03.02.06
Goggling at Onions
Cutting onions is, for me, the toughest part of preparing a dish. As everyone knows, the preparation of all the Indian dishes invariably starts with the frying of onion as the base. To me, there were two problems with the picture of the aforementioned frying onions:
- I don’t know how to cut onions. That explains why I’ll never be a “phamous” cook. When the dishes call for thinly sliced onions, what they get from me is this mess of unevenly, and thickly, cut pieces. To produce even that, I take up half-an-hour. I have a friend named Sunil who can slice — and I mean paper thin, even slices — an onion in 15 seconds flat. I envy people like him.
- The second problem is of course the tears. Sometimes it became so bad that I used to give up. Total surrender. I tried washing onions, wearing glasses etc, but to no avail. Finally, I hit the perfect solution a couple weeks back — I bought a pair of tight-fitting goggles from the hardware store, the type one puts on while drilling wood or something. They have worked wonderfully. Except look-wise. Since the kids destroyed my chef’s hat sometime back, I usually put on a ski cap while cooking. With the addition of goggles, my chef avatar looks distinctly Alpine. Oh, well… A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose, in any case.
02.27.06
Chicken Parampara
I love breasts, chicken, and stir-fries, most of the time in that order. So it is no wonder that I find myself thinking of different ways of stir-frying a chicken breast into submission whenever I get a free run of the chicken, er kitchen. Chicken breast has the advantage of quick to cook. Given smoking hot oil in a skillet or wok, and some breast to stir, a happy meal is less than 15 minutes away.
Last week, I bought a new masala called Parampara from the local Patel store. I got their Sookha Chicken (Sookha == dry) variety. The masala came with instructions on how to make the dish. The masala itself was not a powder, but an oily paste that smelled great. As instructed by the packet, I washed the breasts, cut them into bite-sized pieces, and coated them with the masala and i cup of yoghurt (curd). On an impulse, I poured some extra virgin olive oil on the pieces — that was the left-over oil from the last summer’s barbecue attempts, and the bottle was stealing space in an already crowded cupboard. After 30 minutes of marination, I gave the chicken the stir-fry treatment. Here, I deviated from the packet’s edict. The ginger-garlic lover that I am, I could not pass an opportunity to use those ingredients. So into the smoking coconut oil (ah, the fragrance of it), went matchstick slices of ginger and halved pieces of garlic. After a minute of stirring, I added the chicken and stirred like mad for sometime. Then I got tired, and let it cook at its own pace, with occasional stirrings. Somewhere in there, I added salt as well. After 10 minutes, I added some fresh curry leaves and did a thorugh stirring.
The chicken came out great. Succulent, with the right amount of spiciness. Accompanied by basmati rice, and washed down by an ice cold bottle of Rolling Rocks Extra Pale, it was pure heaven.
02.25.06
RIP Prof. M. Krishnan Nair, Chef Extraordinaire
02.20.06
Ethics? Me?
| Ancient Greek Ethics
Aristotle’s Golden Mean is the principal of this ethical school of thought. Essentially everyone must find balance in ethical decisions. Since it is often difficult to come to a decision one way or the other, Aristotle suggests compromising between two extremes and doing what would fall into ‘the Golden Mean’ in the situation.
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02.19.06
The Yin and Yang of American Highways
When driving to work (a long way from home), I can select between two roads. I tend to think of one of them as The Male Road and the other one as The Female Road.
The Male Road is a wide and generous, no-nonsense, mostly straight highway, probably the best freeway in the state. It cuts through the industrial north-east of the state. Plenty of room for traffic, though congestions do happen once in a while. The Male Road has a battle-hardened, no-nonsense look for all its wideness. At the point where I get on it, the road seems to be still deciding whether to be a normal road, or a tough-guy road. After about 10 miles, it reaches a decision – it is going to be a tough guy. The surroundings change dramatically. First we see the iron-and-concrete superstructures of the power plants and refineries. The tumescence of their chimneys in a lewd gesture, a challenge to the missionary position. The airport comes next; the trampoline of its runway bounces back into the air an incessant stream of airplanes. By now, everything on both sides of the road has harsh, salty, weathered look. Humphrey Bogart’s voice, Clint Eastwood’s looks, and Bob Dylan’s music: the road compares to each of these. The bay is a stone’s throw away (one would need really strong arms: Armstrong? 
) The road then divides – one arm tries to pinch the bottom of the Great Metropolis, and the other arm extends towards its shoulder. I take the latter. Without any warning, the road enters a primieval marsh. The marsh lies wide and forgiving, spread-eagled under the vast sky. The skyscrapers are to the east and can be seen only in the distance. On warm days, the smell of sulphur dioxide thickens the air. The road rides the marsh for probably 5 miles. It again changes it character and tries to look more domesticated. Disgusted, I say bye to the road.
The Female Road is the exact opposite of the male one. Trees line it on both sides, which turn lush and verdant in season. The road conveys the feeling of being relaxed and in a state of permanent dishabille. An atmosphere of sexy sleepiness permeates the road most of the time, but the looks are very deceptive. For one thing, this road is narrow, and much crooked; there are many, many more turns and twists in this road compared to the other one. In bad weather, these serpentine charms cause the number of accidents on this highway to jump. The road changes its girth pretty quickly too. At one point it is a buxom matron, allowing 5 lanes of traffic. In a matter of miles, it becomes thin-figured, like someone on a crash diet course. Everywhere, the merge lanes are short and abrupt. It is a difficult to road to understand and handle, almost as difficult to understand a woman. The only reason to travel this road would then be its cheap price – it costs 1/3rd of the money as compared to the Male Road. I, ever the admirer of the cheap and the garish, succumb to her charm whenever I cannot afford, making the Male Road the road less traveled.
Saturday Evening Bliss
“You say you’re looking for someone
Who’ll pick you up each time you fall,
To gather flowers constantly
An’ to come each time you call,
A lover for your life an’ nothing more,
But it ain’t me, babe…”
Wine: Some el cheapo Merlot
Music: Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits
