GOURMET FILES
Too many cooks
VASUNDHARA CHOUHAN
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Is there any one who can cook without a paste of onions, garlic, ginger, and garam masala?
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Photo: Vasundhara Chouhan
Enhance flavours: Use ingredientsjudiciously.
This must be like getting back into the singles’ scene: suddenly, after years of comfortable routine, you have to learn the new rules of the game, and discover what’s hip, hot and happening. We used to have this cook who suited us. He usu
ally didn’t remember how to cook things he’d made the week before, but if I repeated the what-when-how, he listened and produced exactly what I wanted. Over the years his repertoire grew, but so did his fondness for the bottle. And so he had to go.
The search for a replacement started and that opened my eyes. I must have interviewed dozens and when they’re asked what they can cook beyond basic dal-sabzi, they list what they must think — or the job market has led them to believe — are the most desirable dishes. The most bragged about cuisine is “Chinese”. When I dig a little, it’s “chow mien”, “chilli chicken” and “Manchurian”. One was asked for a “trial” and came to me with a sneer because there was no cornflour starch in the kitchen. Nor ajinomoto. Pityingly he said there wasn’t even vinegar so I pulled out bottles of balsamico, homemade jamun, Chinese rice and red wine vinegar, which he examined silently and said these weren’t vinegar — he wanted the synthetic stuff. And it was either him or another (“Call me Harry”), who looked at the vast and beautiful cooking range I’m so fond of and said “But you don’t have an oven-toaster-grill”. Suitably put in my place.
“South Indian”, when you ask, means opening a packet. “Continental” is a minefield. One said he’d start cooking the following day because today would need to be spent shopping for sauces. I asked which and when he said “for pasta” I have to confess I got competitive and said, with a superior smile, that we made our sauces fresh, at home. Another said he was particularly good at “Continental snacks”. I asked what. “Samosa” was the answer. Even as I write, I’m wondering whether he was off the mark — now that there’s an entry for samosas in the OED – they’re certainly European, if not Continental.
Salad problem
Anyway, he made something not memorable but I remember the salad and veggies. I mention them because they symbolise the problem. No one understands light steaming or blanching. Beans and carrots must be boiled until both are the same khaki colour, and so soft they’re disintegrating at the first prod. And salad — despite clear instructions to soak greens in iced water, they’re efficiently washed, doused immediately with salt and whatever, and disgustingly limp by the time you’re ready to eat. I know, I know; they don’t understand the reasons for the soaking, or for dressing salad at the last minute, but why won’t they listen?
All the others who claimed they knew the world’s cuisines elaborated, when pressed: red pasta and white pasta. So I changed the job specs and started asking around for a decent Indian cook. And found that “good” Indian food invariably meant butter chicken, shahi paneer and dal makhani. Not one cook said he could make a simple chicken curry, or an alu gobi that wasn’t a jhal farezi, or dal that was yellow moong and not makhani. Which kind of meant that we’d be eating out even if we were eating at home. I mean who eats butter chicken at home?
Variations?
There seems to be no concept of cooking without a paste of onions, garlic, ginger, and powdered, readymade garam masala, added all together. No concept of regional recipes, no Kashmiri mutton curries flavoured with hing, no Bengali vegetables tempered with paanch phoron. It’s a Delhi variation of the Western concept of a “curry”. Everything must be subjected to o-g-g and tomato purée. I’ve been thinking about it. Why does “good” mean drowned in quantities of oil, onion-garlic-ginger, tomato purée and packaged spices? One explanation could be that this is Delhi, and cooks think Punjabis must want exactly this. But real Punjabi food, like that of any other region, depends on what’s fresh and seasonal, and ingredients are added at different times, to enhance the flavour. Dishes vary through the year, and this, this dhaba food, isn’t haute cuisine for anyone. And yet the same ingredients, used judiciously and at the right time, can be put together for a really enjoyable dish. My father remembers a particular mutton curry, and this is for him. It’s an adaptation of Priti Narain’s Khade Masale ka Gosht (The Essential Delhi Cookbook), and though it has onion-garlic-ginger-tomatoes, they are chopped rather than liquidised, and added at different stages. Excellent with rumali or tandoori roti, but regular homemade phulkas do fine.
Khade Masale Ka Gosht
Serves 4
3 tbsp vegetable oil or ghee
2 medium onions, sliced
15-20 cloves garlic
2 tsp ginger, cut in thin one-inch strips
1 bay leaf
2 black cardamoms
1/2 tsp whole black peppercorns
6 dry red chillies, seeded and cut into small bits
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp coriander seeds, roughly crushed
4 cloves
4 green cardamoms
1 one-inch stick cinnamon
Salt
3 tomatoes, skinned and chopped
1 cup yoghurt, beaten smooth
500g mutton (from the dasti or shoulder), washed and dried
Method: Heat oil or ghee and fry onions till golden. Add garlic and ginger; sauté for a couple of minutes. Add all the whole spices. After a minute, add water and salt. Cover and cook for about 5 minutes, then add tomatoes and simmer, covered, on low heat till soft and mushy. Add meat and yoghurt, stir well, cover and cook till tender. This will take about an hour and a half. Stir occasionally and add a spoonful or two of hot water if necessary.
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