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Goa

Fried rice and a seven-minute* egg

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*Eight-minute egg or what happens when you don’t pay attention to the timer.

pic4Yesterday, I came *this* close to being in Goa again. Being near a package sent to me by my family through a friend visiting/working in Seattle for a week was my escape and even though I’m not literally there, I can breathe the curry patta (leaves) that grow from my neighbour’s compound to our top floor balcony and drop a red chilli in hot oil whenever I feel low. The homesickness has been on the uptick lately. This is the time of the year when I have a plane ticket and I’m all prepared to say “See you sucker,” to the winter. That’s not on the list this year and so, packages of dried food  with amazing labels made my mother will do. They are so professional. Airport customs has nothing on her….

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Green tomato and onion bhajia/pakoras

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There are very few things that I miss about home more than afternoon tea-time. Few things fill the spaces in our day better than this humble beverage. What was once an ideal way to break the monotony of a day job has become a symbol (to me, at least) of what it means to yearn for home. Ironic since it’s a ritual and trade left behind by our former white imperialist rulers (Hi Britain, I’m talking about you)….

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Hello, Uncle.

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It was an unspoken thing – after our paternal grandmother passed away – that we would spend that Christmas with Uncle Edgar at the home they lived and he took care of her in. She lived with breast cancer and had a double mastectomy as a result of it. After her surgery she wasn’t treated further owning to the fact that she probably wouldn’t be able to tolerate the side effects at her age. Uncle Edgar never married and so he saw his mother through all of her ailments, falls, bed sores – all the bits and pieces of getting old we talk of like we’ve lived it many times over. She laid on a bed and a long rope hung above her from the ceiling. No, it’s not what you think. It was long enough for her to reach with her hand and pull herself up so she could sit down on her own. I remember that they covered the noose that was made at the end of the rope with cloth and cloth bandages to make it easier on her frail hands. We never saw it but Uncle helped her with everything. He sat her on her bedside commode. He bathed her. He fed her. Maybe he complained but I don’t ever remember it. I wouldn’t want to think back on him as being anything but selfless, strong-willed and independent.

A few days after I celebrated my birthday, Uncle Edgar died. In a strange turn of fate, he went through almost the same things I described above except in a shorter and more sporadic way and with a different type of cancer. After 5 months of being bed-ridden at the very end, he breathed his last at a nursing home. My dad’s famous words, “I thought he was gone”, while speaking about Uncle finally rang true. It was heartbreaking. Uncle fought hard to live a life that was his own. He accepted his fate better than the modern world allows us to and he kept on living his life in the way he knew. There was so many times when we thought it was the end but he always came back fighting. This time we wanted to believe it would be that way again.

One of the heaviest weights any person who moves away from home has to carry is the one that comes with having to say goodbye. It’s especially hard when you’ve crossed continents and you know you can’t be there when you need to in a short and (emotionally) painless time. Since the last time I visited Goa, I lost my great Aunty Pacy, our 18-year-old family dog Gypsy (who was Uncle Edgar’s dog first) and my cat Bidli. When I left Goa again to come back to Washington this March, I knew I would be saying goodbye to my uncle for the last time.  On the morning of the day I was to begin the first leg of my journey, I drove the nurse to his house just as I had being doing for a large part of the start of this year. I didn’t *have* to do it. God knows I had a million things on my mind but I wanted my last day at home for a while to feel like I wasn’t going anywhere. I wanted to feel like I wouldn’t be waking up on an airplane that night. I wanted to know I could see my people whenever I wanted. This was maybe why I didn’t say “goodbye” the way I’d intended. How do you do it? “I’ll come back to say bye,” I told my father. I meant I would drive back after taking his nurse home but I really meant I wanted to come back in a year or two and see him there. And say bye once more.

There are many, many vivid memories I have grabbed onto and kept in the back of my mind. Having Uncle Edgar live less than a 10-minute drive from us turned them into more than I can count. Of all his nieces and nephews, it was us that had the luxury of being dropped off for the afternoon and asking him if he could find or make us fishing rods so we could go to the river. It was us that could visit and be guaranteed a bottle of Gold Spot and Thums Up  (popped open and cap saved in a bowl that was too high to reach) and a slice of La Vache Qui Rit cheese. When we grew up a little, those drinks turned into Port Wine. My sisters and I played in his garden and fought to water the plants, even though we never offered to do the same at home. I got one of my worst skinned knees I can remember while running back from the gate to the house. I can’t imagine that house being empty. Part of me grew up there. It’s where we always expect to see him – sitting in the balcony, reading the paper, people-watching, scolding the help or shooing away the cat.

We got to spend Christmas with Uncle this December. My dad, mama, Jane, Sidney, Matt and I sat in the balcony as close as you can possibly imagine should you have seen how narrow it is. Uncle had his first whiskey in a year and we had the usual plate full of Christmas sweets on the table in front of us. I thought that the previous time I was in Goa would be the last time I saw him but still I told him I better see him next time. It was cool in the shade and the light breeze felt good. Gayle called to wish everyone after pulling a slave shift at work. The cat was begging for sweets. To be sitting right next to these people doing the usual was a present like no other.

If you’re family or simply interested, you can read more about my Uncle in my sister’s words here and see some of her beautiful photography here.

Goa times: Part I

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My dearest mother, Matt and I decided to go sit at the beach for a few hours one Saturday – something Goans NEVER do. See for us it’s hard to just show up and swim without prior plans. I mean the beach is always there so we rarely need to go to it. Plus, we don’t ever need tans. PLUS me the forever rebel will never ever stop lecturing whoever wants to listen that Goa is more than just beaches. Nobody ever does and that’s fine.

Listen: I know there is no way for me to explain this without sounding like a kook so I’m just going to say this much: We went to the beach, I had a beer and my mama and Matt had juice, we ate a plate of fries, I put my feet into the water, collected some shells for my wallet and we people watched. We went for lunch to a really terrible restaurant that looked great from the outside (The Mango Tree in Vagator) and then we went to Romaldin and John’s house. We played UNO. Cynthia said, “I AM GOING TO WIN” really confidently and used a beer can as a microphone to do so. Then we had tea.

It was a really, really good day. I suppose unplanned beach days aren’t that bad. Then on the the other hand no days are terrible when you know – even without seeing it as often – all of this is nearby. That includes the lady right in the photo right below.

Location: Ozran Beach, Goa and this place

Stickers: Goa edition

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Believe it or not, I had a to-do list for my stay in Goa. Whether I accomplished much of it is a different subject. What I did do from the list was make these stickers. Thanks to some much-needed last-minute help from my friend Nupur, I printed these and cut them out by hand. Currently, they are destined for bumper sticker greatness across North America!

First, I want to figure out the logistics of mailing these  and also how much of it I want to give away to animal rights’ activists in Goa (especially my sister Jane and her husband Sidney, who try to neuter and spay stray dogs in their free time). Right now my mind is stuck on $10 per sticker with 50% going to my cause of choice. The other half of the money will help me print more stickers, buy more postage and create a well-packaged product. I want it to be personalised and I want it to mean something special to you from the get go.

This post is a way to gauge a if my target audience – i.e people from Goa – would be interested in owning one of these stickers. I would also love to know if you would potentially be interested in illustrations of more states or cities. I can do that too.

But first, Goa.

Comment, tell your Goan friends abroad and share this post on social media. Currently, I will only work with North America. I have a limited number of stickers so write to me soon and let me know if you want one or if you know someone who would love one too!

Bye!

PS: If you’re in Goa and realllllllllly want one, I can make an exception if you’re willing to donate part or some of the funds it would take to neuter or spay a stray dog in the state.

Raw mango kachumbar

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If you were a kid of school-going age and you grew up in Goa, chances are you’ve thrown stones at a mango tree and jumped over a wall to claim the fallen fruit called tora (pronounced as tor) in Konkani. It’s just raw mango but when paired with rock salt and chilli powder and Maths class was never the same again. While kids in other countries secretly pass notes to each other during class, we used to pass tamarind, boram, kaantam, jaamblam and of course this tora wrapped tight in newspaper. If we couldn’t find any of these fruit on the trees or bushes around the school, someone would always be kind enough to bring their stash of fruit from home. Thus winning the student of the year award.

I’ve never been as enthusiastic about ripe mangoes as the blog world outside of the Asian sub-continent seems to be (PS: Goa’s mankurad is the world’s best. That’s a fact). I’m more of a pineapple, guava or chickoo girl but throw me in a tub of raw mango – pickled and straight up – and I’m the happiest person in the world. I can eat it all day until I can’t feel my teeth. Around these parts, we have sour cravings that go well beyond citrus fruit. It’s strange how different tastes evolve all over the world. This is a perfect case in point. I don’t know any other kids who happily eat spicy sour things without throwing a fit. Over here in Goa, I know many. Hi friends!!

Right now, I’m in Goa and it is peak raw mango season. It’s the best. I put together this quick raw mango “salad” just because. It’s not much of a recipe but it’s summer time and the less you do over a hot stove, the better.

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Notes:

  • Kachumbar is ususally a mixture of raw chopped vegetables like onion, tomatoes, chillies, cucumber and cilantro accompanied by salt and chilli powder. Some people use oil, vinegar or lime to dress the mixture as well. I wanted to keep it less watery and less spicy. Hence, I left out the tomato and green chillies.
  • This would be a great side to serve with papad (papadum…same thing). If you want to make it easier to scoop, finely dice the raw mango, cucumber and onion instead of cutting them into matchsticks. This would also be a great time to Google masala papad if you haven’t already. Or just click this #1 search result online thingy.
  • Raw mango is also AMAZING for all of your body’s insides. I’m no expert but drinking the juice cools your body down many times over when it’s sunstroke weather outside. It’s also great for digestive health. In India, raw mango powder is sold and used in a lot of our food especially in North India. It’s called amchur and you’ll be richer for knowing of its existence.

Ingredients

  • 1 raw mango, sliced into matchsticks
  • 1/2 cucumber, sliced into matchsticks
  • 1/4 small red onion, thinly sliced
  • Seeds of 1/2 pomegranate
  • 10 mint leaves, sliced into thin strips
  • A pinch of rock salt or sea salt
  • A pinch of chilli powder

Toss the first 5 ingredients together in a bowl and let it chill in the fridge. Add the salt and chilli powder before serving and toss well to coat.

Roma and John’s kitchen in Anjuna

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Romaldin made this green chutney for lunch at her house this Wednesday. From the time we got there, she kept saying she smelt something burning. Finally, she remembered that she had put two onions into the burning embers of the stove they built outside. Her mother-in-law is the one who uses that stove the most, either to cook rice or boil water. You are required to squat right to the ground to be able to cook and even in her late 60s, she does it with ease.

The smokey onions were going to be used in the green chutney along with lightly blistered green chillies (that she fried at the same time as the fish), garlic, tamarind, fresh coconut, pepper, cilantro and some salt and sugar. All of these ingredients are ground in a high-speed mixer with the help of some water.

This is her kitchen and it’s the start of my goal to document stories from real kitchens while I’m still in Goa. I guess I am a bit jaded by the Pinterest-style photos that make up the majority of what we see everyday while interacting with each other online. I’m not against it but I want to be able to share this whole other side that goes unnoticed. There are some really amazing homecooks who just don’t care to have a perfect kitchen – just a functional one. I love that.

I have another story for another day but I’ll need to work on getting Romaldin’s secret recipe to bring it all together. Till then, here are some images from that day in her kitchen and brilliant ideas to bring to your own space.

The last photo is by Jane.

PS: If you’re in Goa, she rents out three cute rooms in Anjuna. She and her husband are brilliant cooks (she’s a homecook and he is a professional) and always use the best ingredients in their food.

Roma

Coconut oil and jaggery granola with coconut-cashewnut milk

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Everybody has their movie. The kind that give you the shake-till-you-break cries that seem to come out of nowhere. Your muscles tighten then suddenly your eyes turn glassy and you can’t quite tell what’s happening. You can hear the actor speak words written with such precise manipulation in a scriptwriters head; the scriptwriter who saw all this coming. “Cried, you say? Good.” Up until a few years ago I didn’t think I had that kind of movie. I was happy to be detached from the temporary reality of this life created in a studio. I would repeat “it’s just a movie, it’s not real” many times in my head and cross my fingers that it would work. Mostly it did but about two or three years ago, something changed. I left Goa to be an actual big girl/adult and with it I brought this heartache that I can’t quite shake. Hide it, stash it away, not think about it – I have done all of that. Still, things hit you.

Smells usually do it for me. Instantly, I am transported back to Goa, to that sinkhole in the middle of my bed where I laid always wondering when would be the last time I could call this my room. It had green walls, one bookshelf, a table and a chest of drawers. And my bed. Sometimes I smell salty air and I play back the feeling of sand between my toes. It take very little for my mind to take flight.

The first time I left Goa it was to go to college. I remember spending the week after my parents left wondering what I had done. Was I really old enough to live on my own…in a terrifyingly dense city…taking the bus….THAT I COULD FALL OUT OF? I cried while I bathed out of a bucket of warm water, missing the shower back home. The second time I left Goa was three years ago. What sits in my brain is the image of me at the airport, walking away from a group of my friends, my sister and my mother. Big girl Edlyn shattered and broke into a million small pieces. What were they thinking about me? Nothing except that I was leaving. While my family cheered me on from the very start, here I was getting ready to break their hearts again. Especially my mama’s.

My movie has moms. My movie has characters straight out of Inheritance of Loss, struggling with the former desire to make a better life and returning to realise that her life was already better, no matter how much sewage creeped along the side of the street. My movie has home. You put India on the big screen and my heart beats a little faster. You show me parents and children making necessary but melancholic transitions through life and I gasp, breathe deep and then say again “it’s just a movie”.

I have found my movie. I have found my books. And I have found stories that can tear me apart and put me back together all in matter of turning a page. I have found my people.

Goan coconut oil and jaggery granola with coconut-cashewnut milk

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Goa, India’s smallest state is also my favourite state. It’s nestled cozily along the west coast and is all palm trees, humidity and dense tropical jungles. It’s where my family lives and where I was born. Matt and I love going back there and feel like shit when we have to leave. BUT it’s the circle of life and I have ways to keep myself occupied until we go there next. Cooking things that smell like Goa is one of them. Hence, this granola. It smells like neureos and I feel like the happiest camper having it in my house.

Notes:

  • Jaggery is available in Indian grocery stores in the US. The colour of this palm/cane sugar mixture varies. For this recipe, I used a lighter, more golden jaggery. The darker jaggery gives you a more intense flavour.
  • Melt the jaggery only once you’ve mixed together all the other granola ingredients. Let it cool slightly and then add to the oats.
  • About 200 gms of jaggery should give you 1/2 a cup. If the jaggery is sold in a big block, chop it into smaller blocks before melting it down. Once cut into smaller parts place in in a saucepan on medium heat and add about 1/4 cup of water to it. Constantly stir until the jaggery melts down. Once the jaggery has the consistency of either honey or maple syrup, it’s ready to use.
  • To get fresh coconut water, find a whole coconut (with the husk removed) and shake it to check if it has water in it. Next you will see three holes on the top of coconut. One of them will be easy to puncture with a screw driver or a utility knife. Poke a hole through carefully and drain the water into a bowl. You can also use your favourite brand of packaged coconut water, if you prefer.
  • The coconut-cashewnut milk can be made up to a week in advance.

Coconut oil and jaggery granola

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Ingredients

  • 3 cups rolled oats
  • 1 cup cashewnuts, roughly chopped
  • 1 cup coconut chips
  • 1 tsp nutmeg, fresh grated
  • 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
  • 3/4 tsp ground cardamom seeds
  • 1/4 tsp dried ground ginger
  • A pinch of salt
  • 1/2 cup coconut oil, melted
  • 1/2 cup jaggery, melted

Heat the oven to 300 degrees F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, mix together the oats, cashewnuts, coconut chips, spices, salt and coconut oil until well combined. Add the melted jaggery to it and mix well using a wooden spoon.

Spread the oats on to the parchment paper in an even layer and place the sheet on the upper middle rack of the oven for 45 minutes. Stir the oats every 15 minutes so that it toasts evenly. Once the oats have browned, pull the sheet out of the oven and let it cool for 10-15 minutes. Store the granola in an airtight jar for up to a month (if it lasts that long).

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Coconut-cashewnut milk

Ingredients

  • 2 cups cashewnuts
  • 2 cups fresh coconut water
  • 2 cups filtered water

Soak the cashew nuts in the coconut water overnight or for 8 hours.

Add the soaked cashewsnuts and the coconut water to a high speed blender, Blend the cashewsnuts until they turn into very small pieces. Add the filtered water to it and blend until the cashewnuts are completely pulverised.

Pour the cashewnut mixture through a fine-mesh strainer or muslin cloth (cheese cloth) and store in a glass bottle in the fridge for up to a week. This step is optional and you can use the cashewnut milk even without straining, provided your blender has done its job well.

To combine the granola and milk, add granola to a small bowl or jar and pour a little cashewnut milk over the top. Sprinkle fresh coconut on the top before eating (optional).

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Not eggs on a Sunday

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It should be eggs on a Sunday but it’s not. It’s not even Sunday but it might be by the time this reaches you. I do insane things. I work at a kitchen and on my day off I say “Hey, let’s make more dishes for you to wash!”

And so I do.

It’s worth it.

This was dinner the Sunday before the last one. I’d like to say it took me an hour to make but that would be stretching it. It was the easiest fancy-looking meal I’ve made in a while and it was delicious. There’s some Pacific cod, chorizo, couscous, eggplant, red peppers, parsley, shallots, red grapes, cherry tomatoes, WALNUTS (duh)…all in that plate.

This here is an adapted version of the cod recipe. I say adapted like I’m some sort of genius but really I was just making do. That’s what adapting is I suppose…

You can use a thick filet of any white fish and you’re guaranteed to get a similar result. If you’re in Goa or have Goa on your things-to-do list, please try making this with the local rosary sausage. Ahhhhh. Delicious thoughts.

I hope you’re living well.