savoury

Here’s to bus rides + Spiced cauliflower rice with green beans and peppers

August 25, 2013 by Edlyn

Please login again, Edlyn. Your last session expired. You’ve been frolicking outside for too long and your burn mark(s) now has a tan line and does not look like a burn mark(s). You’ve also left this “Add New Post” (as if anybody writes that way) page open for two days and hence the expiration. Nothing lasts forever, especially posts that start with a complaint about not wanting to do dishes for two (point five) hours.

Mostly, too much frolicking.

And too much junk food.

And a bad mood.

They must be related somehow but I can’t stop/won’t stop.

How did I get here? Ever since I decided for myself like the fully-functional adult I am going to get a job and only write once I week, I feel weird. Firstly, I am no fully functional adult. Secondly, I have a job. I actually wanted a job. I take two buses, twice a day and drink “spicy chai” across the road because I’m always early. Spicy chai? WTF. Early? Yeah, that would be me. With all the things that make me feel weird about my current sort-of life changes, there is one thing that puts me at ease: I get to read.

I sit in a bus for about four times a week, check out the people talking to themselves, wonder why reading glasses and futons make for such interesting conversation and then I pick out my book. In the past year I’ve told you how most of my day went. Me pretending to be the busiest person in the world and you nodding your head at my super humanity. No? That’s okay. I won’t take it personally. My imaginary to-do list made maybe 3 seconds to read. I was running around in circles, trying to feel accomplished. Once evening came, I looked to my left and then to my right and it was time for bed. Everybody knows you don’t read before you sleep. Amateur mistake. You hardly ever remember what you read and whatever magnificent plans you have about finishing 85 books by the end of 2013 turns into a lie.

“Santa Claus is your parents”.

That’s a stupid excuse. Books never end and bus rides are too short. The same trees, the same stops, almost the same people. That boy with the curly hair who also reads but falls asleep mid-way through his book, that grumpy bus driver for whom 7.30 is too early, that lady who seems to follow me home, the evergreens, the same stops, all with a new chapter, a new page, a slightly (okay, a very muchly) distracting sky, and I’m good.

I GET TO READ MORE. Thanks bus.

This works as a great side for any meal. If you want to eat it as one whole meal, I think that would be cool too. You can also mix it with couscous or brown rice and make it a meal. Ignore the goat cheese I sprinkled on the top. It was very impulsive of me and slightly crazy.

Ingredients

200 gms cauliflower, broken down into smaller flowers
1 tbsp olive oil, plus a little more for cooking the other ingredients
1/2 cup chopped green beans
1/2 cup yellow peppers, diced
2 cloves garlic
1/4 cup shallots, finely chopped
1/2 tbsp rice vinegar
1 tsp crushed coriander seeds
1 tsp cumin
Salt to taste
Lime juice to squeeze over

Oh my gosh! Cauliflower rice?! Crazy right? Well. I’m not the first person to make this for the masses meaning me and me but I do like to think I am.

Pre-heat your oven to 400 degrees F. Then, start by cutting off the cauliflower stem and them breaking it into smaller parts. Put it all in a bowl and pour over the olive oil and just a very light sprinkle of salt. Mix well. Place the cauliflower on a baking sheet lined with foil and roast them for 10 minutes on one side. Ten minutes later, pull out the baking sheet, flip over the cauliflower and continue roasting it for 10 more minutes before you let it exit the oven forever. No more.

Let the roasted cauliflower cool for a bit and then put it in a food processor and chop it to tiny shreds, almost rice-line, but not to a puree. You can do it. I have faith. Put the riced cauliflower back in a bowl and leave it alone.

Now on to the +1s. Heat about a tbsp of cooking olive oil in a frying pan. Once it’s hot enough, add the crushed coriander seeds and cumin to it. Let them roast until they get fragrant, while you stir occasionally. Once you can smell the spices, add the garlic and the shallots and toss them around for about a minute and a half. Just like with the spices, you’ll know they’re ready when they smell like the bomb. Sorry “da” bomb. Next add the yellow peppers and green beans to the mix and give it one big toss with a spoon. Then let them cook until they are tender, but still crispy. Give it 15-20 minutes and it’s ready for you. Put in the riced cauliflower and let it get warmed up for a minute more before you take the pan off the heat and pour in the rice vinegar. Add salt to taste and squeeze a generous amount of lime juice on the top.

Don’t do the sprinkle of goat cheese. Please. It’s so strange. I’m born this way.

Everything is a sign + Roasted squash pizza

August 16, 2013 by Edlyn

Like this past Sunday when I told myself 10 times that I will not be able to carry another cooler filled with stuff and put it on a dolly and then roll it to “our spot”, a place marked with chalk initials, all on a downhill slope. Everything was escaping from me. My lower back (use your knees), my grip, the dolly, and reasons why I was doing this. But I did it anyway because it seemed logical. If I quit, I’d get fired and that would seem illiogical. So I did it. When the time came to wrap things up, we undid what we just did a few hours earlier. Un-canopied the canopy, unhooked the generator, unplugged the boom box, propped it back up on the dolly and rolled it to the van…you know, the opposite. A couple serenaded me while I toyed with this new word I learnt: “Cambro…caaam-bro…*very fast* cambro…” Cambro. They sounded good together. They stayed till I finished the heavy lifting, ukulele sounds coupled with my half-panting, half-not so much.

They were a sign. A good sign.

That was the beginning and the end. The middle was a different sort of test. With a brain so easily confusable (not a word, I know), I got my first lesson in giving the customer what s/he wants. And while I did that, I made small talk about Pushkar and fish that aren’t scared of humans. I think those are called koi but I never said that because I associate koi with ponds and a bunch of overfed fish swimming really close and touching tails. Groups of living things doing living things give me the shivers. Okay then. While I had to ask people at least 2 times what they wanted to eat, I found sneaky not-so-“I’m a little slow” ways to do it. I was the most scared of giving a vegetarian chicken but, I made it, with one near miss (not related to vegetarian-y things). Then Diane came along. She wanted to trade a birch dream-catcher she was making under the tree for a bowl of quinoa. She smiled really big and introduced herself, telling us she was walking around the market trading food for the dream-catchers. I asked her if she was very creative and she said she’d like to think so. She got her bowl of sunshine vegetarian quinoa and my boss got a dream-catcher.

That was a good sign too. A very good sign.

The last round of picking up the place we fed people was pushing up the cart up the hill so it could be hooked back up to the van. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t have time to go buy some veggies and use my $1 discount but I was ready to go back and do dishes, in a strange twist of events. Before we could start, the Hmong flower vendors that were in no hurry let us pick a bouquet of flowers I don’t know the name of. They were poofy and they were probably dahlias. They spelt glory every way you looked at them and they were mine. If you’re wondering if that was a good sign too, it was.

I liked that sign.

We walked up to the cart one last time, ready to heave/ho and I hear: “Hey you want one too?” I looked up because I probably was looking down at the time. I also looked up because when somebody says “hey”, it could mean anybody. Unless there’s a person named Hey. In that case I’d look up and back down a bit faster. But “hey” was me. Did I want one? Yes, Diane. Y.E.S. I want a dream-catcher! I want all the dream-catchers that you made at summer camp out of birch because you know why? I’ll tell you why. It matches my flowers and also because that…THAT was the best sign of them all.

Roasted squash summer pizza

New favourite pizza dough alert. If for any reason it doesn’t work for you, please let me know. I will be happy to go back to the drawing board for you. That’s what I’m here for after all. Happy chow-downing.

Ingredients

For the toppings

300 gms summer squash/zucchini (about 2 medium sized squash)
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
1 tsp coriander powder
1 tsp fresh oregano and thyme, chopped
1/2 tbsp lime juice
1/4 tsp sea salt
1/4 cup parmesan cheese, grated (use more or less if you please)
1/2 cup caramelised red onions (optional)
1/4 cup black olives, chopped

For the dough

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup atta (durum wheat flour), plus more for dusting and kneading
1 tsp active dry yeast
1 1/2 tsp raw cane sugar
1 cup warm water
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp olive oil

You can start the pizza party by turning your oven up to 400 degrees F, which is this house take 2 shouting matches at 2 different times of the day, leaving me with very little sleep and just a few hours to use the oven until the home space turns into our very own furnace. *Currently baking eggplant on the sofa*

Slice the zucchini and summer squash into 1/4 inch thick rounds and season with all the spices and herbs apart from the cheese and onions. Once the squash is coated well, place on a baking sheet lined with foil and roast for 20 minutes until the edges brown and the squash looks crinkly. Let it cool before peeling it off the foil.

While the squash is roasting, have yourself a dance party. Once you’re done, it’s time for pizza pizza dough. Fill a bowl with the warm water and add the sugar to it. Stir to dissolve and then put in the yeast. Don’t stir it this time. Let the yeast take it’s time to dissolve. Yeast is the boss of you. Breadmakers all over the world will agree. Cover the bowl and let it sit for 5-13 minutes. It should look a bit frothy before it gets mixed into the flour. While the yeast is sitting around being the boss, put the all-purpose flour plus the atta (durum wheat flour) in a large bowl. Using your plain ol’ fingers mix it with the salt and the olive oil. To this add the yeast and again, mix, mix, mix with thy fingers (it’s really more fun this way). It should all come together at this point and form into a nice soft, elastic, dough that can be easily shaped. If it doesn’t and it’s still too sticky, add more of the durum flour to it, a little by little till it’s easy to work with. Knead the dough in the bowl for 5 minutes….no less and no more. Then cover it with a tea towel and put plastic wrap over the bowl. Place in a warm spot in the kitchen to let the yeast work it’s magic. The warmer the spot, the better the rise. I usually stick the bowl in a corner in the kitchen cupboard. Leave it there for a minimum of 1 1/2 hours to 3-4 hours.

Once the dough has risen, pull out the bowl from the cupboard and punch it. Free all the air and split the dough in half. You can make 1 pizza from half of the dough and freeze or refrigerate the rest depending on how soon you will use it. Leave it in the fridge for no more than 3 days and freeze it if you plan on keeping it for longer. The ingredients I’ve stated above work well with half the dough.

Grease a baking sheet with olive oil and taking half the dough, spread it around on the sheet using your hands. It might resist a bit in the beginning by reclaiming it’s shape but it becomes more pizza-like eventually. Once you’ve shaped it, loosen it up once from the bottom of the sheet. This means you just lift it up and put it right back down. This will help it not stick to the pan after it’s cooked. Brush the top of the pizza with olive oil and the top it with the squash, olives, caramelised onions (if using) and parmesan cheese.

So pretty right?

Bake the pizza for 20-25 minutes until the edges of the bread brown lightly. Pull it out of the oven, let it cool just a tad, slice and serve.

Quick pickled radishes

July 19, 2013 by Edlyn

Everyday feels different. Different in a different way. If I could be more specific, I’d say I’m constantly trying to remember how to be the Indian from Goa. Conversations with myself and imaginary cab drivers in Hindi/Konkani while walking the dogs, remind me sometimes. I remember how I could never have a “normal” fight with someone off the street. Anger made me forget the words and anxiety (plus wanting to plant the sole of my foot onto some passer-by molester’s pride and joy) didn’t help. I could bargain for some vegetables but the street smarts these women carry around in tiny waist pouches (and sometimes in their bras) were hardly something to mess around with.

“Bhindi, panch rupiya aadha kilo”

What the what?!

Okay, I deserve this.

I’m not a culture vulture. It’s never been something I made the effort to go out and learn. It just happened (or so I felt). The people were there, the experiences made nice safe spots in my brain and I did what I usually did. How do you belong to a place? How does every graceful movement become typical of us? I just haven’t thought about it.

But I am now.

How else can I explain not knowing what to say to a person I’ve met once or twice? I can ask a multitude of questions. Favourite books, colour, why the streets are cleaner here are some that might cross my mind. I speak but I still feel like I don’t know anything about you until I can ask: “Did you have your lunch?” Those exact words strung together. Variations include “Have you eaten?”, “What you ate?”, “I know you just had your lunch but there’s tea to be had…” I can’t pinpoint the exacts of this cultural derivation but nothing feels more home to me than food. We as people sew ourselves together with threads that we know won’t wear out with time. That is food, to me. Never an indulgence. This is something I know I can talk about and yet, I feel like I fall short when it comes to the “Indian-ness” of it all.

I can’t explain Indian food to people that ask because is there really such a thing? There isn’t. I can give the safe answer, laced with butter chicken and naan but I know it won’t be the right answer. I eat my naan plain, like a snack. Sometimes I used it to scoop up my fish-curry-rice, knowing very well I was doing it wrong and feeling like it was okay because I wasn’t trying to prove anything. Here, I sort of am. I have told Resident Evil, Dr Crazy Pants (his name is actually Matt) that “you don’t order rice AND naan. You choose one or the other”.

As if. I can’t believe I told him that. It’s true but it’s not forever. I somehow find myself becoming more and more responsible to hold on to this culture I was born into. I can try doing it with food but I know very well that I have always cooked from memory and rarely from a book. So while I know perfectly well how to squeeze the juice from the coconut thanks to motherly instruction, I cannot (yet) make myself a true Goan fish-curry. But yay, I can make rice!

And I can teach Resident Crazy how to say “chalo” and debate how it would be spelled (“I feel it’s more of ‘chulo’ than ‘chalo'”).

And make that annoying sound people make when they’re annoyed with something.

And say “Yah no”.

And put onions in EVERYTHING.

Is there really any other way to be?

This recipe is inspired by my sister who showed me how to make quick pickled carrots in almost the same way. I just took it and applied it to the radish bunch I bought last week. I do have a pressing question though. Is there a plural form of radish and is it radishes? Things I can clearly do an Internet search for #946. The pickle flavour gets more pickle-y as time goes by.

Ingredients

A bunch of long red radishes (170 gms), sliced thin
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup white vinegar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
2 cloves garlic
1 dried red chilli, sliced in half
Fresh cracked pepper (optional)

Cut up all the radishes into thin slices (like in the picture below), using your awesome knife skills. Put them in a non-reactive container (preferably glass and no metal or plastic) with enough room for the pickling liquid you’re about to make.

Put the salt, sugar, water and white vinegar into a pot and bring it to a boil, making sure that the sugar and salt dissolve. Multitask like a boss. As soon as it reaches boiling point, take the pot off the stove and add the garlic clove and dried red chilli (also the pepper, if using) to it. Let it sit for 2-3 minutes and then pour it over the radishes in the bottle. Try to worm the chilli and garlic in the middle of all the slices. Put the lid on and shake the bottle. Let it cool before storing in the refrigerator. Use on everything.

I mean it.

Grilled chilli-lime corn and cucumber hodge podge

July 16, 2013 by Edlyn

“You look too happy to be married! So you must always be this happy?”

I made a friend on Sunday. I was coming off a long bus ride which I rarely don’t enjoy and I was walking to my destination. The Seattle Center (their spelling, not mine), a place that I feel like staying away from more and more as I realised that day. The footpaths are always full of people and we all walk sl-owwwww. Then we come up to the man with the “Wanted: Sugar Mama” sign and we all chuckle. Except when he sticks the sign right in your face. That’s usually distracting. I had a reason for being there and I was late.

As I passed the fuel pump on *streetnameIdontknow* and *otherstreetnameIdontknow* (I’ve a lot to master still), I slowed down myself. There was my new friend. She was looking down at her feet after just having crossed the road. I like looking down sometimes too so I stopped. We both looked down. I must’ve asked if she was okay but only I can understand my accent sometimes. She sort of understood me because she said something back to me.

“I got a corn on my toe and I just hit this thing,” she said with that scrunched nose, tiny eyes face.

“I had a corn too! On my thumb. It didn’t hurt,” I said back, thus getting hired for that job as a too much information sharer person.

“Ooo. I didn’t know you could get them there.”

Thus making her my new three-block walk BFF.

Rita told me the meaning of her name (“There’s no meaning. They just took the end of Margarita and you got Rita”), where she lived (For 27 years. “That’s longer than you’ve been around!”, how she had a 19-year affair with a man she parted ways with mutually and that she just bought apricots from the farmer’s market. She took a bus there. If I wasn’t walking to where I was going that day, I might have seen her at the market. It’s the same one I’ve been at, ogling the vegetables and sometimes the farmers behind them. But if I wasn’t walking to where I was going that day, I might have never met her. I asked her about her pink hat; it said “CAUTION: WOMAN SHOPPING” on the front and something about shopping being a career choice at the back. “Women love to shop! Ooh you don’t want to stand in a woman’s way when she’s shopping!”

Rita wanted to talk. I let her, knowing well that I’m a much better listener anyway, especially with people I’ve just met. She had a lot of friends, she said. She told me I was so young, interjecting with stories about how she had no regrets because she did what made her happy. She lived with people she loved and left when they didn’t work out. She married the love of her life and he bought her puppies (!!!).

By the time we reached the point where we had to part ways, my day was made.

We walked slow. It was a Sunday. I must always be this happy.

This recipe makes enough for 2 people plus one tiny person or normal-sized person with a tiny appetite. We ate this as a taco filling along with some grilled salmon and other things for which I’ll write down recipes soon. You can also eat is as a side or just munch on it when you’re bored.

I wanted to char the corn like the awesome, life-saving vendors do on the street during the monsoons in India but there is a dangerous lack of fire burners in this house. I am appalled at this limitation every single day of my life. If you have a fire burner on your stove at home, I have some instructions for you as well. Use it please and be careful.

Ingredients

1 1/2 cup cucumber, diced
2 ears of corn
1 lime, cut in half
2 tsp fresh dill, chopped
2 tsp chilli powder or cayenne pepper
1 tsp salt

Dice the cucumber and put it in a bowl, into the fridge. If you want, seed it but it won’t affect the final outcome. In a small bowl, mix together the chilli powder and the salt and set aside.

Heat an outdoor grill. Peel back 1 or 2 layers of the corn husk but make sure it still got some on. Place the corn on the grill and cook it for 3 minutes on each side, turning it so it cooks all around. The kernels will turn a bright yellow once it’s done. Pull back some of the layers to get a closer look before you decide it’s ready. At this time, take the corn off the grill and let it cool before peeling the corn to expose the nakedness.

Put some clothes on that corn!

Clothes aka chilli powder and lime. Dip half the cut lime into the chilli-powder salt mix till the lime no longer looks like lime and rub it all over the corn. Squeeze the lime just a tad so some of the juice gets absorbed by the cob too. Once this is done, stand the corn up straight (soldier!) and using a knife, shave the kernels off into a bowl. Bring the cucumber out from the fridge and add it to the corn bowl. Add 1 tbsp of lime juice and the chopped dill to the bowl and mix well.

If you want to char the corn (which really, is the true meaning of life), turn on your normal-like-the-rest-of-the-world stove with a flame on to medium. Put the corn directly on the burner and let some of the kernels get slightly blackened. Too much char and it’s burnt. Use a pair of tongs or your hand to turn the corn so it chars on all sides. Be wary of very tiny kernel explosions. Kaboom. The rest of the lime-chilli powder rub down is the same.

Try it and be awesome.

Can’t live without Thursday schmursday + Grilled caprese salad sandwich

July 11, 2013 by Edlyn

As much as I claimed I’d like to be the girl laying under the covers watching movies and TV shows on her laptop all day, I am far from that. Missing socks taunt me. So do puppy dogs and thoughts. I willingly get out of bed in the hope that I can be more productive. Nobody forces me to do anything. I just carry on along, like this is one big vacation and trying to shake off that feeling. We got work to do, sister!

But it’s summer and I just want to go outside.

Today I counted the number of times I’ve written in the past few months and I know already that it’s not as much as when I first started in January. I might have found a rhythm. It certainly feels like one. Again, nobody forces me to do this, and I don’t want to force it on myself. As if on cue, the sun came back out and I just want to take in all these days. To feel like this is another version of home instead of pining for one I can’t have as yet. I notice I’ve been here for a year a lot more when things that happened last year seem to be happening again. It sure doesn’t feel that long.

Then I go back to the beginning. If I actually did stay in bed longer than the morning called. I would watch the entire (I mean every single episode) of Grey’s Anatomy. I stopped watching it because I got tired of people dying and leaving (if you haven’t already noticed, change makes me uneasy). If I ever managed to pull that off, I would eventually get to Season 9. Then I’d hear this:

The more we’re willing to accept what is and not what we thought…We’ll find ourselves exactly where we belong.

My line of the year. My work in progress from the moment I finish a night’s rest. The reason I can’t exactly stay in bed all day.

(SERIOUSLY? Seriously.)

AND IT’S SUMMER!! If it sounds like I’m yelling, it’s because I am.

This made the Thursday list of can’t live without because I’m a genius! I’ve made this sandwich three times this week (today being the third time) and I like it more with each bite. It’s simple to modify it to fit your diet and it sells itself, which makes me wonder why I’m trying.

Ingredients

4-6 slices of bread (a crusty loaf of fresh bread would work great in this recipe. I would’ve loved to use a poi {a Goan bread} but this local bread did well)
1 ripe tomato, sliced (I used a medium-sized steak tomato)
2 cloves of crushed garlic
1 log of mozzarella cheese, sliced (as thick as the tomatoes)
A handful of whole basil leaves
2 tbsp olive oil plus more for brushing
Light sprinkle of salt, to taste

Slice the tomatoes and place them in a bowl with the crushed garlic. Coat them with the 2 tbsp of olive oil and cover the bowl. Let it sit until you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

Slice the cheese, the bread (if it needs slicing) and pick the basil leaves off the stalk. If you feel like you’re done, you’re almost right. There’s just a little bit more work to do. Do you like the sound my whip makes? Take the bread and brush both sides of it with olive oil. Not as much as you would do with butter but somewhere in between. Once that’s done, you can now start assembling the sandwich. As the Caprese salad usually goes, so shall your sandwich. First place some tomato slices on the bread, top it with some mozzarella and then add the basil leaves on the top*. I can’t tell you how much to put in each sandwich but have faith in your ability. Season lightly with salt (or pepper) if you like.

Now it’s sandwich grilling time. If you have a stove-top griddle with a press to flatten the sandwhich, now’s a good time to put it to use. I don’t so I have to make use of my handy-dandiness to get the job done. Set your stove to medium heat with a regular non-stick frying pan on the top. When it gets hot enough, place the prepared sandwich on it. Using the back of the spatula or a lid that would fit within the frying pan, apply pressure to the sandwich so that the insides fuse together with the melted cheese. Hold it down for 3 minutes or more if you like it grilled beyond golden brown. Reduce the stove temperature slightly and repeat the same pressure trick to the other side of the sandwich until it’s grilled and the cheese is oooey-gooey running out slightly from the sides. This should also take 3 minutes.

Your insalata caprese sandwich is ready to eat. You’ve got the power. Can’t you feel it?

Feel it!

(*You can also arrange it like: Tomato, cheese, basil with all three slightly overlapping the other. The filling might hold together better. I just thought of this and I’m going to try it on Matt’s sandwich in a while.)

Asparagus and turnip brown rice bowl + Best neighbour ever.

July 9, 2013 by Edlyn

I am nobody. To throw such a bold statement out there into the universe makes me seem sort of gutsy but if you loved food as much as I did, that is the same statement you’d want on my front door. More than just looking at fresh food and getting 10 trillion ideas on what I could do with it, I love to share. The only reason I ever thought this cooking thing is worth its salt is when I got to make it for this person I live with. Then there was this other time I made spaghetti for a bunch of friends and whoaaa the crowd went wild. Also worth mentioning is cauliflower crust (before EVERYBODY was doing it…I think people read the same articles online or something), and spinach soup along with Gayle’s strawberry liqueur.

I’m not bragging. I sometimes (always) use this space to get some sort of validation. I don’t know how my web-loggers feel about this but I am genuinely very surprised when I make something and it doesn’t taste as awful. Nobody told me I was bad in the kitchen, I just didn’t care to try (sorry parents). In a way, this is a some-what journey of self-discovery. It also does a damn fine job of keeping me occupied and I don’t hate it at all. Just the dishes part (if somebody could do that for me, I would shake their hand give them the world. I’m looking at you.)

But you can’t really say this at a job interview, can you?

“I, Edlyn, love to cook because I was bored and now I’ve reached a higher plane of inner understanding all thanks to that huge pot of spaghetti that didn’t suck.”

Somebody asked me that last week.

I trembled. I do not rehearse interview answers. I’m too busy trying not to vom…throw up all morning and when the time comes, I’m as real as can be. And I tremble. I told her why I like to cook. I said this and that, each word becoming my reality as I said it. When I was finished, that was it. I became a person who wrote a blog, cooked and moved from a foreign land for strange reasons. I must have said I love quinoa but I can’t quite remember.

“What a weird brown-skinned Indian. And she likes quinoa! Can I trust her at all!?”

I don’t like letting words define me. I still kind of cringe while calling myself a journalist. It makes me feel like I can’t ever make typographical errors when I know I’m the same person who forgot to make an entire newspaper page and went home, two days in a row.

Shit happens.

As for the blogger/writer/cook/foreign girl next door, none of it’s definitive. For now, I’d just like to be the best neighbour ever.

Asparagus and turnip brown rice bowl

I made this for my neighbour since she sometimes gives me stuff she cooks “Just to taste”. Just to taste and it’s more than enough for two people. I taste it all. In my Indian house it’s sort of “rude” to return a container that was given to you full of goodies as is. I might have just made this up so don’t take what I say literally. I feel like it’s rude. It’s like going to a potluck without any luck in the pot, if you know what I mean. So I made this for her but she didn’t want it. All because I sprinkled goat cheese on the top and it was their vegetarian day. I’m not even going to bother explaining because I don’t like vegetarian days. God. It’s kind of hard keeping up with them, you know? Like I always say, “More for me.”

I don’t have exact measurements for this but I will guide you through it all with my approximation. Like an angel of mercy.

Ingredients

For the pesto

2 cups spring salad greens
1/2 cup almonds, chopped roughly or just crushed with a punch of your fist.
2 garlic cloves, chopped roughly
1/4 cup olive oil (you might need less but have a 1/4 cup at hand)
1/4 cup parmesan cheese (optional)
Salt to taste

For the stir-ins

Stalks of asparagus (about 20), ends chopped off and the rest cut into 2 or 3 equal parts
2 white radish, diced
1/2 mild (sweet) onion or shallot, finely chopped
Olive oil
1/2 cup brown rice, rinsed and drained
1 1/4 cup water
Salt and pepper to taste
Lemon juice, goat cheese and extra chopped almonds to garnish

Use this method to make the pesto. The only difference here is the type of greens and nuts I used. If you don’t like going back and forth from this page to the other, let me know. When I’m a famous person and millions flock to read this at their blog clubs, I’ll change it. I swear.

Put the rice in a pot of lightly salted water on the stove and bring the water to boil on medium-high to high heat. When it reaches boiling point, turn down the heat, put a lid over the pot and let it simmer. It should be simmering with the lid closed. In approximately 20 minutes, check on the rice. Take it off the stove and keep the lid closed for 5-10 more minutes. Open the lid and let the steam escape. Be careful.

While the rice cooks, prepare the asparagus, radish and onion/shallot for the frying pan. Add about a tablespoon of olive oil to a frying pan and let it heat up (don’t let it burn) throw in the chopped asparagus, radish and onion and let it cook while stirring constantly for just 2-3 minutes. The should be just about tender bit with some bite left. Take it off the heat and add the pesto to it, coating well. You can put in as little or as much as you’d like. Your call girl/boyfriend. Next add these earth magic ingredients to the cooked brown rice. Let the mingle and get to know each other. Taste and add salt if needed. With the salt in the pesto and rice, you might not.

As for the garnish, you can squeeze lemon juice over it, add crumbled goat cheese or almonds. You can also add scrambled eggs! Or grated, toasted coconut flakes.

Or a puppy.

No, don’t add a puppy. They’re hard to digest.

I think I need a vegetarian day.

Can’t live without purple Thursday

June 20, 2013 by Edlyn

Purple? Why purple?!

Purple. Like the colour. Why? Just because it’s the story of my life. Ask me how any girl-stuff related (MAKEUP) conversation with dudeface goes and my answer will forever be “purple”. I feel like I’ve got this Coldplay vibe all of a sudden. Allow me to elaborate a little more and if you don’t allow me, I’ll do it anyway. See that tiny little bar up there with “egeedee” in it? That’s me. Hello, thank you for stopping by and letting me elaborate.

I’m a girl. Right. In a world of high-heels, going to the bathroom in one large cloud of perfume, saying “soooo adorbs” to non-animal things and noticing the difference between red lipsticks and clump-proof mascara, I fall way, way, way behind. Do you see me? You don’t because, you know…I’m WAY behind. Pay attention. For example, getting married. I still have out-of-body experiences looking at pictures from my wedding. Nothing was more difficult for me than getting married. The whole princess aspect had me on edge all day and I wish that I could be the ideal bride but nyeahhh. It’s okay. I was never into that sort of stuff.

Maybe that’s why I wore a yellow wedding dress. Coming to that decision was easy. I knew I didn’t want to wear white. Apart from underwear, it never went with my personality. I checked with the groom since he was going to be standing next to me. Also, I knew there would be every possibility that he might have to explain this breakaway fashion statement (i.e. me) to his family. So I asked: “I’m wearing yellow.”

“You should wear lavender!” he said.

And right there, a template for a conversation we would have many times, was born.

Me: “Should I wear red lipstick?”

Not me: “I think you’d look better in some shade of purple.”

—————————–

Me: “Do you like my orange nail polish?”

Again, not me: “Why don’t you get something purple?”

—————————–

Purple. Purple. Purple.

—————————–

Me: “I like your pink shirt”

(: “It’s purple.”

So are these potatoes, boy. So are these potatoes.

Roasted purple rosemary potatoes

When I was just a wee lass working at my job, there were a lot of times I had to pretend to be busy. Shaheen’s blog fit those work fart voids very well. She had those tiny graphics (I loved!) for each section and her potato recipes were something I dreaded looking through at work. *hunger*. I went back to her webspace after last week while looking for potato recipes and gosh, she’s living the dream isn’t she? Purplefoodie, you’re pretty great and that’s why I re-made this recipe of yours as is. I just eliminated the pink peppercorns and hence, I’ll list my own set of quantities. They are all very adjustable. Thank you Purple Foodie, as always, for your purple inspiration.

Ingredients

370 gm/about 4 small purple potatoes
2 tbsp rosemary
3-4 garlic cloves, minced
Sea salt and pepper to taste
Lemon juice to squeeze over while serving

Preheat your oven to 450 degrees F, which in my kitchen takes 2 decades, by which time I’ve decided that I don’t ever want to wear red (or purple) lipstick. Prepare a baking sheet lined with foil and lightly greased with cooking spray or brushed with olive oil.

Boil the potatoes in salted water. Once they’re tender and you can pass a butter knife through them easily, take them off the stove and put them on the baking sheet. Mash them with a fork once or twice till they’re flat but still have their chunkiness in parts. Warm the garlic with the olive oil on the stove until it gets fragrant and then pour this over the potatoes. Sprinkle the rosemary over them next along with the sea salt and pepper.

Bake for 15 minutes and halfway through, turn over the potatoes. Continue baking until brown and crispy along the edges. Serve as a side with lemon juice squeeze all over the deliciousness. Okay then. Cook like a champ!

Dreamy eggs on a Sunday

June 16, 2013 by Edlyn

For Turkey and especially for my father, both of which/whom have a lot to do with my dreams.

In the 1960s and early 1970s, the main streets of Istanbul were empty on Sunday mornings, and as we drove through neighbourhoods I’d never seen before, we’d listen to “light Western music” (the Beatles, Sylvie Vartan, Tom Jones and suchlike) and my father would tell me that the best thing a person could do was to live by his own lights, that money could never be the object, but if happiness depended on it, it could be a means to that end; or he would tell me how once when he left us and gone to Paris he had written poems in his hotel room, and had also translated Valery’s poems into Turkish, but years late while travelling in America, the suitcase in which he kept all his poems and translations had been stolen. As the music rose and fell in rhythm with the city streets, he would adjust his stories to the beat and I knew that everything he told me – of having seen Jean-Paul Satre many times in the streets of Paris during the 1950s or how the Pamuk Apartments in Nsantasi had come to be built, of the failure of one of his first businesses – I would never forget. From time to time he would pause to admire the view, or the beautiful women on the pavement, and while I listened to his offerings of gentle and understated wisdom and advice, I would gaze at the scenes of the leaden winter mornings as the flashed across the windshield. As I watched the cars crossing the Galata Bridge, the back neighbourhoods where a few wooden houses stood, the narrow streets, the crowds heading to a football match, or the thin funnelled tugboat pulling coal barges down the Bosphorus, I’d listen to my father’s wise voice telling me how important it was that people followed their own instincts and passions; that actually, life was very short and that, also, it was a good thing if a person knew what he wanted to do in life, that, in fact, a person who spent his life writing, drawing and painting could enjoy a deeper, richer life, and as I drank in his words, they would blend in with the things I was seeing. And before long, the music, the views rushing past the window, my father’s voice (“Shall we turn in here?” he’d ask) and the narrow cobblestone streets all merged into one, and it seemed to me that while we would never find answers to these fundamental questions, it was good for us to ask them anyway; that true happiness and meaning resided in places we would never find and perhaps did not wish to find, but – whether we were pursuing the answers or merely pleasure and emotional depth – the pursuit mattered no less than the attainment, the asking as important as the views we saw through the windows of the car, the house, the ferry. With time, life – like music, art and stories – would rise and fall, eventually to end, but even years later, those lives are with us still in the city views that flow before out eyes, like memories plucked from dreams.

– (a very large) Excerpt from Istanbul by Orhan Pamuk

Broccoli and paneer omelette

This Sunday, my main aim is to gross my husband out by showing him broccoli in an omelette. We’re told so much through American TV and its picky children that broccoli is “ewwwww” (another term we learn from the Americans in the TV). Mr Stretchy Pants embodies this spirit and I still don’t understand why (“the smell, the smell!!”). It tastes normal to me, which is why I went ahead and made this breakfast…TWICE.

Muwhahahahaha….*ahem*. Must have a sore throat or something.

I like coming up with omelette combinations and this is a definite winner.

You will need two eggs, a handful of broccoli florettes, green onions and some paneer, sesame seeds, chilli-garlic sauce, salt and pepper.

Beat the eggs into a bowl and then head for the broccoli. First, run cold water over it. Separate the broccoli head from the tougher part of the stem and then peel what’s remaining of it. This will tenderise the it and make it easy to cook. If you don’t want to use it at all, chop off the whole stem and save the broccoli florettes. Break them apart randomly. Roughly run a knife through the broken florettes until they are broken up into smaller sections (like in the picture). Put these pieces into the bowl with the beaten egg. The paneer part is easy. Just chop the block into small 1/2 inch cubes and put them into the bowl as well, along with the chopped green onions. At this point it’s going to look like there are more add-ons than eggs. To that I say, great work team!

Heat up a pan and coat it with oil. Let the oil heat up and then add the egg mix to it. Spread out the broccoli and paneer around the omellete-to-be and then put a lid on the pan. Let the bottom of the omelette cook for about 4 minutes. It should be well-cooked and golden brown on the underside. This makes it so much easier to flip-over without turning it into a scramble. Which brings us to the next step: Flip it over, very carefully. It’s going to be heavy. Let it cook for a minute more on the other side. Slowlyyy slide it onto your plate. Season with salt, pepper, sesame seeds and drops of chilli-garlic sauce.

Happy Father’s Day to all the father’s and father figures, in the stars and on Earth. And to my own, thank you for Sunday breakfasts, loving Bidli, my mother and your spawns.

Thoughts + Spring greens and marinated mushroom spring rolls

May 15, 2013 by Edlyn

Thoughts when I wake up these days:

Should I eat? Maybe I should run. But what about writing? Maybe I’ll run later but I’m going to write soon after breakfast. Oh hell where did these dishes come from? Okay so I’ll wash this right after breakfast because I’m going to dirty more stuff anyway. Frying pans, wash yourself sometime. Try. What should I eat? An egg? Sounds good. Maybe two sound better. I have pesto (I always have pesto) I can eat it with and some mushrooms. Now I feel like drinking coffee. WHAT ABOUT YOUR RUN?! I guess I’ll have to wait two hours or so. Don’t want a side ache. I can’t remember when I said I would write but I’m thinking my brain will be more serotonin-y after and I’ll write an awesome post. I can even think about what to start with while running. Yes! Great plan. Eggs, eggs.

*Crack* Over easy, make toast, scoop pesto, chop mushrooms and 3 minutes tops and I’m ready to eat and yay, coffee is ready too. Sugar, cream, breakfast time. Should I take a picture? Nah I’ll take one when I make this for the 18,0000 time.

(10 minutes later)

This breakfast rocked. Shit. Dishes. Bleah.

(15 minutes and clean dishes later)

Should I go back to sleep? NO! The dogs need to go for a walk and all the other unpleasant but necessary stuff. Look at Chevy, he’s killing me with his sad dog face. Drama queen.

(15 minutes and two relieved dogs later)

Mmmmm I want cake. Run, remember? Whatever, I’ll just hydrate. Maybe I should write while waiting. Wait, I should FaceTime with Goa.

(45 minutes to 1 hour of FaceTime later)

I’m hungry.

This is what I eat because apart from the cutting of carrots, everything is almost always cut and in the refrigerator ready to go. It’s this new thing I’m trying to allow me to not get overwhelmed by the day ahead, especially when it comes to food. If you read what I just wrote, you’ll see that it’s working quite well. What? You don’t see it? Muggles.

Ingredients

5 sheets of rice paper or tapioca starch paper
2 1/2 carrots (110 gms), cut into matchsticks or grated
1 avocado, seed and skin removed and mashed in a bowl
1/2 cup onion, chopped fine
50 gms spring salad greens (or as much as you’d like to put in each roll)
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste

To marinate the mushroom

3 large crimini mushrooms (3/4 cup), sliced vertically
1 garlic pod, grated fine
1 tsp honey
1 tsp rice vinegar
1 tsp peanut oil
1 tsp lite soy sauce
1 scallion, chopped fine

I am having the most difficult time finding my words today BUT I’ll cry my river some other day.Today I will attempt to explain the subtle art of mushroom marination.

Just kidding, it’s not an art.

Take the stem off the mushroom and have the smooth side of the cap facing up. Slice it fine in one direction and put it in a bowl. Chop up the stems you took off as well and mix with the rest. Don’t want the stem to feel bad. I mean it only supported a huge head of fungus till us humans could rightfully consume it. Anthropomorphisation deactivated. Sorry.Add the rest of the ingredients to the mushrooms and let it sit for up to 3 hours or overnight too if you’ve planned in advance, unlike me.

Mash the avocado in a bowl and mix the onions in it. Add salt and pepper to taste. Wash the salad greens dry and then squeeze some lemon juice on top of them. Mix well and then go on to the carrots.

Okay so you might be wondering why I’ve listed 2 1/2 carrots aka 2.5 carrots in the ingredients. It’s because at the 2.5 point, I turned my index finger into a filet. No big deal. I iced, lemon juiced and bandaged it but not before reminding myself how much I really really reaaaallly really hate cutting carrots! Next time I make this, I’m grating them. Or maybe I should just learn a new trick. Like carrot mind control.

Once you cut the carrots into matchsticks, set them aside and start working on assembling the grand finale: FOOD. I’ve explained in this post (after the fourth picture) how to turn solid rice paper into a malleable spring roll that you can fill and roll. Have a clean basin of warm water and a damp, clean tea towel ready. That and here’s the link again, just in case you missed it.

On the side of the spring roll closest to you, spread on the avocado. A little less than a tablespoon of it should be fine. On top of it, put on the marinated mushrooms. Then put together a set of spring salad greens in between your thumb and index finger and place it over the mushrooms. Within this sort of cocoon of leaves, lay on a few matchstick carrots. You need to have enough for four other spring rolls so even them out that way.

Roll up the rice paper tight but not too tight and I think they’re ready. Yeah. I’ll go now. I might have to run.

PS: Other great fillers for this are cucumber, basil, chicken (3 of these had oven-baked chicken in them for the dude boy) or even tofu. If you have better or more out-of-the-box suggestions, let me know.

Look ma, no hands + Roasted red pepper lentil soup

May 13, 2013 by Edlyn

I saw a lot of mothers yesterday. Dark, pretty, wrinkled, big hair, soft smiles, heart-melting and there. Alert, present and there. There’s a reason why your troubles can melt away in their presence and another reason why they absolutely must. I didn’t want to get lost in the whirl of mother tributes (all 1000% beautiful) yesterday so I let my thoughts sit for a while. I looked at each and every one of them and not a single thing annoyed me. I saw all these young women talking about the inspiration that their mothers are and felt thankful that I get to feel the same way.

My mother was born in the 60s. My youngest sister looked most like her as a baby but there is this one picture from her pre-teen years where we could be the same person. I’m glad the similarities end there because I could never be like her. My sisters and I used to try when we grew tall enough to reach the top of her cupboard for the keys (by standing on the bed). Lots of lipstick and nail polish later, we grew out of it. To her, I’m sure we never will.

I couldn’t buy you a present this time mama (trust issues with postal service) but wait 6 months and there I’ll be. As for yesterday, the best I could do was go watch the Seattle Rock Orchestra play songs from Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band and think about you all through. That’s how I always remember you, singing along to U. Frankie’s guitar with dada and the rest and wondering if I could ever be that brave.

I try mother. Thank you for letting me. Happy one day after Mother’s Day day. Today and everyyyy other day in the year, thank you for letting me dream. <3

To my sisters. I order you to make this for our mother. If you don’t, you’ll both remember you took her to see Star Trek. Star. Trek. Your mother. It’s like the time Ignatius and John gave Roma a bottle of jam for her birthday.

Ingredients

1 cup of yellow and black lentils, moong (mung) beans and kidney beans (they have to be soaked overnight* in water before being cooked)
1/2 tsp turmeric powder (optional)
1 cup vegetable stock
1 cup water
1 cup roasted red pepper sauce
1/2 cup coconut milk
Salt to taste

To garnish, if you must

Toasted walnuts
Croutons
Parsley
Squeeze of lemon juice

As of right now, the Internet has decided to go bye-bye and I’m writing this on a little post-it note app thing on the computer. I feel incredibly empowered, why thank you for asking.

The lentils and beans don’t care. They have one life to live. At this point, you should have soaked a mix of them in water the night before making this.

If you like more yellow and less black, soak it like that.

If you like only yellow, soak only that.

If you like black beans and nothing else, soak black beans and nothing else.

If the moong beans walk into a bar and the bar doesn’t serve moong beans, tell them you’ll soak them next time.

My point is, do as you wish with proportions and colours and shapes. This lentil bean crazy town all cook more or less the same way. Like pasta!

Take the lentil bean mix and put them in a pot of vegetable stock and water on medium high heat to bring it to a quick simmers. Sprinkle the turmeric powder in the water if you’re using it. Once the pot starts to simmer, turn the heat down low to a slow simmer and let it cook. If the water dries up too fast, add more to keep the lentils and beans covered till they’re done. The lentils should be ready in 20-25 minutes and you’ll be able to tell that they are when they’re tender and no longer crunchy. Season with salt depending on how much is already in the stock.

Leave the pot on the stove and add the red pepper sauce to it. Let it have fun times with the lentil+beaners for 5 minutes. Next add the coconut milk to this and cook for 5 more minutes. Keep stirring throughout this process. Take it off the heat, taste and season with salt (if required) and a crack of pepper.

If you want to eat this with croutons, cut some bread into cubes, drizzle them with olive oil and place them in a single layer on a baking sheet in a 350 degree F oven. Take them out when they’re in the golden to almost brown stage. You can also make them on a pan on the stove by taking the same olive oil coated bread squares and stirring them until they turn the right colour.

For the toasted walnuts, I’m too lazy to type over an already amazing bunch of instructions so go here.

Sprinkle with parsley if you have any and squeeze some lemon juice over before digging in.

(*Lentils and beans go a bit crazy by increasing in size when soaked overnight. The 1 cup measure I used is post-soaking. If you soak 1/2 cup, you should get 1 cup the next morning)

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