love

Sweet potato and sugar snap pea salad + Be 4.

June 18, 2013 by Edlyn

I’m sitting at the table. It’s the kind of table that folds back to a flat piece of nothing. Unless you were hoping to have a floor-style community meal, it’s the kind of table that fades into the background or shows up for the times we want to eat on the balcony like it’s a picnic. Right now, it’s standing on its own. It’s covered in paintings, paints, a glass full of this murky brown water – that earns its colours after constant brush dipping – and of course, there’s a paintbrush. And almonds.

My 4-year-old neighbour came to visit today. I brought her with me to hand her our copy of “Lincoln”. She was supposed to take it back to her parents’ but she changed her mind. “I want to come to your house. I love the puppies!”

“I love to paint.” “I love my brother.” “My little sister’s name is Karthika. I love her.” “I think this puppy loves me.”

If I start this-right-here sentence with “Kids….”, I’m probably going to distance myself from the one thing I still wish I could be. I don’t want to do that. I loved being a child. Just yesterday I made a mental note of all the games we made up as children. The no adults allowed kind of games. Our stuffed toys would talk and if they were on the floor after we awoke the next morning, we would assume they came to life while we were asleep. Then there was mud. Lots and lots of mud became food and leaves were the plate. Dry mud sprinkled on top of wet mud was chocolate pudding, rice, curry, fish, and then some. I can still feel this overwhelming joy that I felt back when I knew my sisters and I were going to play in this small shed at Analise’s house. There would be lots of mud and we could cook for hours, or until A. Pacy called us for lunch. *Groannnn*.

Back then, I never challenged my (what us adults call) creativity. I didn’t know any different. I made up things in my head and I had nothing to worry about because my world was real. Of course, one of us would always try to contest this reality, which would end with a loud “You’re cheating!” and maybe some tears and/or bite marks. “Magenta?! There’s no such colour!” Try telling that to the crocodile, Miss 8-year-old.

I wish it was still okay to bite people especially an imagination that constantly doubts itself. I’d bite a system that gives us ranks instead of measuring our passions. I’d bite the table because sometimes, that seems appropriate. I’d bite the walls that pop up any time I think I have a good idea but have no clue where to go from there. I’d also bite walls, because I like the taste of cement.

TMI.

Just like the 4-year-old with two ponytails, I also love. Puppies and paint and my sisters. I love this writing thing. I love how everything I draw always turns into a tree. I love leaf money and my Peanuts comics. I love to cook.

I have no desire for fame, or money (except sometimes….you know. Boring stuff). I just want this love thing. It seems like something important to a 4-year-old.

“For happiness is anyone and anything at all that’s loved by you”

You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.

To my people in India, I know we don’t get these sugar snap things there so a good substitute for them would be some crunchy green French beans, cut in half and cooked in boiling water just until crispy/tender. They won’t be sweet but yet, they still will…if you know what I mean. You are my favourites. This recipe was inspired by this post on bonappetit.com.

Ingredients

160 gm (1 3/4 cups) sugar snap peas
190 gm (2 cups) sweet potato, cut in 1/2 inch cubes
1/2 cup green onions, chopped/minced…you get my drift
Pepper and/or salt

For the dressing

2 tbsp rice vinegar
2 tbsp lite soy sauce
2 tsp ginger, minced
2 tsp garlic, minced
1 tsp chili-garlic sauce like Sriracha
2 tsp peanut oil
1 tsp sesame seeds
1 tsp brown sugar
1/2 tbsp peanut butter

For garnish (optional)

Roasted peanuts or almonds or sunflower seeds…something nutty and crunchy that you already have in the kitchen, basically.

This should be fairly easy if I don’t eat up half my instructions. Shake me if I do.

Boil the sweet potato cubes in water until tender. As soon as you take them off the stove, shock them with cold water to stop the cooking process. Or tell them they’re fat. String the sugar snap peas and then cut them into 3 parts or 1/2 inch pieces. Put into a large bowl where your final salad will go along with the cooked sweet potatoes and green onions.

Once the veggies are ready, it’s onto the dressing. Apart from the peanut oil and sesame seeds, mix/whisk together all the other ingredients in a small bowl. As for the peanut oil, put it on a pan along with the sesame seeds. When the oil gets hot enough, you’ll notice the sesame seeds turning a darker shade of brown and getting fragrant as well. Watch it closely so it doesn’t burn. As soon as this happens, take the pan off the stove and pour the hot oil/seed mix into the dressing bowl. Mix it with the rest of what’s in there and pour over the vegetable/spud/root i.e. peas, sweet potato, onions. Garnish with garnish. You have options above. I used roasted almonds. Season with pepper and salt (if it’s not already salty enough). If you want to make this dish even more fun, serve with your favourite Asian noodles.

Dinner is served. By somebody else. Not me.

The truth shall set you free.

March 21, 2013 by Edlyn

I did not marry a man who loves to cooks but sometimes I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if he did. He makes us great breakfast and grill things but sometimes ya just wants to eat cake. This was me yesterday, hoping for a different answer from Em Dub aka Awesomepants aka Biscuithead.

Me: Why did you buy all these baking things?

Cauliflowerpants: Can you be more specific, please?

Me: All this baking stuff like the tray and the hand blender…

Cabbagepatchpants: Oh, the hand blender I used to make special protein shakes like with oatmeal. The baking tray I used to broil chicken whenever.

Me: You should cook more.

Butternutsquash: My food was boring.

Me: -__-

It’s okay. I married him for his money. The blender is a perk.

Red pepper and goat cheese frittata (sort of)

March 3, 2013 by Edlyn

Stick to the Sunday program, dude.

I am. I am.

I woke up in the way I want to wake up everyday: To the sun. The blinds were closed but I knew it was there. My roomie and I knew we had to put breakfast of hold. You don’t ignore the sun in these parts.

We took the dogs and our lazy selves for a long walk and then had short playtime, which was interrupted by a black cat. More than other cat colours, black cats don’t give a shit about you or your smelly puppies. Dogs of every other shade, colour or size however, make up for that deficiency. How? They chase them. If you don’t want your dog to get run over, you chase back.

It’s a slightly inconvenient but we do what we do…for love or something.

When we got home, I remembered I made crepe batter. Too much crepe batter. So much crepe batter that it was interfering with my eggs on a Sunday. Gah.

And you know what I did? I made them anyway. In 10 seconds. So I could eat crepes with my roommate, shoo away dogs, AND get the goat cheese out of its case without my life falling apart.

Typical Sunday morning.

Red pepper and goat cheese frittata

You’ll need 2 eggs, half of a half of red pepper, chopped, (I could’ve just said quarter), 2 tbsp of chopped red onion and some goat cheese to sprinkle on the top.

Set your oven to broil. In the real world, that’s 500 degrees F. Our oven doesn’t know what that means. It goes up to 450 degrees F and decides it’s not worth the trouble. My scrapyard threats have stopped working.

Break the eggs into a bowl and whip them with a dash of salt and pepper.

Cook the onions and red pepper in a frying pan with oil until the onions get soft. It should take about 2 minutes. Once this step is done, pour the eggs into the frying pan and cook them for 3 minutes, constantly stirring so they don’t set. They need to be only partially cooked.

Since I don’t own a skillet I can put in the oven, I had to transfer the eggs to a ramekin. I topped it with goat cheese and cooked it for 6 minutes in the 450 degree F oven. Your eggs will be done once they puff up slightly and turn golden on the top. Let it cook and serve with chopped chives as garnish.

Or don’t.

I’m clearly not one for rules.

Now can you guess where the oven gets it from?

Chocolate almond butter cups + sprinkle of coconut

February 25, 2013 by Edlyn

Can you tell I bought a tub of almond butter? Can you also tell my chocolate craze is still alive?

Yes and yes. Don’t you worry about me, you nice animals.

Close to 2 weeks ago on that icky February Thursday that I refuse to speak about, I impulsively purchased some almond butter. It had no fancy label and was in a generic plastic container, which means only one thing: Someone ground it with their own two hands and I was going to pay top dollar for it.

Because I’m insane.

I came home and immediately decided I wanted to make my own almond butter. So I call on my best friend that lives in the Internets and I came across a website for another brand of almond butter. As skeptical as I usually am, I defied my instinct and clicked on the recipe section et voila! the recipes were actually quite perfect and the most perfect of them all was this one.

Again, because I’m insane.

I love reading a recipe and realising I have everything it calls for and Guess what? I did! The fact is there were 15 other recipes I could have tried but they weren’t chocolate almond butter cups. Borrrring. So naturally, I made them and naturally, I ate them and naturally, you should too.

Ingredients

9.5 oz chocolate chips (I used milk chocolate)
2/3 cups natural almond butter (crunchy)
3 tbsp powdered cane sugar
Coconut flakes to top (you can also use sea salt)

First melt the chocolate chips in a double boiler (a pot with the chocolate chips on top of a pot of boiling water), stirring slowly till it gets a smooth consistency.

Ohhhhhhhhhhh shit. This picture deserves some good ol’ fashioned cussing. It is that good.

Since I used regular sized cupcake liners to fill the chocolate, I also used a regular-sized cupcake tins.

Spoon a little more than a teaspoon into the liner and turn it slow to coat the bottom. Repeat this step for the rest of the liners and put it into the refrigerator to set. Meanwhile, prepare the almond butter filling by combining it with the powdered sugar. Mix well and form into discs that will fit well into the liners.

Once the chocolate has set in the fridge, place the almond butter “patties” on it and spoon the rest of the chocolate on the top. Make sure there’s no almond butter peek-a-boo, meaning cover the little patty completely.

Sprinkle some grated coconut on the top and put the butter cups back into the refrigerator until it sets.

Like this. Oh snap.

And again.

Can’t blame a girl for putting almond butter to good use, can you now?

Poached eggs on parmesan potato hash + A chocolate box

February 24, 2013 by Edlyn

Hi Gayle, (My youngest sister who actually knows how to cook and doesn’t pretend like me.)

I made poached eggs! Do you remember when you’d say, “Make! It’s so easy” or something like that? I don’t either but every time I make poached eggs, I think of you for some reason. It’s not the first way I choose to cook my eggs because my eyes are usually blind when I wake up. I’m not saying they’re difficult to make either BUT it involved a bit more than a simple scramble and putting effort into anything food-related makes me think of you.

L’aubergines also remind me of you.

I’m not even close to you in cooking skill level. You’re a lot more stubborn when you cook, choosing to break rules and not use measuring spoons. I can’t ever tell if that’s a good thing of a bad one but as soon as we get to taste it, all doubts are put to rest. BECAUSE IT’S FREAKIN GOOD. Duh.

You’re only 22. At that point in my life, I was working at a silly newspaper. Before that I was deciding whether I should have 1 or 2 vada pavs from the canteen. I usually went with one plain vada and one complete vada pav. At 20, you laid the foundation of your own home business, designed a logo, made chocolates and went out and learnt skills that will help you be the best at your craft. You see what I’m trying to say here?

I know you feel like nobody takes you seriously at home. It’s mostly true. It’s not your fault nobody can see beyond your unruly hair that you have combed since Roma left. It’s also not your fault you were born last and mama and D love having you around more than acceptable parental levels (haha). The part that I (and I hope everybody else) take seriously more than anything is your talent. Yes, you are lazy (sorry) but when you’re at work, you’re every thing a future chef is supposed to be. You may not be able to prove that you’re 22, when you’re forever 6 but it gets a bit easier to let go when we see your passion. We’re proud.

You need to keep doing this. There’s a reason that I see your face in ever corner bakery I walk past. You’ll be the owner and maybe you’ll let me wash the dishes and make good chai. You’ll call it “Little Chocolate Box” (OBVEEESILIOUSLY) and you’ll be the happiest when you go to bed because you’re living your dream.

I am happy for you, I really am.

Now shut up and eat these eggs. And don’t wear my clothes. I’ll check when I come home, 9 months from now.

Poached eggs on parmesan potato hash

Err..how did I make thiiiss…..Oh yes. This was enough for 2 people.

For the parmesan potato hash, I used 1 potato, grated parmesan (go nuts…or not), salt and pepper.

I grated the potatoes on a cheese grater and drained then of the starchy water with a cheesecloth. It actually quite a pretty sight. I added grated parmesan, salt and pepper to the potatoes and fried them in a lightly buttered pan. Form the potato mix into a ball and flatten it on the pan. Cook on one side till it brown like in the picture and then flip it over. Repeat the browning process and set on a plate.

I used 2 eggs and poached them one at a time. I let a pot of water come to a boil. I then added a little salt and a tablespoon of vinegar to the water. I reduced the heat so the water would be set to a simmer. I broke 1 of the eggs into a cup and gently placed it into the water. I cooked it for 4 minutes because I like my poached eggs to be a little runny as well as a little firm. If you want the egg to be more undercooked, leave it in only for two minutes. You’ll have to use your kitchen judgement to get the egg cooked the way YOU want it. Take it out of the water and place them on a paper towel to dry off. Repeat with the other egg.

Place the eggs over the potato hash. Crack a bit of pepper, add some salt, toast some bread (butter it) and eat.

Gayle, why aren’t you eating?! Oh wait, you’re not here. Whatever man. More for me.

Ramekin, son of Rumplestilskin.

February 10, 2013 by Edlyn

Like everything else in life, I don’t place too much emphasis on owning every kitchen tool that ever was. I still think back on that grinding stone in my grandfather’s house that made the best curries. Basic and beautiful, with a sound that I miss.

The kitchen is one place where I spend a lot of time trying to save the world and some dinner. I shy away from electrical appliances only because we have a mid-level manager’s office-sized kitchen and I wouldn’t know where to put them. I’m happy we have an oven (that’s sucking at life right now but at least it exists) because I try to bake everything I see these days (including my knuckles). I ignore the dishwasher. The crock pot is my soup BFF. The coffee pot keeps me sane and the toaster is overworked but oh so generous. The ice-cream maker and I have conversations about how it’s just him, Snickers and me against the world.

It really is.

I’m a lucky girl. I live with a man who came with a stocked kitchen. Fancy knives, a crock pot, baking supplies, a coffee pot and very nice tableware — it’s a little impressive. You wouldn’t think of that as a prerequisite but trust me, it is. You can tell his dinner is not a spoonful of peanut butter and he uses plates for plate purposes. The rest of the house be damned. I’m a borderline food snob. I like knowing where my food comes from. The “borderline” comes into the picture when I allow myself certain liberties of the deep-fried, french variety.

With fancy dip. Classy.

Two ramekins joined the family recently. Thank you Goodwill or I’d never pick them up without have a 10-minute debate with my inner Uncle Scrooge. I even got two for Gayle as a “be my slave” bribe. Every time I see a ramekin I think of buying them for her. She makes the best creme brulee and acts like it’s no big deal. I’m no dessert expert, but I can make some stress-free baked eggs. Yay me.

Thanks to cheap ramekins and an oven that’s currently testing my patience, awesomepantsface is one step closer to losing me to the kitchen and I am right here, singing a lullaby to a small ceramic bowl.

Eggs in a ramekin

I first put some bacon on the stove and cooked it to an almost crisp. I buttered the inside of the ramekin while it was cooking and started the layering process. I chopped a few leaves of spinach and half a tomato and put it in the ramekin. I then crumbled the bacon and put some of it on the top. I added a tablespoon of half and half (you can add cream or milk) and seasoned this with pepper. I broke two eggs on the veggies and bacon and put the remaining bacon on top. The ramekin was placed on a baking tray and baked for 20 minutes at 350 degrees F.

YUM.

The egg yolks are a bit runny so if you want the yolk to cook firmer, leave it in for 25 minutes instead. Season with pepper, salt and fresh cilantro. After this, you’re on your own because I have no recollection of what happened next.

I must’ve died.

Kitchen memories: Jane

February 3, 2013 by Edlyn

It’s sometimes difficult for me to understand my sister Jane. I purposely forgot how old she is but yes, she is the eldest of us 3. We lived together in Bombay for 3 years, just us, in a two-room flat. (That’s two rooms not two bedrooms). I would be lying if I said it was perfect. We fought a lot and I think it was mostly always my fault (Yes Pain, I’m taking the blame).

As the eldest, I think it has always been her instinct to protect us. As the middle child, it was my instinct to pretend that I didn’t know what that sound was. She cooked for me, forced me to eat, made me taste the vegetable dishes she made for salt, and kept me in line. I know I was a terrible roommate. Most days I’d work 10 or 12 hours, six days a week and when I came home, I just wanted to be asleep or a vegetable. The one day I got off work, I preferred being the same way. I thought that was my free pass to get out of doing stuff. Right now, I can’t believe I was like that.

This is not an apology. Our family has a hidden way of saying sorry and I know she knows what I know. This is about our Sundays in Bombay.

I worked on Sunday, oh yes I did. Almost every one of those Sunday mornings, I woke up to a room filled with people on every surface. They were common friends but closer to her because she was the best host. She’d wake up and the rest of them would follow like sloths after a hard night of foraging. Except foraging means drinking in this case. I like to think that her breakfasts were what they came over for. Complete with chai, toast and eggs, she fed the masses on our limited collection of melamine (and one ceramic) plates and mugs with most of their handles broken. Everything was laid over the previous day’s Hindustan Times, which was spread over the tangled bedsheets that kept everyone warm.

Jane HAD to have something to eat and tea the moment she woke up (here’s proof). So as soon as she rose, she’d put her toothbrush in her mouth and a pan on the stove. She scrambled whatever was “scamble-able” and leftover from last night’s binge-eating. Chicken manchurian from Mama Mia was her bestseller. I never tried it (I did not like Mama Mia’s Chinese food) but I was a big fan of the sorpotel and xacuti version.

I am a big fan of hers. For taking so many risks, for taking care of me and for introducing me to a world of wonderful messy eggs that fit so well in our wonderful and messy lives.

Jane-style eggs and toast

This is the easiest thing in the world to make. I just scrambled two eggs and at the very end, I added some of the guacamole I made last week, some leftover mince and rajma (red beans). Oh yes, and just a dollop of sour cream on the top for fun.

Jane the pain, this breakfast was for you.

When I say: “He’s the one”, I mean chicken salad.

January 9, 2013 by Edlyn

Just yesterday right after Awesomepants came home from work, I served him the chicken salad he wanted. It had spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes and chicken marinated in lemon/garlic/pepper/cumin. It was the last thing from “special” but I already knew it was a very good day. My boy, he’s very specific with his food cravings. Specific in a way that’s not too picky and it let’s me do my thing. Specific is a good way to describe this here what I’m going to write. Or maybe not at all, knowing the way I usually write (Miss Bounce of the Walls G D’Souza).

Honestly, this is supposed to be a “I’m so lucky. Yay, I’m married and my life is amazing” kind of post. I am not going to do that. Yes, my life is amazing.

Yes.

Oh, the chicken salad. Metaphor maker activated.

I always thought I hated to cook. Always. I had no desire to cook anything because I saved all of that desire to stuff my face. Cooking? Hahaha. My mother will do it. I could chop onions and all that and sometimes when I was 10 or 11, our house help Sumita taught me how to cook the basic vegetable fare so she could rollerskate with Gayle in the hall. I couldn’t rollerjam so I was okay with the arrangement.

In 2010, when I came here to be with my future husband, I cooked. Something was wrong with me. I tried the chickens and salmons of the world and I was really good! The boyfriend was also on a healthy-eating kick which made my experiments even more fun because I loved known what we were eating was going to give our insides big hugs. He taught me how to make cheeseburgers (with turkey mince!) and I was captivated. Sounds so lame right now. Captivated by a cheeseburger. Maybe this should be the title of the post. His early lessons were the small wake up calls. When he showed me how to grill salmon, I went online, found other recipes and tried to make it a bit more interesting. His reactions were always encouraging…not like it was important or anything.

I went on with my kitchen fun until I had to go back to India. Then, things slowed down a bit. I didn’t stop cooking completely, but I lost some interest. Gayle was usually the cooking star daughter so I let that be. That and my mother would complain that I use too little or not enough salt. Awesomepants has high BP issues so maybe I did try to spread my less salt theory to the happily less developed country. Maybe I’ll never do that again.

Fast forward to yesterday. 2013 and the year or the chicken salad. The chicken salad I’ve spent a few paragraphs trying to turn into a metaphor for my marriage to this boy. (Yes, he’s mostly a boy. Just like some puppies are always mostly puppies). I now love cooking. I dream of doing it for a living, or something like that. It’s a little bit of his fault.

Which brings me right back to the salad. That chicken salad is nothing to make. I start with nothing and slowly as I add more of this and that, it became something. Something he really loved even though it’s nothing at all. It’s leaves, fungi and chicken, COME ON. What I’m trying to say is that it’s ALL about the chicken salad.

It’s exactly like last week when I was in the middle of my flu, looking like shit, playing Yahtzee with him and he stops and says: “You’re beautiful.” Whoa. No alcohol was involved.

We’re not striving for a perfect marriage. I admit I’m very shallow at times and expect fairy tales and storybooks to come alive every time our eyes meet. Nope. Not going to happen. What I want our marriage to be is chicken salad. Any salad. Boring when you see it separately but when it’s all in a bowl, I’ll hear that line I never get tired of:

“Salad was good, bb.”

(*I’ve made him a lot (A LOT) of salads in 2012. Always to take to work for lunch. That’s the one thing I can remember so vividly about this past year.)

Made in the oven

November 21, 2012 by Edlyn

By now you must know that I live in one giant gloom bucket. Washington is beautiful…stunning in fact, but like every stunner, it’s very high maintenance. Summer was two months long this year. The rest of the year (or the six months I’ve lived here rather) it rained or threathened to. So when I finally got up off my butt and decided to make sun-dried tomatoes, summer was long gone.

What the heck.

I’d heard of the oven method and it did seem like a piece of cake.

WRONG.

I got impatient waiting for the oven to do its thing for 6 hours and I just ate them un-sun-dried. Un-sun-dried. I just made that up on my own. I’m such a unicorn sometimes.

This time, I waited 6 hours and 17 minutes. Voila. They shriveled up and died and that was a very good thing. I used this recipe as a guide of what I wanted my ingredients to be. I left out the sugar but you don’t have to. I didn’t want to mess with the inherent sweetness the tomatoes already had. Plumpy yumpy things.

Now on a perfectly related note, if you were wondering if tomatoes are fruits or vegetables, let Science Bob help you with that.

Oven-dried sun-dried tomatoes

Ingredients

3 Roma tomatoes (sliced in two, length-wise)
3 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
Dried herbs like thyme, oregano and basil
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 1/2 tablespoons sea salt
Fresh ground black pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees F (90 degrees C).

Slice the tomatoes and lay them cut-side up on a cookie sheet lined with aluminium foil.

Season the tomatoes with sea salt and leave them at room temperature for 15 minutes. This will get some of the water out of the tomatoes, which is what you need to do for that sun-dried state of mind anyway.

Flavour the tomatoes with the remaining ingredients…Oh the bright fresh flavours. If it’s smells amazing, it will taste amazing. Place the sheet into the oven and let it sit for 6 hours (or more*), until you see the tomatoes are shriveled up and the juices have run out.

Take the out of the oven, cool, chop and enjoy over pasta in a cream sauce or as a stuffing for mushrooms. Or not. I just ate them whole.

*The drying time depends on the ripeness of the tomato. If you feel you need to go over the 6 hours as stated in the recipe, do it! Just remember to keep a check on them every half hour extra.

1 year

October 9, 2012 by Edlyn

That’s how long it’s been since my Grandma died. I remember writing a post about it in this blog but I don’t remember it being a year ago. It feels closer. Just like she does.

I remember how everything about that day was wound around fate. Every single thing. “What if” is always at the tip of my tongue. I can’t forget a single moment. It played out like a movie and there we all were. There she was. Fate? I don’t know for sure. I don’t think that should be anybody’s destiny.

As I sit here, a million and a half kilometers away from my house, all I feel is sadness. She never wanted me or anyone to be a million and a half kilometers away. Never. That would mean she was alone and yes, she would be alone. But what she didn’t know is so would I. In a different way, but how can we say our sorrow is more important that anybody elses? That’s not true. If misery loves company, I wish I could be there.

Fate, what a silly, loaded word. What a silly, loaded world.

Rest in those golden meadows Gramps*.

(*We called her “gramps, even though it’s short from “grandpa”. We had seen it on this Cartoon Cartoons cartoon on Cartoon Network once in her house. Flashbacks. Got to hold on to them.)