In the end it was a fellow Australian you came to my rescue. Claire and her husband run an ethical travel company based in Puri (amongst the many activities they offer is an Oriya cooking www.grassroutesjourneys.com). I had only met Claire once but I called her out of sheer desperation and asked to borrow some money from her: she kindly agreed and had it to me in twenty minutes. This solved my hotel bill problem.

 I am not completely penniless but I only have $20 on which to travel 1000 kilometers between Bhubaneswar and Varanasi. To ensure I have enough cash to get from one to the other I have had to compromise on food. Because I spent hours trying to sort out the money situation I reached Bhubaneswar, capital of Orissa, late in the afternoon in a snappy mood being both hungry and wrung out from the earlier hysteria. I did a reccy in the area surrounding my hotel hoping for some street food but there was none to be found. In the end I ate bananas, cake and namkeen (salty, crunchy snacks) from a tea stall/cum corner store. This did not improve my mood.

Then I was helped by a stranger for the second time in the same day. Chef Debashis at Swosti Hotel came to my culinary rescue by plying me with delicious Oriya specialties for dinner: mutton cooked with potatoes in an onion gravy; fish in mustard sauce; dalma (see Puris in Puri); a gentle vegetable stew called ghanto; badi churra, a mix of crisp fried lentil cakes crushed and mixed with thin slices of onion and chopped garlic that is used to add additional flavour and texture to other dishes (the onion also acts to aid digestion of heavier meal components such as mutton) and eggplant in yoghurt. This last dish was exceptionally good and I was surprised to discover how simple it is (I am going to give you the recipe below). It was also made with green eggplant, which was only the second time I have seen/eaten a green eggplant (the first was when Claire – see above – used one in the dalma she made for me). Apparently the green eggplant have been genetically modified to stop a particular worm from burrowing into them.

 Dahi baigono (eggplant in yoghurt)

Serves 2 greedy people or 4 more restrained ones

Ingredients

2 eggplant cut into fingers*

Oil for frying

1 cup plain yoghurt

2 tsp mustard or vegetable oil

8 curry leaves

1-2 whole red chillies or to taste

Salt to taste

Method

Heat enough oil in a fry pan over medium-high heat to cook the eggplant to a golden brown. Drain these on kitchen paper and set aside.

 Beat the yoghurt with a fork until it is smooth (if it is thick yoghurt add a little water while beating it as it should be ‘soupy’).

Heat the 2 tsp of oil in a heavy based pan over a medium-high heat. When it is hot add the curry leaves and red chillies. Stir around until the curry leaves change colour (this will happen quickly) and pour this temper into the yoghurt. Season with salt and add the eggplant pieces. That’s it. Enjoy.

 *If you want to decrease the amount of oil that eggplant absorbs when it cooks zap the eggplant pieces in the microwave for 40 seconds or quickly steam them until barely softened. This starts to break down the cellular structure of the eggplant which stops it taking in so much oil.

Yesterday I was wandering the streets of Puri in Orissa when I spotted a roadside café where there were several tables of Oriyas (locals) eating: the first promising identifying feature. As I got closer I could see they were eating from plates made of large leaves: I started to get excited as this was another promising feature. I went in and looked in the cooking pots; the contents were appealing so I pointed at everything I wanted to try and took my seat. The other patrons looked somewhat bemused at the appearance of a foreigner at such a humble stall but I got smiles and nods of approval when I demonstrated my expertise at eating with my hand. As I had anticipated the food was delicious. My meal consisted of a generous ladle of dalma, a stew made of lentils and seasonal vegetables that is eaten everyday in Orissa; a small pile of sweet boonda, which are small balls of fried chickpea flour which had been soaked in sugar syrup and a stack of piping hot puris, deep fried flat breads the size of a drink coaster. I do not like puris (but it’s a lonely stance as most people find them delicious) so they remained in their stack and I later fed them to a passing cow, but I very much enjoyed eating the spicy dalma with the sweet boondi.

Oriyas are people of my own sugary inclination as they do not consider a meal complete without a sweet dish, or two. To finish this meal I had a piece of a type of cheesecake called chennapoda which is a speciality of Puri (whereas puri the bread is found all over India). This sweet is made from solid milk curds (very similar to ricotta cheese) that have been blended with a little semonlina , cardamom and sugar wrapped in banana or sal leaves and baked in charcoal for several hours. The resulting ‘cake’ has a caramelized crust and a moist dense interior that tastes and feels (in the mouth) like a hybrid between a baked cheese cake and crème caramel: let me state the obvious – delicious.

Dalma

Serves 4

Oriyas make this dish all year round changing the vegetables with the season. In winter radishes and pumpkin are in season so these are an essential addition at that time. Other vegetables that are commonly used include green papaya and green banana (which are available all year round), eggplant, potato and bottle gourd ( a small striped vegetable that for which you could substitute cucumber – yes you can cook it). You can use whichever vegetables are available to you but chose ‘firm’ varieties as they need to stand up to a reasonable cooking time so that they meld with the dal but do not lose their shape and individual texture: carrot, cauliflower, beans or tomato are not used to make dalma in Orissa. A classical dalma is made with moong kid dal and tempered with ghee. You will find moong ki dal at your nearest Indian grocery store. Asian grocery stores also stock it.

 Ingredients

 ¾ cup moong ki dal

½ tsp turmeric

1 tsp salt

750gms chopped vegetables

2 dried red chillies or to taste

2 tsp cumin seeds

1 tsp ghee or mustard/vegetable oil

2 tsp black mustard seeds

Method

Wash the dal and pick it over to remove any stones or other debris. Put it into a saucepan large enough to hold the dal and the vegetables. Add three cups of water and bring to the boil. Skim off any foam/scum that rises. Once the dal has come to the boil reduce the heat to medium high and add the turmeric and salt and leave to cook for five minutes. Add all the chopped vegetables and cover and cook until the dal is tender.

I have eaten several dalmas over the past few days, one was thin the other two were thick. You will need to decide how you want it to be. If you like it thinner then you might need to add more water. If you want it thicker then you might need to remove the lid during the cooking process to allow some of the water to evaporate. There is no right or wrong with this dish so make it how you like it.

While the dal and vegetables are cooking put the chillies and cumin seed into a frypan without any oil and dry roast them until the cumin releases an aroma and/or the chilli starts to slightly change colour (be careful not to burn these). Allow the spices to cool and then grind to a powder in a mortar and pestle or in an electric spice grinder. When the dal is ready add the ground chilli and cumin seeds and stir through the dal. Keep the dish over a low heat to allow the spices to flavour it.

Heat the ghee in a frypan and when it is hot drop in the mustard seeds, when they start to splutter ( this will happen fairly quickly) pour the contents of the frypan into the dal and vegetable mix and then stir it through. Serve hot with rice or bread or just enjoy a big nutritious bowl all by itself.

I have made shahi turkha many times but I know little about it origins. It is a dish from the Indian Muslim cookery repertoire. I am not sure it would have been devised to use up stale bread, as bread puddings elsewhere are, as it is too luxurious to have been made from leftovers. I imagine that a cook or a halwai (confectioner) must have devised using sheermal, a sweet bun like bread popularly eaten by Muslims in India, but this is entirely speculation on my part. As I am unable to share anything more substantial about the history of the dish I will leave you with the recipe and encourage you to try it yourself.

Shahi Turkha

serves 6-8

Each time I make this dish I make it slightly differently. For the version I mention in this post I brushed the bread with ghee and toasted the pieces in the oven until they were golden. This reduced considerably the amount of ghee needed for the dish and I think I prefer it done this way. I have also replaced the cardamom pods with a few slithers of orange peel when oranges are in season and then served the pudding with fresh orange slices as an accompaniment. On another occasion I replaced the cream and milk with a can of evaporated milk and produced another fine version of this dish. At the end of the recipe I give alternative methods for serving as a hot or cold pudding. So familiarize yourself with the method and then make it your own.

Ingredients

8-10 slices white bread*

1 cup ghee

1 cup sugar

3 whole cardamom pods

¼ cup roasted almonds, sliced

 1/3 cup pistachio nuts, chopped

2 tbsp chopped dried fruit

1 cup cream

3/4 cup  milk

2 tbsp rosewater

Method

Remove crusts from the bread and cut each slice in half.

Heat ghee in a frying pan and fry bread, turning once till golden on both sides. Drain on kitchen paper and keep aside.

Put the sugar, cardamom pods and 1 cup cold water into a saucepan and cook over a medium high heat until sugar dissolves. Allow the syrup to cook uncovered on high heat for five minutes or until it has reduced and thickened slightly. Remove the pan from heat. Carefully dip each piece of the fried bread into syrup. Arrange bread slices in a shallow baking dish sprinkling the nuts and dried fruit in between the layers.

Pour the milk and the cream into the remaining syrup and cook over medium heat for about 3 minutes, stirring constantly until the syrup reduces and thickens slightly. Remove the cardamom pods and stir in the rosewater. Pour cream mixture over bread and bake in the oven at 180°c until the bread has absorbed the cream and is golden on the top. Serve hot

. Alternatively you can refrigerate the pudding until the bread has absorbed the cream mixture and is firm to the touch. Serve chilled cut into squares. *I used soft slightly sweet buns to make my recent childhood memory inducing batch of shahi turkha.

If you are to be treated as a god then it is necessary that you are offered the best of everything, and that everything is done to make you comfortable; it is in this that the denial occurs. First there is the interpretation of what is ‘the best’. For an Indian host this will mean offering the guest the sort of food that is served on special occasions (the culinary equivalent of putting on your ‘Sunday best’ clothes). At the very least this will manifest in tea so highly sweetened that it is undrinkable, except that you have to drink it because to be offered such sweet tea is a sign that the host holds you in high esteem; at its most challenging it can result in a succession of ‘fancy dishes’ liberally enriched with ingredients considered most worthy of an esteemed guest: think fat, sugar and imported/out of season fruit and vegetables.

The second aspect manifests in anticipating the guest’s desires: it would be considered an imposition on the guest to leave him/her to ask for anything, this leaves the host to guess what it is they might need/want. Let me illustrate this phenomenon with an example: several months back I was invited by a family in Chettinar to join them the following day for a lunch of local dishes but when I sat down this meal I found myself faced with a hybrid breed of food I not previously encountered: continental-Punjabi or conjabi for short. Not wanting to offend my hosts I took a tentative mouthful of the white sauce soup and peevishly contemplated the chicken ‘lollipops’ placed before me but the look on my face gave me away and I had to admit it was not what I had been hoping for. It turned out that my hosts had ‘anticipated’ that as I must have eaten at least two meals of Chettinar food since we have made our arrangement the previous day that I therefore would have had enough of it and would want something ‘different’, and that as I was a westerner I would want western (continental) style food (which they had cooked by a Punjabi chef hence the resulting conjabi style cuisine). Once it was understood that all I wanted to eat was Chettinar food these charming and generous people invited me to breakfast the next day where I was treated to a spread of local specialties.

All this is done with the best intentions but it results in hosts withholding the truly best food from guests: the simple home cooking they enjoy every day. Fortunately I have homes in India where I have moved beyond being a guest to a family member so I get to eat everyday Indian food. In fact in my Indian home in Madhya Pradesh I have infiltrated so far that I am even fed fast food.

You might want to read that last sentence again. Yes I said FAST food but it is not of the ‘junk ‘ kind. It is very common for Indians to undertake dietary fasts: some people fast one or two days a week while others do it less regularly. There are also fasts associated with different festivals. These are not the type where one does not eat , or eats very little, that are undertaken in the west in preparation for medical procedures, political protests or to ‘lose a dress size by Saturday’. Indian fasts involve the avoidance of certain foods, for example on Tuesdays Hindus are not mean to eat meat but there is no limit on other foods. Other fasts may involve avoidance of certain cereals, salt, certain fruit and vegetables or spices. A common ‘fast’ for men is to avoid alcohol one day a week. Despite the less than punitive nature of these fasts people feel like they are giving something up and therefore need to reward themselves with particularly delicious food made from the ingredients they are allowed. Someone told me recently that the food served on some fast days was so rich with dairy products and sugar that they found ‘fasting’ a pleasure rather than a penance. None the less fast food is seen as somehow less and is never offered to a guest (unless that guest happens to be maintaining the same fast) resulting in the culinary deprivation I mentioned in the opening paragraph as there are many interesting and delicious dishes to be enjoyed in the cannon of Indian fasting food.

Hidden Domestic treasure No.1: Ragni’s Subudana (sago) kitchri

Sago is made from the pith of the trunk of the sago palm. It requires processing to make it useable as a food and at the end of this it is extruded as small white balls about the same size as the large couscous that is currently very fashionable. Sago is out of fashion in the west where if it is used at all it is usually made into a pudding; it is commonly added to sweet coconut milk based drinks in south east Asia. I cannot remember the last time I ate sago at home but two of the most memorable things I have eaten on this current research trip are savoury items made from sago: the first subudana wada (fritters) at Prakash restaurant in Mumbai and the second this kitchri. Subudana kitchri is eaten when the fast being undertaken requires abstention from cereals and a certain type of salt: I was unable to ascertain which variety of salt was to be avoided—another type of salt was added to the dish —so just used whichever salt you have at hand. Sago is quite bland and its deliciousness lie in its texture (it is also provides inexpensive bulk) so make sure you season this kitchri generously to bring out the best in it.

The recipe was given to me by Ragni who lives in my Madhya Pradesh home and who looks after me as if I was a goddess.

You will find sago either in the baking section of the supermarket or in amongst the Asian/exotic foods. Most Asian grocery stores will stock it. This recipe makes a fairly substantial quantity but you can halve or even quarter the ingredients to make a smaller amount (which you might regret). Ingredients

Serves 10

500gms sago

1 small bunch coriander, washed and roots removed

1 green chilli

2 tbsp ghee or vegetable oil

500gm cooked, boiled or steamed, potato

 1-2 tsp salt or to taste

1 cup roasted peanuts, roughly ground

12 fresh curry leaves

Freshly ground black pepper to taste

a handful of fresh coriander leaves

Method

Soak the sago overnight in enough water to cover it with an inch to spare. When you are ready to use the sago drain it well.

Grind the clean coriander with the green chilli (deseed it if you don’t like too much ‘heat’) with a cup of water. Mix half of this mixture in with the drained sago and set aside. Break up the cooked potato with your hands into a rough mash. Mix half the potato with the remaining coriander and chilli liquid and mash it with your hand until it is a reasonably smooth. Don’t use anything but your hand otherwise it will become too homogenous.

Heat the oil in a heavy based pan, large enough to hold the amount of sago you have prepared, over a medium-high heat. Add the plain potato and allow to cook slowly until they start to turn golden brown. Add the sago and stir the potato through it. Stir for a couple of minutes then add the rest of the potato. Mix well and keep stirring for five minutes. Add salt to taste, the ground peanuts, curry leaves and black pepper. Turn down the heat and allow to cook until the sago is cooked through but still retains its shape. Stir through the fresh coriander leaves and serve warm with a bowl of spiced yoghurt and potato sauce/soup on the side.

 Spiced yoghurt and potato soup

 Serves 8-10

Ingredients

400gm cooked potato

2 cups plain yoghurt

Salt to taste

2 dried red chillies , or to taste, broken up into large pieces

12 curry leaves ½ tsp red chilli powder or to taste

 1 tsp ground coriander powder

½ tsp freshly ground black pepper

Method

 Remove the skin from the potato and crumble into small pieces with your hands. Blend the yoghurt with two cups of water and put it into saucepan and place over a medium-high heat. Allow this mixture to come to a strong simmer (do not boil it). Mix in the crushed potato and stir well. Allow it to cook until it reduces and the potato breaks up a little more and thickens the liquid. Add salt to taste. Heat the ghee or oil in a heavy based pan over a medium-high heat. Add the red chillies and the curry leaves. Allow to cook until the curry leaves start to change colour (this will happen very quickly). Remove from the heat add the red chilli powder, coriander powder and black pepper; stir these around quickly then pour into the yoghurt and potato mixture. Cover the pot and let it cook for another 1-2 mintues. Serve hot with the kitchri.

The condition of the roads in India in most states is appalling: the bitumen surface a lace work of potholes, the boundaries frayed by decay: worst of all are the corrugated bands of speed-humps, these are unmarked and are therefore invisible to the driver until the vehicle is almost upon them. Luckily the road conditions make it very difficult to drive at more than 50km an hour (at best) so slamming on the brakes in response to looming speed humps results in an annoying jolting of passengers rather than whiplash; still a hundred or so rapid halts of this kind in a day leaves one rattled. There is money available for road development and maintenance but whoever has control of the kitty seems to prefer to channel the allocated funds to benefit themselves and their nearest and dearest. The choice of officials to expand their own private assets in preference to developing public amenities such as roads and civic sensibilities also means there is no money available for education of road users.

Do you remember being taught ‘look right, look left, look right again’ when crossing the road when you were a child? Or something similar ?The inhabitants of Indian villages that highways pass through seem to have no concept of the road as a dangerous place: they allow their children play on it or very close to it; seem to encourage their cattle meander on it and happily stand in the middle of it to chat. I sometimes think that this behavior might be a cock at modernity (although rural Indians have taken just as enthusiastically to other aspects of modern life such as the mobile phone) and as such I have a grudging respect for it, but when the vehicle I am traveling in narrowly misses hitting someone who doesn’t even bother looking anywhere (let alone right-left-right) before stepping out onto the road and into the traffic I am at first relieved and then furious at the stupidity of it.

Drivers are also largely uneducated. Obtaining a drivers licence in India seems to be largely a matter of having a passport size photograph and enough rupees to cover the cost of the official and ‘unofficial’ charges levied to print one out: there appears to be no need to prove that you can actually safely drive a car. Witness here the on-road behavior of my driver: every 10 minutes or so he opened his door —while the car was moving— put his head down and spat out the reside of his chewing tobacco; he also kept in regular contact with family and friends via his mobile phone—while the car was moving—throughout the entire journey; he also failed to notice large stationary vehicles—the drivers of trucks, tractors and buses prefer to just stop on the road rather than pull off to the side— slow moving herd of cows or posses of village women pow-wowing in the middle of the road until we were almost upon them resulting in his slamming on the brakes just inches from contact. This left me to maintain a vigilant eye on the road and be prepared to issue warnings about approaching vehicles/bicycles/pedestrians/cows or to grab hold of the wheel if it came to it. It is great pity that Indian road travel is so torturous as there are two very appealing aspects of being on the road: the majestic and varied scenery and the food.

Highways in India are punctuated at regular intervals with roadside eateries called dhabas which are largely patronized by truck drivers. Thanks in large part to the condition of the road Indian truckies are commonly away from home for 25 days at a stretch (being stopped regularly by the police and various officials who extract unofficial ‘fees and charges’ also adds additional time to the journey). Therefore truck drivers rely on the dhaba to provide them with decent affordable food as this is where they take the majority of their meals. The dhaba has also become the preference for many regular road users and tourists who are willing to brave the often less than salubrious conditions to enjoy a tasty meal or snack (of recent times dhaba owners have come to appreciate that a ‘clean toilet’ will attract increased patronage). The food served in dhabas is largely, but not exclusively, vegetarian. The mainstays are hearty dals and bean dishes accompanied by roti (flat bread made from wholemeal flour) cooked in a tandoor (clay oven), along with steaming hot sweet spiced milk tea (masala chai). Additional menu items will be influenced by the season, the region and the preference of regular customers. The truck driving male customer tends to like his food well-spiced but he also likes it to be fresh and nutritious. I find it ironic that while the roads in India are generally in bad condition the roadside food is excellent whereas in the west the roads are excellent but the food served in roadside eateries is for the most part greasy, tasteless and lacking nutrition. Dhabas also serve up their offerings on stainless plates and in china or glass cups sparing the planet the paper and plastic disposables used in the west .

We stopped twice at dhabas for sustenance on our journey. First stop a breakfast of poha, delicate plump rice ‘flakes’ lightly spiced with black mustard seeds, turmeric, fresh coriander and a hint of green chili and hot jalebi, a crisp pretzel shaped confection soaked in sugar syrup accompanied by steaming ginger infused tea. This is a classic breakfast combination in the region where Gujarat, southern Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh meet, although it is so delicious that it is enjoyed over a much wider area than the one I have delineated. The second stop was for another cup of tea. I was too full from breakfast to eat anything more but in my role as ‘culinary detective’ I poked around amongst the cauldrons of the kitchen, and the plates of the other customers, to discover what was being cooked and who was eating what. Most patrons were eating a thick porridge of spiced yellow lentils, accompanied by slices of crisp white radish ( a winter vegetable in India) and a chutney ground from green chillies and fresh coriander leaves: rotis were continually extracted from the tandoor and hurriedly sent out to be eaten piping hot. If we had lingered any longer in this dhaba I would have succumbed and taken a plate of the dal despite my lack of appetite as it looked so delicious (and now that I am writing this it seems remiss of me not to have done so particularly now that I have sworn off road travel).

In India the word dal is used as a generic shorthand description for a dish of legumes cooked with various spices and flavouring ingredients. These legumes are also called dal but each has its own proper descriptor such as channa ka dal (spilt chickpeas), urad dal, moong ka dal, masoor dal, toorvar dal and kali dal (black dal). These can also be further categorized by the processing they have been subjected to, for example if they are whole, spilt or skinned (or various combinations of these processes): spellings of the names and varieties also differ regionally. Dal is the daily food of the majority of Indians across all classes, castes and regions: it is nutritious; inexpensive; most varieties can be cooked quickly (saving on fuel costs) and it takes flavour well. It can also serve all culinary needs as it can be used as a spice, made into savoury and sweet snacks and desserts and serve as a light soupy type support to a main dish or as substantial meal in itself.

A bowl of good dal is a most excellent dish. It is something that I would chose in preference to many other more exotic or fancy foods. This is my ‘master’ recipe for dal. I have prescribed five different types of dal but if you don’t have all of these just make up the overall measure of dal with what you do have. Using the five different dals gives a variety of textures to the dish: the masoor dal disintegrates quickly working to thicken the dish while the toorvar dal stays firm and gives one  something to bite into. You can also play around with the liquidity of it making it soupy or more porridge like as you prefer. In India this dish of five dals is called panch ratna which means ‘five jewels’: a name that indicates just how valuable dal is in the Indian diet.

Panch ratna

Serves 4

Ingredients

2 tbsp moong ka dal (spilt yellow mung beans)

2 tbsp toorvar dal

2 tbsp chana ka dal (split chick peas)

 2 tbps skinned urad dal

2 tbsp masoor dal (red lentils)

¼ tsp turmeric

 ½ tsp salt

Tempering:

3 tbsp mustard oil or ghee

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 dried red chili, broken in half

1 tsp garlic paste

1 large onion, grated

¼ tsp ground turmeric

½ tsp red chili powder or to taste

1 tsp garam masala (recipe below)

½ tsp salt

1 tomato, skinned and chopped

1 tbsp chopped fresh coriander

squeeze of lemon juice

Method

Soak the lentils for 20 minutes in cold water, then drain. Put the lentils in a saucepan with 2½ cups water, the turmeric and salt, bring to the boil and skim off any scum from the surface. Reduce the heat, cover and cook gently until all the dals are tender (by this time the masoor dal will have completely broken down).

For the tempering heat the oil or ghee in a frying pan, add the cumin seeds and dried chili and let them crackle. Add the onion and garlic paste and cook until it turns golden brown. Stir in the spices and sauté for a minute. Stir in the tomato and cook for a few minutes. Pour this mixture over the lentils, bring to the boil and simmer for 10 minutes. Stir the fresh coriander and lemon juice.

Garam masala

Ingredients: 1 tbsp green cardamom pods 1 brown cardamom pods 1 tsp cumin seeds 1 tsp whole cloves 1 tsp black peppercorns 1 cinnamon stick 2 bay leaves 1/3 of a nutmeg, grated.

Method: Dry roast all the spices except the nutmeg. Grind to a powder and mix in the nutmeg. Store in an airtight container.

Indians generally do not enjoy being by themselves; even if an individual’s natural inclination is towards solitude the societal pressure is to conform to communalism: being alone is seen and experienced by Indians as something undesirable (the visceral reality of the population also limits the possibility of being alone).

The mobile phone has been a boon to Indians for now one need never experience one minute of solitude: just keep talking; and talk they do*, under all noise conditions —and India is a extremely noisy place. I find it almost impossible to hear someone on the phone unless I am in a quiet room (I recently had my hearing tested and it is perfectly fine so it is not a physiological problem).

Here then is the mystery: despite the Indian ability to hear someone on the other end of a mobile phone, even under industrial strength noise conditions, many people here are oblivious to the sound of an approaching motor vehicle that is mere centimeters away from them and they will step out in front of it. Even if they deign to notice the moving vehicle that I am sitting in, that looks to me like it is about to run them down, they barely flinch. Despite some VERY close encounters with pedestrians I fortunately have never been in a vehicle that has hit someone but I never fail to feel anxious about the possibility, and after the danger has been averted I then seethe with indignation at this seemingly reckless conduct.

I originally thought that this behavior was due to a failure in hearing, hence my opening preamble about the mystery of the Indian hearing ability, but in pondering this conundrum I think I have solved it.  After years of observation I have concluded that anything to do with moving vehicles in India is related solely to sight. It works like this: if you don’t see it, it doesn’t exist; and the only thing you need to see is what is directly in front of you. So the noise of a taxi barreling down upon you is irrelevant to your safety: if you don’t look at it, it can’t hit you.

This led me to conclude that perhaps the Indian government should run a health campaign to improve its citizens eyesight such that the eyeball is able to move beyond the fixed forward position it habitually adapts when encountering anything to do with road usage. The following recipe is my contribution to that campaign should my suggestion ever be taken up (while this is a ‘tongue in cheek’ piece an alarming number of people die on Indian roads every day, not only because of the dreadful driving but also because the roads are in such terrible condition).

*1. Mobile phone companies LOVE India as a market. Most adults in India, regardless of socioeconomic status, now have a mobile phone —I have seen nomadic shepherds carrying them in remote parts of Himachal Pradesh —a conservative estimate would make that a market of 400-500 million phones: kerchin$, kerching$, kerching$.

2. I read a newspaper report recently that said more Indians have mobile phones than have access to a toilet. This fact says much about the appalling failure of government here but on the up side mobile phones can have significant benefits for less advantaged members of society.

Sardines are commonly eaten by coastal fisherfolk in India. They sell the larger fish as these earn them a better price in the market and keep the less financially lucrative small fry such as sardines for their own consumption. Yet it is the sardine that is really packed full of nutrients, such as omega oils which are reportedly beneficial for eyesight. In the traditional Indian Ayuvedic medicine system curry leaves are prescribed as a food that can be used to improve eyesight. Given the prolific use of curry leaves in South Indian cookery you would expect that the people of the south would have perfect vision but the incidents of pedestrian dare devilry are just as high as in the north where the curry leaf is not used so prolifically.  Never the less I am still going to put forward a recipe with curry leaves as it may just be that the it is the combination with sardines will activate the sight improving factor in these. A similar dish, more heavily mined with red chili, can also be found in toddy shops in Kerala: perhaps it helps men to better see their way home after a few rounds of toddy.

Sardine Curry

Serves 6-8

Ingredients

½ tsp turmeric

1 kg sardines

10 black peppercorns

2 tsp coriander seeds

½ tsp fenugreek seeds

2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 medium sized red onion, finely chopped

2 tsp ginger paste

1-2 red chillies roughly chopped or 1 red capsicum finely diced

2 tbsp garlic paste

1 stalk curry leaves

salt to taste

Method

Clean the sardines and sprinkle with the turmeric and salt, mix and set aside.

Dry roast the peppercorns, coriander and fenugreek seeds and grind to a powder.

Heat the 1 tbsp of oil over a medium high heat and when hot add the curry leaves. When these have changed colour mix in the onion and ginger paste. Cook for two minutes and add the red chilli or red pepper. Cook until the onion is translucent and the chilli softened.

Mix the garlic paste with the spice powder and a little water to make a paste. Add this to the onion mix, salt to taste and cook for two minutes.

 Place a large shallow fry pan over a medium high heat with one tbsp of oil. Place a layer of sardines in the pan spread these with some of the onion mix, another layer of sardines and more of the onion mix. Pour over enough water (perhaps with a little white wine or lime/lemon juice mixed in as well) to cover and cook until the sardines are cooked through and the gravy has dried off a bit.

Serve hot with rice or bread.

Sauce
1 tbsp garlic paste
2 tsp ginger paste
1 tsp cumin seeds
I red onion, grated
1 tsp white poppy seeds ground to a paste*
½ cup yoghurt
½ cup thick coconut milk
50g butter
fresh coriander leaves
vegetable oil for cooking

Method
To make the kofte
Cut the fish into chunks. Mix the turmeric and vinegar with a little salt. Marinate the fish in the vinegar mix for 30 minutes.
Drain the fish and process it in a food processor with all the remaining ingredients. Do this on the pulse setting as you want the fish to retain some texture; it should come away from the sides of the processor jug and form a large ball (just as dough does)
Shape into golf-ball size balls gently between the palms of your hands and then slightly flatten them so that are more disc like.
Place in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.
You can choose to gently shallow fry or steam the kofte. Set aside when cooked.

To make the sauce
Mix the garlic and ginger pastes with a little water to make a paste.
Heat 2 tbsp of oil in a wok or a heavy based pan over a medium-high heat. When hot add the cumin seeds and allow them to ‘pop’ then mix in the onion and stir until it softens a little. Mix in the garlic and ginger and the poppy seed paste and stir for 2 minutes. Stir in the salt and then the yoghurt and stir for 1 minute.
Stir in the coconut milk. Reduce the heat to medium and cook the sauce for 10 minutes. Stir the butter into the sauce.
Just before serving slide the kofte into the sauce and allow to warm through. Serve garnished with fresh coriander leaves.

* White poppy seeds are available from some Indian grocery stores and can be difficult to find. If you can’t get any please do not substitute black poppy seeds – these are not the same thing and they make the sauce look like black sludge. The best substitute is raw cashews or blanched almonds.

Chai means tea in Hindi (the major language of North India) so if you ask for ‘chai tea’ you are actually asking for ‘tea tea’ and committing the grammatical sin of tautology. Recently I was in a specialty tea store when the woman standing next to me waved a packet under her companions nose and said ‘ smell this, this is chai’. I was tempted to say ‘of course it is, you are in shop that sells nothing but tea’. Our use of the word chai to describe tea is not incorrect but it can be properly applied to any tea. Just as we use the word latte as shorthand for coffee (whereas a request for such in Italy would get you a glass of hot milk) we use chai to describe spiced tea but a request for chai in India will not necessarily get you that.

Many Indians, particularly the wealthy and those living in tea growing areas, take their chai ‘British style’; that is plain black tea infused with hot water in a pot or cup, to which milk and sugar may be added. If I was visiting my friend Kinny at her home north of Delhi and I asked for some chai, a tea tray would appear laid out in this style (also referred to as ‘tray tea’). If I wanted spiced tea I would ask for desi chai. This loosely translates as Punjabi tea and it is referred to as such because spiced tea is preferred in the Punjab region. In Kashmir asking for chai would likely get you a brew of green tea, almonds, cardamom, sugar and salt (properly called kahwa).

As a westerner a request for chai in a mid-level café, restaurant or hotel anywhere in India will result in a plain cup or pot of tea being served. In this situation you would have to ask for masala chai (spiced tea). It is at cheaper hole-in-the-wall or roadside type eateries that ordering ‘chai’ will automatically get you a drink akin to a chai latte.

Despite the association of India with tea it is not native to India. The British started growing tea there in the mid nineteenth century to satisfy the huge demand for it in the United Kingdom (and amongst the elite classes in India). It was not until the mid- twentieth century that tea began to be commonly drunk by Indians. Before then plain milk had been the most popular drink in India, particularly in the north (Southern Indians were already addicted to coffee, a habit they picked up from Arab traders centuries before the British arrived on the subcontinent). During World War II the Indian Tea Board, unable to ship their product to external markets, found themselves with a huge surplus of tea. To dispose of it they hit on the idea of promoting tea boiled in milk to make it appealing to the local population. An idea that was so successful that Indians now consume more than 630 million kilograms of tea per year and India has become inexorably linked with tea drinking.

I can number precisely the chai lattes that  I have drunk in cosmopolitan cafés in India — three —and all were awful

Two of these were produced by the type of sickly sweet ‘chai’ syrup commonly used in cafes in western The other was produced by a young man in a smart uniform flopping a cardamom flavoured teabag into a cup of not quite hot enough milk and slapping a handful of sugar sachets down next to it on the marble countertop. If the cup had been plastic instead of ceramic it could have mistaken for the lamentable tea that is now commonly purveyed at Indian railway stations (whereas it was not so many years ago that railway tea came sweet and hot in bio-degradable clay cups  -see previous posts ‘Tea and Trains’ and ‘Chai & Trains II’ for more details).

Recipe

Masala Chai

Chai (latte or otherwise) served in cafes is either made from a syrup (usually overly sweet); a commercial powder or mixture similar to that described above infused in milk.

It’s worth visiting an Indian grocery store and buying some genuine Indian tea to make up this recipe. While you are there pick up some brown cardamom (burra eliachi). You can use the more familiar green variety but the brown ones have a softer smoky flavour that adds depth to the tea. The amount of spice can be adjusted to suit your taste. You might also like to add a few star anise.

Ingredients

200g plain black tea

4-6 cinnamon sticks

2 tbsp cardamom pods

1 tbsp cloves

1 -2 tbsp black peppercorns

1-2 tbsp ginger powder

Method

Put all the spices except the ginger in the bowl of a mortar and pestle or an electric spice grinder and roughly grind the spices. Mix the spices in with the tea along with the ginger powder. Store in an airtight container.

Chai latte (Indian style)

You can use any type of milk for this and a sweetener of your choice. You don’t have to sweeten it but it does enhance the flavour of the spices.

Serves 2-3

Ingredients

500ml milk

3-4 heaped teaspoons masala chai

honey or sugar to taste

Put the milk into a saucepan. Add the masala chai along with sweetener. Heat over a medium high heat until the milk boils and froths up. Remove from the heat and let the milk settle*. Strain into cups or glasses.

This process may be repeated again depending on how strong you like your tea.

Despite the campaign name there is no compulsion to order a vindaloo as part of the meal but me thinks that there will be a lot of vindaloo consumed all the same.  I thought I might be able to add to the campaign by offering up a recipe for an authentic vindalho (don’t get caught up with the spelling of the name both cases are acceptable).

Vindalho is a dish native to Goa and it is product of the Portuguese colonization of that part of India in the 16^th century. The Portuguese that introduced chillies to India —after Columbus brought them back from the Americas — and the vinegar which features in this dish. Prior to arrival of the chilli Indians had added heat to their food with black pepper and ginger amongst other spices.

The vindaloo you get in an Indian restaurant in Melbourne is likely to be cooked by someone of Punjabi/northern Indian origin and is quite different to that which you would find in a Goan home. So go out and show your support and ‘vindaloo against’ racism and racism fuelled violence on Wednesday but I challenge you to take it further and cook this vindalho for some friends/family some time soon.

If nothing else read the recipe as it provides a couple of essential lessons in Indian cookery and  food culture and you can impress your friends with these insights on Wednesday.

The inspiration for my version of vindalho comes from  The Essential Goa Cookbook by Maria Teresa Menezes, Penguin Books India.

Chicken Vindalho

Serves 6-8

Ingredients

1 tsp salt or to taste

½ tsp brown sugar

1 tsp ground turmeric

1 tsp red chili powder (or to taste)

I tsp finely ground black pepper

3 tablespoons white wine vinegar

I kg chicken pieces

5 -6 tablespoons vegetable oil or use coconut oil if you prefer

1 tsp cumin seeds

8 cloves

3 inch piece of cinnamon

2 medium red onions

10 cm piece of fresh ginger, peeled and ground/grated to paste

1 tablespoon garlic paste*

additional white wine vinegar

* I make a creamy sweet garlic paste by putting a whole head of garlic into the oven and roasting it until the garlic is soft. When it is cooled slice the top off the head and squeeze the garlic out into a bowl. It should be a paste in of itself but if not blend with a fork until it is smooth. You could also crush raw garlic to create a paste. Please don’t use garlic paste out of a jar or tube it tastes of the preservative that has been mixed with it to allow it to sit on the supermarket shelf for weeks or months.

Method

Blend ½  of the salt, sugar, ground turmeric, chilli powder and black pepper powder to a paste with the vinegar in a large bowl. Put the chicken pieces into the bowl and coat with the paste. Leave the chicken to marinate in this paste in the refrigerator preferably overnight or three hour at the least.

Heat 3 tablespoons of the oil in a heavy based frypan over a medium high heat and brown the chicken pieces on both sides in the hot oil. This should only take a few minutes on each side. You do not need to cook the chicken through as it will be cooked in the sauce. What you want to do at this point is to seal and build up a bit of flavour by browning it. Drain the cooked chicken pieces on paper towel.

Pour the remaining 2 tablespoons of the oil into a deep sided casserole type dish or heavy based saucepan for which you have a lid (I use an round Le Cruset  cocotte). If you were me you would strain the oil that you cooked the chicken — and in doing do infused it with flavour — add that to pan. If you weren’t me and you have issues about continuing to use oil that you have just infused with a whole lot of flavour then you might need to add another tablespoon of plain oil (the finished dish won’t taste quite as good but that’s your call).

Heat the oil over a medium high heat. When the oil is hot drop in the cumin seeds, cloves and cinnamon. Stir for 30 seconds then add the onion. Continue stirring the onion for two minute then add the ginger and the other ½ tsp of salt. Stir until the onion caramelises slightly. If this mixture is sticking to the pan add a little bit of water and stir. This is a common cooking technique in India and it allows food to be cooked using small amounts of oil (despite the rich heavy food typically served in Indian restaurants much of the food cooked in Indian homes is light and fresh thanks in part to this cookery practice). The water provides a medium for the food to cook in and it evaporates so the food does not become watery. Continue cooking stirring periodically until the onion is softened.

Mix the garlic paste with two tablespoons of vinegar and stir into the onion mix (adding the vinegar to the paste allows it to assimilate smoothly into the dish). Add the chicken pieces and stir to coat with the mix. What is going to happen now is that you are going to out a lid on the dish and turn it down low and continue to let it cook.  You will need to gauge whether you might need to add a little water. You want this to be ‘dry’ dish  so you don’t want a lot of liquid but it will need some liquid to cook in. I can’t give you an exact amount but it should be no more than enough to just barley cover the chicken pieces. If you are using a cast iron or heavy good quality stainless vessel this should be enough but if you are using bough from the supermarket type cookware —which generally doesn’t conduct heat as well —you will need to keep a close eye on this dish during the cooking time to ensure it doesn’t burn/stick to the bottom of the pot. You may need to add more water also particularly if the lid is a tight fit.

In an ideal world of lovely cookware what will happen is that the meat will steam and stew in the liquid. This will cause the meat to absorb some of the liquid and some of it will evaporate leaving you with a moist but dryish dish , i.e., its not meant to be wet like a stew although there are versions of vindalho/vindaloo that are.

Cooking time should be about 30-40 minutes again depending on your cookware. Low and slow (low heat over a longer time) is best. I like to cook this dish until the meat starts to come away from the bone and to do this I usually need to add a little more water so that is doesn’t dry out too much.

The traditional accompaniment to this vindalho is a fried bread called (recipe below). In India dry dishes are typically eaten with bread and wet dishes are eaten with rice

Oddé

The authentic Goan version of this recipe uses toddy, an alcoholic drink made from the fermented sap collected from either various species of palm or coconut trees. Once taken the sap ferments quickly so it sold not far from where it was made in ‘toddy shops’. Left to ferment for too long and it turns into vinegar hence it is not often found too far from the tropical coastal regions of India. Given the limitations on obtaining toddy I have suggested a substitute of yeast, water and sugar. You might also like to try using ½ cup of a stout or another sweetish beer (toddy is 4% alcohol content so its not unlike beer in that respect). If you can obtain toddy then use ½ cup in place of the yeast/ water/sugar mix

2 cups whole wheat flour*

1 cup white flour

½ cp rice flour

a 7g sachet dry yeast or equivalent fresh

tepid water

a pinch of salt

1 tsp sugar

2 tbsp melted ghee or  vegetable oil

oil for deep frying

* Use atta obtained from an Indian grocery store if possible. It is whole wheat flour but its lighter than the whole wheat flour used outside of India. If you can’t get atta then use 1 ½ cups of whole wheat flour and 1 ½ plain flour along with the rice flour  to achieve a comparable result.

Method

Mix the yeast with a pinch of sugar from the teaspoon specified and enough tepid water to create ½ cup if liquid. Cover and leave in a warm place for 15 minutes or until the mix starts to bubble.

Sift the flours, salt and sugar into a mixing bowl. Rub the ghee or oil into the four mix Make a well in the centre and pour in the ghee or oil. Add the yeast mix/beer/toddy  and enough water to make a firm dough.

Leave to stand for one hour

Knead dough again and roll out to 1/8 thickness. 

Heat oil in a deep frying pan. Cut out rounds of dough with a large cutter about  10 cm/3-4 inches in diameter and deep fry the rounds. Gently push the oddé around a little while frying and lift a little oil over the surface – they should puff up. odde while frying – they should puff out well.

Drain on paper towel and serve hot with the vindalho.