Naahahahaice!

We're having our windows replaced and the house has been a veritable maelstrom of sawhorses and utility belts, rendering the preparation of nutritious -but delicious- meals a non-starter. In addition, A has a whole new Plan For Budgetary Victory, which involves eating out 6 times a month (as opposed to 6 times a week).
Which is how we found ourselves headed to the Inka Heritage last Friday. This is a place of Peruvian delights that A and I had visited once before with Wonder Boy and Attorney Adorable, following a fundraiser at the High Noon Saloon, early this spring. Being that it's located within a 10 minute walk and given that we loved the food, how come we hadn't gone back again and again? The reason was the slow service; on our last visit, it was close to an hour before we got our food, although it's a testament to how good it was that we ate it in great good humor and loved it all. I don't remember what I ate all those months ago, but I do remember the grilled beef-heart appetizer, which was good. I also remember being struck by what should have been obvious, which was the heavy accent on sea-food, potatoes, and corn, the latter of sizes and varieties that I had not seen nor imagined existed before I saw them here.
A and I tried going back once again, in the early summer with The Boy, but it was too crowded, so we decided then to come back at a later date, early in the evening.
Which is what we did on Friday. The Boy had a chicha morada to drink, which is made from fruits and purple corn; A and I had the house cabernet. All three of us were pleasantly surprised at how good our drinks were.
We asked our waitress to spice up the ceviche that we had ordered as an appetizer, and did she ever. In my opinion, to its advantage. The Boy could not eat very much of it because it "spiced his tongue", but he did profess to like what he did eat. A joined the consensus in agreeing that the ceviche was quite delicious; in my humble opinion, if all the Inka Heritage served was the spicy ceviche, I would still rate it among the top 5 Madison restaurants. This is a dish that deserves to be eaten sitting outside, preferably on a balcony overlooking the sea, with a cold brewed beverage as an accompaniment. The Seagulls restaurant in Pondicherry springs to mind; the Seagulls of two decades ago, that is... on a recent visit to that wild and heedless city, I was warned that it was hang-out for the "local rowdies".
The Boy ordered the arroz con pollo (my memory for Spanish names is weak; I might be making some of this up), which was coriander flavored rice, green in color, with chicken in it. he declared it the best thing he had ever eaten, but he often says that when he eats something that he likes for the first time. Still, he had what he couldn't finish packed up and ate it for two more meals over the weekend. A ate the Cai Cau de mariscos, which was a seafood stew with potatoes in it. She said it was very good, and seemed to be flavored with some spice that had elements of curry powder in it. I had the pescado a lo macho, another sea-food dish with clams, calamari, mussels, crab-legs and fish in it, that was made in a lighter, milder sauce than A's dish, but which went quite well with the steamed white rice that accompanied it.
Later that night, I went out with Sailor Man and Mr Red-Headed League, and learnt a new word... "Naahahahaice!"

Thair saadam, macha

We had a long day (A, The Boy, and I) on Saturday, putting up the screens for the porch. Not for the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last, was the realization brought upon me that I am simply not a real, slam-bang, honest-to-goodness three-fisted humdinger when it comes to DIY. We took two hours to put up the first screen (of ten total), which, five minutes later, we had to take back down because I walked through it. No bona-fide supraman me. So we downed tools and had lunch at Amy’s Café; I had the Texas Burger with spicy fries and a cold Bell's Oberon; A had the Mediterranean ragbag, and The Boy had, as I recall, a turkey sandwich; we also shared onion rings all around. Set just back from State Street, so it’s close enough to the action (but not too close), and serving up an eclectic mix of well-made fried foods from hither and yon, Amy’s is the perfect place for lunch on a warm (but not hot) sunny afternoon.
Pleasantly bursting with food and goodwill, we napped in the afternoon and worked some more in the evening; but when it came to dinner, we were still full. At this time, when asked what I could rustle up for a light dinner, The Boy suggested yogurt and rice. This put me in the mood to make some thair (pron. THA-yeer) saadam, a much-loved and long-uneaten preparation from college days in Pondicherry. Thair saadam is essentially cooked rice mixed with a few pungent spices (asafetida, dried red hot chillies, mustard seeds and curry leaves), a fried dal or two to lend it some crunch (typically urad and/or chana), cucumber, fresh ginger, green chillies and coriander (and green mango if you have it, I used amchur, or dried mango powder) for a bit o' zap and texture, and, most important, yogurt. NOT non-fat. The simple nature of this dish, which is universally beloved in southern India, means that virtually every home has its own secret recipe which is, naturally, the “best in the world.” In warm and humid Pondy, it was served cold for Sunday lunch with hot spicy fried chicken in the grad student dorms; we wolfed it all down with a bottle of Kalyani lager… ahh! You know, some memories are as indelibly associated with food as others are with smells… to me, the words “hot Sunday afternoon” mean thair saadam, and vice versa.
The Boy, naturally, being flesh of my flesh, loved it, and took some with him to camp on Monday, for lunch. A was not overly impressed; I think it fell somewhere in the general category of “Weird Indian Snacks” for her (other preparations that howl like lost souls in this purgatory of the palate include all milk-based sweets, kheer (a rice pudding), and kulfi, which is the Indian take on ice-cream – except it’s on a stick and has cardamom and almonds in it. Also included are all the salty crunchies that Indians of a certain age love to munch when having a glassy).
“Macha” (also spelled machaan) is the Tamil word for “brother-in-law”; it’s used as an affectionate or pejorative term of address, depending on the tone. It does not refer to the teahouse of the same name on Monroe Street. Although the fellow who owns it might well be someone’s brother-in-law, I doubt if that is its name’s provenance.