Savory Pea and Carrot Pancakes with Avocado Mint Dip

                                          

I was 14 when on a frigid winter morning, after finishing our exam papers earlier than others, a new friend and I escaped for brunch instead of heading home. I had never known what brunch was until she proposed the idea the day before. I looked up the meaning in my palm size, creamy paged, blue plastic covered oxford dictionary, an essential accessory of every other 14 year old I knew. It was perhaps that age of eagerness and outwitting others with your vocabulary, every page on the dictionary was marked with circles, underlines, possible sentences. There was particular emphasis on any slang, cursing words because there was nothing cooler than that. 

Before we sat out for our adventure, we strolled around our brick walled school playground waiting for the gates to officially open. When the walls were being newly painted a few years go, they were a light violet pink and despite not being my favourite colour, for a year the school looked prettier than it ever did. It looked all beige now, so did the backdrop of buildings that stood around it. Desert bathes everything in its sand hue. If you got to the roof top, you could see my building, a 7 storey low building, conveniently sand coloured, so it never requires a repaint.

Shaved Carrot And Mint Salad With Spicy Galangal Dressing

Recently, I had a lot of locally grown carrots from a shoot and they were so sweet and mellow in flavour, I couldn't bring myself to cook with them. Though the likes of carrot halwa and carrot pancakes played on my mind for a long time, I eventually just made this simple carrot salad which we pretty much ate back to back for days until we got sick of it! Then last week, I made it to family barbecue party as a side and it went down in no time.

Spiced Lamb Mince and Potatoes - Aloo Kheema

One hot scorching summer day, some odd 10 years ago, I found myself sitting on my great grandmother's bed while she lay on it. She bore no resemblance to my grandmother but her skin firmer than any other 90 year old I knew,  a blessing of porcelain like firm skin that most of my maternal aunts, Ammi and Grandma inherited. She had been living in this tiny hometown nestled in the deep south of Rajasthan all her life and I had never really heard of her from my grandma. I believe, there must be no story to be told. Grandma was a child bride and I imagine she couldn't remember much of the time spend with her mother. But that day amongst the packing up we were to do as our vacation in India came to an end, Grandma dragged me to see her ailing mother with a sudden sense of emergency. I nervously asked her, if there was anything in particular I have to say or do. She gave it a thought, looking out of the auto ricksha at the green farmlands that are ample in this area despite being a desert. She ran her right hand over her eyebrows as she often does when saying something important. "Kiss her hand and just listen to her", she said.

As we walked into the house, we were first greeted by the aroma of freshly sizzled khada masala (whole spices) that got intertwined with the stale smell of medicines, as grandma guided me to her mother's room. I sniffed the ittar that lingered on my clothes to clear the sickness inducing smell of medicines.

My great grandmother lay on a much wider single bed than the standard size, which looked even larger against her fragile, bony structure. The hand woven cotton stuffed thick soft mattress fell slightly off the edges of the bed, while the pillow hard as stone nestled her grey but lush head. I bowed down on the bed, picked up her hand between my two palm and kissed them placing it back on her side. Her hands might have felt like a pile of skin but her greyed eyes tracked my every moment. I took up the chair next to the bed but she immediately in a low murmur asked me to sit on the bed next to her.

Paneer Chilli Garlic Kebab

I don't tend to write about my father whom we affectionately call Pappa a lot around here. Apart from the fact that we grew up in a household where women solely managed and ran the kitchen, my father and I coherently had opposite views and values when it came to food. He, being a man of  small appetite, consciously calculating what and how much he eats, reluctant to try new flavours,  in general incurious about food. Whereas I, from the time I remember love food and was a good eater even as a toddler (which apparently my wee one didn't inherit). The first thing my Ammi told me when I got married and moved away was 'I miss cooking for you'.  

To be fair, some things do excite him. Fresh caught fish which he would scale and clean himself. Freshly caught wild rabbit that he would slaughter, skin and cut. Free range hen from his friend's farm and mangoes that he would pluck himself from my maternal grandma's farm trees. Considering our lives in Kuwait didn't allow wild rabbit or any of those things often, he was left with only his usual dal roti request for meals. Occasionally he would request mutton curry simply stewed with spices, tomatoes and onions for 3-4 hours. That was his guilty pleasure, red meat in moderation he often told us.

Of the many things he doesn't like (creamy curries, noodles, pastas and sandwiches) Indo-Chinese is high up there. And that, if you are Indian family can be catastrophic. Indo-Chinese, much like American-Chinese is a bastardised version of Chinese food, where the only common is use of soy sauce and high heat stir fry method.  Sweet, salty, garlicky, laced in oil and umami flavours of soy, Indians can get teary eyes talking about their love for hakka noodles, crispy chili dripping chicken, velvety brownish grey sauces coated manchurians 'curries', dramatically red hued szechwan 'chutney', fried rice, the list is endless. Each state has a slightly different version and has taken different influences from the Chinese. But my favourite is the use of curry leaves and mustard seeds down south in the Kerala-Chinese cuisine. But that's for another day - I have a family recipe from my mother in law which is to die for. 

Easy Tea Time Cardamom Cake

In my late teens, the only time Ammi (my mother) would ever send me in the kitchen was when she was knee deep busy with wedding preparation of so and so cousin. She would call me, with perhaps four bags in both her hands, breathing heavy with harsh summer sun tingling and irritating her eyes I'll imagine. 'Please soak three handful of rice' she would say.  How much is a handful of rice? Isn't my hand much larger than your petite and slender hands? But there was no room for questions or explanations. She had to step into another store to buy more things.

Roasted Garlic Labneh With Red Bell Pepper Walnut Relish

Happy New Year everyone! Hope you are onto to your 'January' healthy eating resolutions! While I can almost never make resolutions, I plan to work out (sorely lazy at it) harder than ever because we do eat moderately well balanced food otherwise. One thing that really helps is to have some dips and relishes in the fridge for times I crave something hearty but not necessarily skinny. Last evening snack was this relish and I realised I had this post in drafts for over a year. 

It was a cool breezy summer evening in Turkey, some four years back when we first had the relish.  Antiochia, the restuarant was busy and buzzing with people, but also had a sort of mystical aura in its setting in the old European district of Beyoğlu. We happened to get talking with our neighbouring table (yes, tables are that close! or at least were that day) a Swiss couple living in Turkey, helped us select items from the menu. It could be their expertise or the chef's perfection but everything tasted beyond delicious. One thing in particular, that won us over mostly because of its cheer simplicity was the red and green bell pepper walnut relish. 

Cumin and Black Pepper Ghee Shortbread

When we came to Kuwait some 7 years ago, we lived in a different, much older building that overlooked a busy and bustling shopping lane.  Most of my days were spend filling up forms and applying for jobs or cooking up storms with food network always playing in background. You could find me, either mimicking Nigella Lawson while stirring my pot of stew, or practising my British accent every time Gordon Ramsay came on. Those were the shaping years of my cooking style and opened up a whole new world of food for me. I cooked 5 meals a day, dessert included.

One such December day, when whole of Kuwait was enveloped in fog, I starred down at the large hoardings of sales and flickering red and blue lights, keeping cozy with warm, dark and hot chocolate mug in my rabbit fur socks (which are now buried deep into suitcases of memories), while Jamie cooked a Christmas feast on television. I snapped out of my trace, eager to cook. It could be his darling lisp or sheer passion for food, that inspired me to cook a Christmasy feast that day.

Harissa Spiced Beans With Eggs

When I started this blog some 4 years back, I couldn't imagine myself eating egg even slightly underdone. I have written a whole post on it, and here we are today, I love to eat my eggs under done specially if they are fried, poached or baked. Except for of course this egg curry which is a staple in my house requiring hard boiled eggs. Another food I have been averse to is refried beans mostly because I always ended up trying them from a can and the awful texture and smell put me off even before trying it. Four years since and to say this refried bean inspired baked egg where the yolks are best kept oozy, is a family favourite just reminds me why I love coming back to blogging.

After reading this post by Heidi of 101cookbooks on maintaining a long term blog, it got me into thinking why I blog. I have been (in internet terms) been blogging and maintaining this blog for a long time despite it being very different from how Heidi does or the scale of it for that matter!

Quinoa and Sweet Potato Salad With Tamarind and Mint Chutney

As soon as I stepped out of the airplane, the humid, sticky air paved through my hair. I wondered if I should have infact had dinner on the plane, it was 2 a.m. and spending time to find any restaurant in this murky weather could be disastrous. To my relief, we sailed through the customs and airport procedures which admittedly is always the case at the Ahmedabad airport, the largest city of the North Western State - Gujarat . But I could hear my stomach growling increasingly and to break to my father who was receiving me, that I hadn't had my dinner, specially so because I was pregnant, would create a very stark reaction from Papa. It wasn't as if I didn't try, I did but I couldn't help feeling like I would throw up, really.

Our hired driver, who was going to drive us for next 6 hours to our home in Udaipur was confident about the hygiene of this particular South Indian restaurant. Talking about the hot crispy paper dosas, and dunking fairy white idlis in spicy broth of lentils called sambar created such sparkle in his eyes, it's the kind of thing only one foodie sees in another. He escorted us to the dingy staircase to the restaurant, the walls on both sides of the staircase filled with posters of Gods, the bollywood actors along side - who of course are no less than God. The spare lighting and the curved staircase created an illusion of a cave, where 'Anita loves Amit' and countless other lovers engraved their love on whatever was remaining of the wall. The driver assured us as Papa ran his handkerchief over his forehead - 'There is air conditioner inside.'

Smashed Thyme Potatoes With Garlic and Lemon Sauce

My small counter space is overcrowded with pots and pans, produce and spices while I make a saucy chicken for dinner. My pyjama top is leached in turmeric, along with stains of ghee.  There are hints of cayenne or perhaps it is spats of tomato juices, and then there is garam masala, sprinkled like scant pepper from a miller. If you looked close enough, you'll also find last week's beetroot and chocolate cake masked by the fragrance of detergents but the red hue filtering through the wash. A few more wears and it might require trashing for most people, I though will hold onto it a little longer.

One could argue, there is apron for a reason, but my occasional bouts of intense cooking are fuelled by carrying those stains, spices and aromas like a badge of reminder of the end result and often times inspire food with 'connected flavours'. Let me explain; they say sniffing coffee clears your nostrils to distinguish between flavours, in which I think spices and the aromas seem to connect flavours. Laces of floral and citrusy mace and headiness of nutmeg, always drive my senses to apple and orange pudding Ammi makes, which in essence has no jaiphal (nutmeg) or javitri (mace). Nor, Ammi would ever approve of such an addition I reckon. 

Baklava Pistachio Sandwich Ice cream

The ice cream peddler in his Ottoman-esque costume of golden vest and red fez, teased the customers with the metal pole he used for stirring the Turkish ice cream. The ice cream was so stretchy, it dangled on the pole without falling off, much to the amusement of passersby. He further taunts by offering the cone and grabbing it back, tossing it in the air, inverting the cone just when you think the order is ready. Occasionally, you are party to the drama by getting a lick off the ice cream. We watched in bewilderment, despite having witnessed it nearly everyday of our 5 day stay in Istanbul. On this day though, we had decided to put our affair with the pistachio ice cream with hazelnut aside and find our way to Karaoke gulluoglu, a baklava parlour. As we navigated through the narrow by lanes for a good hour, it was tough not to pull up a chair and sit in any one of the countless baklava shops in the same area. But we resisted for the promise of having the best baklava with the best kaymak (rich Turkish buffalo clotted cream) in town.

Once we reached, we realised looking around at other tables that baklava here wasn't just a pastry on go or a dessert to have a slice off. It was to be devoured over golden hued warm tea, over conservation that lasted for hours, with friends that schemed of how is the perfect way to go about a relationship. So despite, having stuffed ourselves with the best kind of freshly grilled mackerel sandwich just outside of the shop, we decided to order one of each type of baklava we could lay eyes on.

Apple and Almond Halwa With Orange Whipped Cream

One of the first sounds I would wake up to in our town house, was an intense conversation between Gita Bai, the vegetable hawker and Ammi on life and such.

Gita Bai, the hawker who got the freshest produce in town made her first stop at our house. She would talk about her sons and daughters, their lives and miseries, the son who has ran away to the city, the daughter who has not been able to conceive a male child yet and the crops that are not doing well.  She would explain how she quickly, which I suppose was quite relative, wants to finish selling the vegetables so she could attend the road construction. Yes, attend, so she could get her name on the list of workers of the day, just so she could get paid but didn't necessarily have to work on the road. Ammi would listen, often losing her debate on what's really the right thing to do against Gita's theories of survival, being the only earning member in the family.

Sometimes I would sit next to Ammi, pick up the pea pods from a wooden weaved basket that was lined with floral but rugged cloth. Opening the tender bright green pods and discovering how many little balls would come out of it kept me amused and entertained. They were always sweet, the ones Gita Bai would pick up and hand me that is.

Zaatar Halloumi and Olives Sandwich with Cherry Tomatoes

I have missed blogging! A lot of good things been happening around here. Good work opportunities and a food photography and styling workshop with Nourish of Qout Market  last week - all just feels surreal and I'm immensely grateful. 

It's not to say we haven't been cooking in fact my repertoire of cooking under 45 minutes has certainly increased many folds. So I thought perhaps, this is a good recipe to start start off this week.  Halloumi zaatar sandwich has saved me through many quick five minutes lunches before our  meetings during corporate years and now continues to be a fall back munch when I'm drowning in work. It is not even a recipe really, but if you haven't tried the combination, you are in for a treat. The salty halloumi, pungent zaatar and bitter olives contrast beautifully with sweet and juicy cherry tomatoes. This is also good time to bring out that fancy schmancy extra virgin olive oil as fruity flavours of the oil really shine through.  

Curried Red Quinoa Peas and Paneer Salad

Our terrace in my hometown in India looks down to acres of empty land. Empty of human occupation that is. To the left was 'the glorious land', there were trees as tall as our house, shrubs and bushes at every inch of the land that had been kept untouched and wild for no one had the time to clear that forest of sorts. 

On the right was the barren land, one that got cleared every few months for weeds and wild grass.   We could look down at these two lands of extreme in its entirety divided by a tall muddy brick wall. During summers, monkeys would often sit on it and trespass into our garden area for treating on the mangoes much to my father's dismay. 

Green Chutney, Avocado, Tomatoes and Fried Egg Open Sandwich

During my days of living in India, my sister in law and I had a customary late afternoon walk. The sun would calm down, the streets started to buzz again with horns and hawkers after the sleepy high heat afternoon hours. People from all walks of life, blue collar to white could be seen taking a break or snatching a bite of this and that on the street. The unsaid truth about our walks was, we never returned home without filling ourselves with some kind of street food. It was the real purpose of 'the walk'. Careful of never talking about it at home of course, my mother in law just as my mother would never approve of us eating on the streets.

Corn Halwa (Indian pudding) with Raspberry Coulis

In some days we are heading into Eid ul Fitr -  a celebratory day for Muslims marking the end of Ramadan - the holy month of fasting. Growing up Eid was the day of new clothes, new jewellery, new shoes and everything a little girl would wish for. Delicious, gluttonious food flew left and right and at the end of it all you would sure feel like you can't eat for rest of the year. Our heavily embroidered Indian outfits where neatly folded and packed to open for the next coming Eid given they were impossible to wear on any other day. But Eid wasn't Eid until we were handed our Eidi - the gifts given to kids by relatives and friends. We sat enthusiastically in the hallway in anticipation of who would visit us, what gifts they would bring and who would end up collecting the most money (the most common form of Eidi).

Thandai Peach Galette

We were on the bed, laying in our usual position, heads further away but legs tangled into each others. It was something that bothered him at first - my inability to sleep with my head dug into his arms. It is so theatrical, one can't really breathe comfortably that close, I can't breathe I would exclaim. He understood not just the need for physical space, but the space I needed to learn and grow, to fail and concur, to find my individuality as a tender and seemingly unsure twenty year old.

Chicken Jalfrezi

It's that time of the year again. Most of my stories, food or otherwise revolve around our vacation time growing up that we spend in India, usually once a year.  The hustle bustle, the vibrant colors, the chaotic traffic and the glorious glorious food were all part of the fun we talked about rest of the year. 

Since Tasnim was born this is our first vacation to India and we are mighty excited. Now that she takes a bit of spicy food, we might finally introduce her to some spicier Rajasthani fare! If you don't follow me on Instagram where I post regularly - you might be able to catch glimpse of the fun and food. Meanwhile, here's a tantalising chicken recipe that is sure to be a family favourite.  

Photo Shoot For Nutri Juice

A while back I photographed for Nutri Juice, which is a smoothie and juice parlour that makes smoothies on order with all natural ingredients and no sugar or additives! I didn't really think I was into smoothies until I worked for them. May be it was because I was adding way too many things in name of nutrient into my jar and/or adding the wrong ingredients. What I learned was, keeping it simple was the way to go for a smoothie.

Mango and Coconut Cardamom Tartlets

My grandfather sat on his jute weaved bed under a mango tree, an ice bucket full of mangoes  underneath, a sharp rectangular knife in his hand. It was as if he waited for someone to arrive so he could serve them mangoes, from the tree that he sowed when no one lived in the town and the very first bricks of his house where being laid.

I remember him running his knife through the mango's skin so neatly, there wasn't even a a mistakable bit of flesh left on it.  He never let anyone stop at one, there would be seconds, thirds and fourth. When one would eat no longer, he would propose them to try another variety of mango that he had planted a few years ago. 

As we played around his garden, he would call and give us a thick chewy slice of a mango fruit leather as our 'candy'. As the lunch time rolled, grandmother would get our thali (food plate) to the bed - a simple meal of stir fried okra, roti and aam ras (sweetened mango pulp with a dash of milk or water).  And despite our over dose of mangoes, we ate most of the roti in the aamras. Almost through his lunch, nanaji as we fondly called him would call out to grandma to get some aam ka acchar (mango pickle) for the last few bites of his roti. The pickle that's made from the raw green mangoes he plucks himself when his beloved tree begins to fruit, he would say with pride.

A dark brown kernel that's collected from the inside of mango seeds, sun dried for weeks is then handed to us an aftermeal mouth freshener and digestion aid. A hard tasteless candy that you chewy into, but the cooling and refreshing effect is felt once you sip water after it.