up art along with biology. End of high school meant end of tiff with Chemistry. Or so I thought.
Cricket was the only sport. Sachin this. Sachin that. Ganguly this. Kumble that. Always imitated them bowlers, never held a ball in my hand.
We wanted the world, nothing was enough. We shared it all, nothing was good had alone.
We could sing all the songs. We still hold the ones from our childhood as our favourites.
Candies and ice-creams were wonderful, but all our favourite dishes are branded "Amma's".
We aspired to be doctors, engineers, pilots, sportsperson. The collection of trinklets showed that.
We were open dreamers. We found happiness wherever we went. We were looked upon as the candle of happiness. We got all the goodies spoonfed. We had the time of our lives.
And then, we grew up. We let childhood slip right in front of our own eyes, and we are never going to get back. Why did we want to grow, why did we let it go?
I don't remember the name of the poem I read, it was when I was in school, the poem was in my English text book. It said - we are grown ups, and while we cannot afford to be childish, we can be child-like.
Wish you a happy children's day!
Outgrew the clothes we wore in just weeks.
Invented games out of anything available - sticks, leaves, stones.
Every person was a story teller.
Every story told a moral.
There were rules to keep you straight. Memories were born out of the broken rules.
Schools were fun when we were young. Homework spoiled it.
Rarely did homework at home. It was done at school, if at all, before leaving for home or after reaching school the next day.
Tests were routine. But exams were fun, because they came with the lure of a vacation.
Vulnerable to myths and blackmails. Ate carrots because I liked Bugs Bunny, spinach because I wouldn't be allowed to watch Popeye if I don't, and lady's finger because I had to do well in math.
99 was my favourite math score. My classmates were envious, my parents thought I let them down. "99 is not centum."
Biology and chemistry can eat you inside out. Gave up art along with biology. End of high school meant end of tiff with Chemistry. Or so I thought.
Cricket was the only sport. Sachin this. Sachin that. Ganguly this. Kumble that. Always imitated them bowlers, never held a ball in my hand.
We wanted the world, nothing was enough. We shared it all, nothing was good had alone.
We could sing all the songs. We still hold the ones from our childhood as our favourites.
Candies and ice-creams were wonderful, but all our favourite dishes are branded "Amma's".
We aspired to be doctors, engineers, pilots, sportsperson. The collection of trinklets showed that.
We were open dreamers. We found happiness wherever we went. We were looked upon as the candle of happiness. We got all the goodies spoonfed. We had the time of our lives.
And then, we grew up. We let childhood slip right in front of our own eyes, and we are never going to get back. Why did we want to grow, why did we let it go?
I don't remember the name of the poem I read, it was when I was in school, the poem was in my English text book. It said - we are grown ups, and while we cannot afford to be childish, we can be child-like.
Wish you a happy children's day!
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