... fuck!
Yesterday, I made chicken in mint and coriander sauce for the second time.
This is a recipe from the Book of Vij, a holy text of great offerings. Unlike other holy texts, it is not infallible... notably, its vegetables in coconut sauce, as also its curried Brussels sprouts. The cooking times and heat intensities are often off. Despite this, the things it does well are outrageously good: the Vij family chicken curry, among many others. The chicken in mint and coriander sauce is one of these.
The first time I made it, it was my first week with the book, which was loaned to me by Erik the Widely Traveled. At that time, as often happens with new loves, it seemed nothing I could do would go wrong. One after another, the preparations flew from my hands like well-seasoned doves. This dish was special, in the sense that it was a delicately flavored curry that The General and A were unanimously, and vociferously, enthusiastic about.
Delicate flavors are not a strength of Indian cooking, which tends to box one about the ears with its character. (Not that I'm complaining: I'm a boarding school product, and I understand well that strength is not necessarily evil.) And that's what, in a nutshell, I like best about this book; it's a great amalgam of traditional (like the kala chana- black chickpea- curry) and innovative (like the eggplant and green onion curry).
So when I made the chicken in coriander and mint sauce for the first time, it was great; but then, yesterday, when I made it again, it was marginal, barely teetering on the edible. And the difference was (full credit to A for pin-pointing the problem) the yogurt in which I cooked the chicken. The first time, I used Greek yogurt; the second time, I used non-fat yogurt. Watery and tasting like chicken dipped in mint-coriander chutney, it was all I could do to throw the whole lot out with notable kicks upon its breech.
So listen up, yo (I'll be candid); there is no such thing as healthy good food. In other words, you can live free, or die old.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Summer Holiday
The Boy and I are enjoying a brief summer vacation, after The General and Sid's departure. Yesterday, we went swimming at the city pool, which was crowded but fun. The Boy demonstrated his "dives" to me, which mostly meant a running jump off the springboard with his arms outstretched and body leaning forward. Landing in the water like a lop-sided parachute, he would emerge with a grin splitting his face from ear to ear.
Today, we went and played "real" golf, i.e. not mini-golf but the adjacent par-3. He played with the only club in the loaner kid-set for which he was big enough, the sand-wedge. His putting was impressive, but not as impressive as the fact that he lasted all 9 holes. At the end, he said."Man, that was harder than I thought it would be; when you see it on tv, they make it look so easy."
That, in a nutshell, is the tragedy of golf.
Nothing that a grape slushy can't cure, though, which is what he had for lunch, and came back home and made a "Get Well Soon" card for the Dwag and another for his mother's birthday.
Today, we went and played "real" golf, i.e. not mini-golf but the adjacent par-3. He played with the only club in the loaner kid-set for which he was big enough, the sand-wedge. His putting was impressive, but not as impressive as the fact that he lasted all 9 holes. At the end, he said."Man, that was harder than I thought it would be; when you see it on tv, they make it look so easy."
That, in a nutshell, is the tragedy of golf.
Nothing that a grape slushy can't cure, though, which is what he had for lunch, and came back home and made a "Get Well Soon" card for the Dwag and another for his mother's birthday.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Maun Vrat
Caution: Severe Bullshit Alert at the link that explains the title.
Looking for a quick KCRW fix this morning, I discovered they (and every other internet radio station I listen to, including radio David Byrne) were observing a "Day of Silence" in protest against the soon-to-be-levied royalties, in support of the Internet Radio Equality Act. Read all about it here.
After agonizing for about 30 seconds over whether or not, as a permanent resident, I was entitled to do so, I called Senator Kohl's office. Apparently the Kohlster had stepped out, but the nice lady at the phones promised to convey my concern to him.
I justified my temerity thus: if I could blog about it, I could call the senator. After all, I wasn't, heaven forfend, voting for the senator; I was merely stating my opinion to him, just as I'm doing on this blog to all of you out there, blessed citizens of this (and/or any other) Great Nation(s). Just so the Senator wasn't led astray by some dastardly immigrant, I clarified my status here with the nice lady on the phone.
You should call your senator, too, if you want to be able to listen to good music, or new music, often both. Oh, and vote in the next election.
Looking for a quick KCRW fix this morning, I discovered they (and every other internet radio station I listen to, including radio David Byrne) were observing a "Day of Silence" in protest against the soon-to-be-levied royalties, in support of the Internet Radio Equality Act. Read all about it here.
After agonizing for about 30 seconds over whether or not, as a permanent resident, I was entitled to do so, I called Senator Kohl's office. Apparently the Kohlster had stepped out, but the nice lady at the phones promised to convey my concern to him.
I justified my temerity thus: if I could blog about it, I could call the senator. After all, I wasn't, heaven forfend, voting for the senator; I was merely stating my opinion to him, just as I'm doing on this blog to all of you out there, blessed citizens of this (and/or any other) Great Nation(s). Just so the Senator wasn't led astray by some dastardly immigrant, I clarified my status here with the nice lady on the phone.
You should call your senator, too, if you want to be able to listen to good music, or new music, often both. Oh, and vote in the next election.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Well, I'll be Daned.
A, The General and I had lunch at the Great Dane Brewpub in Hilldale today (Sid and The Boy were visiting with the latter's mother), and I could dismiss it by saying that it's exactly the same as the Great Dane Brewpub located downtown, except that it has no garden, doesn't brew it's own beer, and is located in a mall.
And I would, except that I wanted to rave about their blackened tuna sandwich, which is definitely worth eating. Charred to medium-done with Cajun spices and served garnished with gari (japanese pickled ginger) along with the usual tomato and "wasabi" mayo, this sandwich, to me, is the pick of their menu. It comes with "Kohl slaw" (according to the menu... Is that slaw made with kohlrabi? Or is Kohl's where they buy it?) or french fries, and I wanted the latter to go with my Bitter Woman IPA, a favorite beer. The fries were average; nothing, so far, has matched the fresh crunchiness of the fries of The Dog House at the Belvidere Oasis.
A had the falafel sandwich, which she liked. I thought it was soggier than it had to be, but she didn't. The General had the fish and chips and he expressed satisfaction.
And I would, except that I wanted to rave about their blackened tuna sandwich, which is definitely worth eating. Charred to medium-done with Cajun spices and served garnished with gari (japanese pickled ginger) along with the usual tomato and "wasabi" mayo, this sandwich, to me, is the pick of their menu. It comes with "Kohl slaw" (according to the menu... Is that slaw made with kohlrabi? Or is Kohl's where they buy it?) or french fries, and I wanted the latter to go with my Bitter Woman IPA, a favorite beer. The fries were average; nothing, so far, has matched the fresh crunchiness of the fries of The Dog House at the Belvidere Oasis.
A had the falafel sandwich, which she liked. I thought it was soggier than it had to be, but she didn't. The General had the fish and chips and he expressed satisfaction.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
What Not to Blog
I just had a terrific meal featuring Turkey-to-die-for at Chez Kenny; but I've decided, for political reasons, to not blog about meals I've had in peoples homes, or indeed about meals that anyone other than I have cooked.
That said, here is a recipe for dal that I know certain people of my acquaintance (litote alert!) would not be utterly disappointed to have:
Ingredients:
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
1/2 a medium onion, finely sliced
1/4 tsp turmeric powder
1 cup red lentils, aka Masoor dal, aka Dhuli Masoor dal, aka Malka Masoor Dal
3-4 cups water
1 tbsp Granulated or cubed Chicken stock, adjusted to desired saltiness
1/2 cup coriander (cilantro) leaves, torn or chopped (preferably torn)
Method:
Heat oil on medium-high for a minute or so, then add mustard seeds. As soon as the first popping begins, add cumin seeds. When they start to sizzle, add onions, and saute until nicely limp and translucent. Stir in turmeric. Add the dal, stir well until all the seeds are nicely coated and shiny, about 1 minute. Add water; after it warms up, add the chicken stock granules or cube(s). Let it come to a boil, then cover and simmer on low for 8 minutes. The dal should flatten out to a silky soft consistency. Check salt, and garnish with coriander leaves before serving.
Comment: This is really not the dal of my people. I do it in reverse order, where the onions, mustard seeds and cumin seeds serve as a "masala base" rather than as a "tadka" or garnish as conventionally prepared. Also, the observant Hindoo would rather slide down a rung on the caste-ladder than countenance dal with chicken stock in it. In this regard, I have maintained a don't-ask-don't-tell policy (until now).
That said, here is a recipe for dal that I know certain people of my acquaintance (litote alert!) would not be utterly disappointed to have:
Ingredients:
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
1/2 a medium onion, finely sliced
1/4 tsp turmeric powder
1 cup red lentils, aka Masoor dal, aka Dhuli Masoor dal, aka Malka Masoor Dal
3-4 cups water
1 tbsp Granulated or cubed Chicken stock, adjusted to desired saltiness
1/2 cup coriander (cilantro) leaves, torn or chopped (preferably torn)
Method:
Heat oil on medium-high for a minute or so, then add mustard seeds. As soon as the first popping begins, add cumin seeds. When they start to sizzle, add onions, and saute until nicely limp and translucent. Stir in turmeric. Add the dal, stir well until all the seeds are nicely coated and shiny, about 1 minute. Add water; after it warms up, add the chicken stock granules or cube(s). Let it come to a boil, then cover and simmer on low for 8 minutes. The dal should flatten out to a silky soft consistency. Check salt, and garnish with coriander leaves before serving.
Comment: This is really not the dal of my people. I do it in reverse order, where the onions, mustard seeds and cumin seeds serve as a "masala base" rather than as a "tadka" or garnish as conventionally prepared. Also, the observant Hindoo would rather slide down a rung on the caste-ladder than countenance dal with chicken stock in it. In this regard, I have maintained a don't-ask-don't-tell policy (until now).
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
A Tale of Two Mills
This was a long day which started with breakfast at home (scrambled eggs and plain parathas, which I've been jonesing for for a few days, see last post); a mid-morning snack at the Fiesta Fe Cafe in Richland Center, lunch at the cottage near Gays Mills, Wisconsin, and dinner at The Old Feed Mill in Mazomanie. The folks involved were, besides myself, A, The Boy, Sid, and The General.
Here is how I like to make the scrambled eggs for which I am world-famous in Madison:
Ingredients:
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp mustard seeds
8-10 curry leaves
1 medium Onion, thinly sliced
1-2 hot green peppers, chopped
1/4 tsp turmeric
2 tbsp heavy cream
2-4 eggs, briefly beaten
Pepper
Salt to taste
Method:
Heat oil on medium-high for a couple of minutes until hot. Pop mustard seeds, then add curry leaves for about 30 seconds. Add onions, saute until translucent, then add green peppers. Add turmeric, stir briefly (30 seconds or so). Add heavy cream, stir briefly. Turn heat to medium-low, add eggs, and scramble as usual. Add pepper and salt; serve to cries of delight.
I occasionally add garam masala, about a pinch, if I feel like it.
As for the parathas, I buy the "Deep" brand from the Maharani Indian grocery, owners, incidentally, of the restaurant of the same name, and either heat 'em up in the oven or, as The General showed me, microwaved them in a damp cloth or paper towel for 1-1.5 minutes. They taste great and I recommend, even more heartily, their "Aloo parathas".
The Fiesta Fe; as usual, underwhelming. The best thing I can say about what we had today (chips and salsa, shrimp cocktail...yes, yes, I know, it's getting predictable) is that the salsa was not inedible. The rest of it was forgettable; the "cocktail" part of the shrimp cocktail seemed to have come mostly out of a glass bottle marked "Heinz". I lost interest at that point; Sid, always a good indicator of what not to eat, loved it.
Up at the cottage, we flew a kite and explored; later, A made us sandwiches for lunch (turkey pastrami and salami) which went down easy with some beer.
Expectations ran high for the Old Feed Mill. I had heard good things about it. A's parents apparently eat at it all the time and like it; but they also favor Fiesta Fe and A says they are easy to please. I believe her. Although I don't understand why A's ma, who cooks up some really good home-style meals featuring salmon and turkey, allows this.
Let me get on with the story. I ordered the lamb "rayshele" with blue cheese; it was served cold. Even the mashed potatoes it came with were cold. Garlicky and creamy, the temperature of the latter was a real tragedy. The lamb was served in a treacly mushroom sauce. The lamb was done just right, and warm, it might well have tasted just fine. The salad that preceded it was less than fresh. A had a cider-roast chicken that she could not finish; she says it was alright (I'm guessing this is less than a ringing endorsement). Her mashed potatoes were nice and warm. The General had the pork chop which he tolerated; he said it was bland and served too sweet: with regard to the issue of "blandness", I am willing to give the benefit of the doubt to any purveyor of white-people-food who's trying to feed Indians fresh off the boat, so I will say no more. Sid had the chicken pot-pie that he really loved, so the less said the better. The Boy wanted chicken strips and fries off the kids menu. A and I read him the Riot Act in re dining at "proper" restaurants: from here on out, no more "junk food" except when we were at rest-stops, "Oases", or similar. Kids menus are a travesty and I have a new theory for restaurants that have them (in the form that I'm talking about: mac and cheese, burgers, hot dogs and the like): they do not like to take the time. The Boy has happily dined off the regular menu at Japanese and Indian (among others) establishments that do not have kids menus and there seems to be no reason to fear challenging his palate at any other place. Sid was still hungry after finishing his entree, so The General, A and I gave him tastes of ours; his pronouncements were thus : Dad's: "not good"; A's: "did not like, because it was tasteless"; mine: "don't like it". Consistent across the board, he roped The Boy's name into a petition for dessert that I acceded to with poor grace; as it turned out, The Boy barely touched his (a chocolatey confection that appeared to be made of melted fly-paper).
The common denominator seemed to be the poor service. The maitre d' surprised me by announcing the "specials" before we even entered the dining room. Later, it turned out that there was but one server for the entire dining room, which, although granted it was Wednesday, still had people on at least 6 tables that I could see. That was the probable reason for my cold food, and also for the lack of butter with the bread, and for a missed order of wine for The General. There is only so much a single server can do; I felt bad for her as I left her a 15% tip, but I wasn't going to complain, was I?
Here is how I like to make the scrambled eggs for which I am world-famous in Madison:
Ingredients:
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp mustard seeds
8-10 curry leaves
1 medium Onion, thinly sliced
1-2 hot green peppers, chopped
1/4 tsp turmeric
2 tbsp heavy cream
2-4 eggs, briefly beaten
Pepper
Salt to taste
Method:
Heat oil on medium-high for a couple of minutes until hot. Pop mustard seeds, then add curry leaves for about 30 seconds. Add onions, saute until translucent, then add green peppers. Add turmeric, stir briefly (30 seconds or so). Add heavy cream, stir briefly. Turn heat to medium-low, add eggs, and scramble as usual. Add pepper and salt; serve to cries of delight.
I occasionally add garam masala, about a pinch, if I feel like it.
As for the parathas, I buy the "Deep" brand from the Maharani Indian grocery, owners, incidentally, of the restaurant of the same name, and either heat 'em up in the oven or, as The General showed me, microwaved them in a damp cloth or paper towel for 1-1.5 minutes. They taste great and I recommend, even more heartily, their "Aloo parathas".
The Fiesta Fe; as usual, underwhelming. The best thing I can say about what we had today (chips and salsa, shrimp cocktail...yes, yes, I know, it's getting predictable) is that the salsa was not inedible. The rest of it was forgettable; the "cocktail" part of the shrimp cocktail seemed to have come mostly out of a glass bottle marked "Heinz". I lost interest at that point; Sid, always a good indicator of what not to eat, loved it.
Up at the cottage, we flew a kite and explored; later, A made us sandwiches for lunch (turkey pastrami and salami) which went down easy with some beer.
Expectations ran high for the Old Feed Mill. I had heard good things about it. A's parents apparently eat at it all the time and like it; but they also favor Fiesta Fe and A says they are easy to please. I believe her. Although I don't understand why A's ma, who cooks up some really good home-style meals featuring salmon and turkey, allows this.
Let me get on with the story. I ordered the lamb "rayshele" with blue cheese; it was served cold. Even the mashed potatoes it came with were cold. Garlicky and creamy, the temperature of the latter was a real tragedy. The lamb was served in a treacly mushroom sauce. The lamb was done just right, and warm, it might well have tasted just fine. The salad that preceded it was less than fresh. A had a cider-roast chicken that she could not finish; she says it was alright (I'm guessing this is less than a ringing endorsement). Her mashed potatoes were nice and warm. The General had the pork chop which he tolerated; he said it was bland and served too sweet: with regard to the issue of "blandness", I am willing to give the benefit of the doubt to any purveyor of white-people-food who's trying to feed Indians fresh off the boat, so I will say no more. Sid had the chicken pot-pie that he really loved, so the less said the better. The Boy wanted chicken strips and fries off the kids menu. A and I read him the Riot Act in re dining at "proper" restaurants: from here on out, no more "junk food" except when we were at rest-stops, "Oases", or similar. Kids menus are a travesty and I have a new theory for restaurants that have them (in the form that I'm talking about: mac and cheese, burgers, hot dogs and the like): they do not like to take the time. The Boy has happily dined off the regular menu at Japanese and Indian (among others) establishments that do not have kids menus and there seems to be no reason to fear challenging his palate at any other place. Sid was still hungry after finishing his entree, so The General, A and I gave him tastes of ours; his pronouncements were thus : Dad's: "not good"; A's: "did not like, because it was tasteless"; mine: "don't like it". Consistent across the board, he roped The Boy's name into a petition for dessert that I acceded to with poor grace; as it turned out, The Boy barely touched his (a chocolatey confection that appeared to be made of melted fly-paper).
The common denominator seemed to be the poor service. The maitre d' surprised me by announcing the "specials" before we even entered the dining room. Later, it turned out that there was but one server for the entire dining room, which, although granted it was Wednesday, still had people on at least 6 tables that I could see. That was the probable reason for my cold food, and also for the lack of butter with the bread, and for a missed order of wine for The General. There is only so much a single server can do; I felt bad for her as I left her a 15% tip, but I wasn't going to complain, was I?
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Mid-morning, south of the border
As usually happens on Sundays, A and I got hungry in the late morning. This often results in one of three or four options: Bluephie's by default; Relish if we don't feel like Bluephie's; and Tex Tubb's if A gets her way (occasionally; she will not hesitate to rope in The Boy to this end). We will have the occasional disaster like the one at Willalby's... a two hour wait for a very average greasy spooner. What I really wanted this morning was to cook my World Famous scrambled eggs with mustard seeds and curry leaves and eat them with plain parathas, but we had no eggs and Trader Joe's wasn't about to become Destination #1.
Which is how we found ourselves at Juanita's Tacos, south of the beltline in a strip-mall that I did not know existed. The Isthmus had given it a good write-up and I was looking for an opportunity to try it. Specifically, I wanted to try the grilled goat, apparently a week-end special.
So the way it turned out was that there was no weekend special; and they were missing other things on the menu, too, like the flavored rice-milk thingy that I love, I think it's called Horchata (I always feel like Bertie Wooster going on about his Scripture Knowledge prize when I talk about the Spanish classes I took in the winter of 2003-4; but I did, and I still don't speak any Spanish, and it's always impressive to me to see someone speaking a language not native to them, like A speaking Spanish to the non-English speaking waitress); A wanted chorizo with her eggs and beans and that was out, too. Besides that, though, it was a pretty good experience. They serve you deep-fried tortilla chips (pronounced "authentic" by A) with two sauces; the green, or avocado+cilantro+peppers, is excellent. The red, or chile+lime+tomatoes, is pretty good. A got her favorite breakfast of scrambled eggs, beans and tortillas, which to me was neither here nor there... but hey. I got something that was named like it was a villainous scheme in a Bollywood pot-boiler, a "Robert's special torta", which turned out be something like a combo hot sandwich; a bun packed with excellent garlic-and-citrus marinaded steak, pulled pork, ham, possibly chicken (it got difficult to tell), lettuce, mayo, tomato and pickled jalapenos. There was probably more but I couldn't tell for sure. It was really good but I could eat only half of it, meaning that I had to waste the other half... which always upsets me a bit. To drink, I had a flavored hibiscus iced-tea, which did not make much of an impression to start with but became a very pleasant accompaniment to the sandwich.
The ambiance is that of your standard strip-mall; vinyl perma-chairs and tables, salmon-y paint-jobs, the cooler behind the counter and the very large trucks outside the plate-glass window.
I do intend to go back and try those interesting looking shrimp-cocktails that a couple of other customers were having. I think A might have her sights set have on the frosting-covered cake, but after yesterday's long jabber about healthy eating, I can't be sure.
Which is how we found ourselves at Juanita's Tacos, south of the beltline in a strip-mall that I did not know existed. The Isthmus had given it a good write-up and I was looking for an opportunity to try it. Specifically, I wanted to try the grilled goat, apparently a week-end special.
So the way it turned out was that there was no weekend special; and they were missing other things on the menu, too, like the flavored rice-milk thingy that I love, I think it's called Horchata (I always feel like Bertie Wooster going on about his Scripture Knowledge prize when I talk about the Spanish classes I took in the winter of 2003-4; but I did, and I still don't speak any Spanish, and it's always impressive to me to see someone speaking a language not native to them, like A speaking Spanish to the non-English speaking waitress); A wanted chorizo with her eggs and beans and that was out, too. Besides that, though, it was a pretty good experience. They serve you deep-fried tortilla chips (pronounced "authentic" by A) with two sauces; the green, or avocado+cilantro+peppers, is excellent. The red, or chile+lime+tomatoes, is pretty good. A got her favorite breakfast of scrambled eggs, beans and tortillas, which to me was neither here nor there... but hey. I got something that was named like it was a villainous scheme in a Bollywood pot-boiler, a "Robert's special torta", which turned out be something like a combo hot sandwich; a bun packed with excellent garlic-and-citrus marinaded steak, pulled pork, ham, possibly chicken (it got difficult to tell), lettuce, mayo, tomato and pickled jalapenos. There was probably more but I couldn't tell for sure. It was really good but I could eat only half of it, meaning that I had to waste the other half... which always upsets me a bit. To drink, I had a flavored hibiscus iced-tea, which did not make much of an impression to start with but became a very pleasant accompaniment to the sandwich.
The ambiance is that of your standard strip-mall; vinyl perma-chairs and tables, salmon-y paint-jobs, the cooler behind the counter and the very large trucks outside the plate-glass window.
I do intend to go back and try those interesting looking shrimp-cocktails that a couple of other customers were having. I think A might have her sights set have on the frosting-covered cake, but after yesterday's long jabber about healthy eating, I can't be sure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
