Spice Girl.

If there's one thing I know about, it's my own mind. I've been with it all my life, and I deal with it every day, so if I weren't an expert, i may as well throw in the towel, right? Given my recent disappointment with the functionality of an Ottolenghi recipe, I knew that if I didn't make another one soon, I'd write off the recipes in Plenty as 'too difficult' as I internalized the bad mood I felt because of those impossible supermarket gigantibeans. So I played to my strengths, and found myself a recipe well within my comfort zone, which, as I have previously explained, is Indian style food.

I chose his double potato vindaloo. Now, the magnificent vindaloo is something much maligned in british culture, a curry seen as the 'hottest of the hot', and often ordered in a terribly unorthodox chicken guise by lager swilling red-faced middle aged dudes in a drunken test of machismo in indian restaurants. You don't need me to explain to you that in this context it's interesting cultural history and origin is often disregarded.

I don't claim to be any kind of expert, as a 23 year old english girl, on Indian cuisine, but I do feel it is only respectful and right to point out the often overlooked raisons d'etre of a dish that has suffered culturally in England mostly due to a seemingly wilful ignorance about food from other cultures. One of the best meals of my life was a vindaloo, a vegetarian one cooked for me by a hindu chef on a beach in goa, where i was staying in a hut made of woven palm fronds with a sand floor. I must have been about fourteen years old, and I remember the word vindaloo striking fear into my heart as I definitely did not have the spice tolerance then that I have now. I tried it anyway, and I'm glad I did, because while it was hot, it was also sweet and warming, and I'm sure if i was living that moment now i'd be anxiously taking notes in a painfully hip moleskine in order to recreate it, but young me was pretty much just concerned with eating it. I don't think it's a taste experience I could replicate, anyway, honestly speaking. i was probably a combination of the location, the sensation of the new, and a mood of feeling like things were good, that I don't mind admitting was largely absent in my teens.

Nevertheless, older Kirsty, armed with her books, her kitchen, and her painfully hip moleskines, still attempts to cook vindaloo. Later in life I learned that vindaloo is a dish particular to goa, a region colonized by the portugese, and so named because 'vin' refers to the vinegar used in the dish. 'aloo' means potatoes, referring to the other necessary component. It is apparently traditionally made with pork, but I have always made vegetarian versions in reference to my first experience of the dish, and because a curry containing potatoes is a logically solid vegetarian offering. It's 'hotter than hot' reputation is apparently a misguided one, as although the sauce is robust due to the inclusion of a lot of warming spices, it's not hotter than say, a traditional goan red fish curry. Usually I rely on vegetarian-ising a pork recipe from Camellia Punjabi's 50 curries of india (a really invaluable beginner's curry cooking source full of amazing information about everything) but in my endeavours to regain culinary confidence, and my joy at finding a sound vegetarian recipe, I jumped at the chance when i saw Mr. Ottolenghi's recipe. so here is my attempt at it (and no panics this time, pure success):

Double Potato Vindaloo

8 cardamom pods
1tbsp cumin seeds
1tbsp coriander seeds
1/2 tsp cloves
1/4 tsp ground turmeric
1 tsp sweet paprika
1 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tbsp vegetable oil
12 shallots, chopped
1/2 tsp brown mustard seeds
1/2 tsp fenugreek seeds
25 curry leaves
2 tbsp fresh chopped root ginger
1 fresh red chilli, finely chopped
3 ripe tomatoes, peeled and roughly chopped
50ml cider vinegar
400ml water
400g peeled waxy potatoes, cut into 2.5cm dice
2 small red peppers, cut into 2cm dice
400g sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 2.5cm dice
salt
mint and coriander leaves to serve

Start by making a spice mix. Dry-roast the cardamom pods and cumin and coriander seeds in a small frying pan until they begin to pop. Transfer to a pestle and mortar and add the cloves. Work to a fine powder, removing and discarding the cardamom pods once the seeds are released. Add the turmeric, paprika and cinnamon and set aside.

Heat up the oil in a large heavy-based pot. Add the shallots with the mustard and fenugreek seeds, and saute on a medium-low heat for 8 minutes, or until the shallots brown. Stir in the spice mix, curry leaves, ginger, and chilli, and cook for a further 3 minutes. Next, add the tomatoes, vinegar, water, sugar, and some salt. Bring to the boil, then leave to simmer, covered, for 20 minutes.

Add the potatoes and red peppers and simmer for another 20 minutes. For the last stage, add the sweet potatoes. Make sure all the vegetables are just immersed in the sauce (add more water if needed) and continue cooking, covered, for about 40 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender.

Remove the lid and leave to bubble away for about 10 minutes to reduce and thicken the sauce. Serve hot, with plain rice, and garnished with herbs.

So here is mine, served with a touch of yoghurt to cool its jets a little (sorry purists and vegans!), with white rice in a seperate bowl cos it was pretty saucy:


This recipe is probably as close as i am likely to come to that first experience of vindaloo. It was sweet, jam packed full of warming spices, and solid due to the potato content. Sweet potato is a bit of an unusual addition, but by this time i expect no less from my homeboy Ottolenghi. I actually think this recipe in particular is very suited to plenty as a book, a hybrid dish in essence, with European and Indian influence, it seems to mesh with Ottolenghi's 'citizen of the world' mixed heritage and experimental attitude. My confidence in working with his recipes is totally restored, as i knew it would be, working well within my comfort zones. This, like any other curry recipe, is great for my usual style of big-batching and living off things for a few days, a product of my odd working hours and dietary choice in a household of devoted carnivores. Why? because curries improve in flavour if left to sit for a day or two. The spices intensify and meld together more effectively. People who claim they can't eat the same dish two days running really should try indian cookery; sometimes it's like encountering a totally different dish the next day. Since my potatoes are almost ready to be harvested, I can see myself making this again in the not too distant future, but before i do i definitely want to have a bash at a very interesting looking potato tarte tatin that's also in Plenty. I mean, comfort zones are nice to retun to for a boost every now and then, but staying in them all the time would be the most boring thing in the world, wouldn't it?

politics on a plate.

well then. the crushing blow to my ego that was the marmalade cake fiasco, plus my vile mood over the last week (i'm probably getting hormonal, i can feel my levels of impatience with minor irritations rising drastically), resulted in something of a cooking block over the weekend. i spent most of it doing mundane tasks like reorganizing my wardrobe (world's biggest project, seriously) to try and keep myself out of the kitchen. my mind is it's own precariously balanced eco system; if you knock something minor out, the whole thing goes haywire for a few days. i'm getting better at understanding it however, and realized that in order to get myself back in the game, what i really needed to do was work solely within my comfort zone. and one of my biggest comfort zones is indian food, something i've been cooking on the regular since my second year of university after acquiring a brilliant book on it from my late stepdad that made me chase memories of seafood previously eaten in goa. obviously, things have changed, but my confidence in the area has not.

now, i'm not going to present myself as any kind of authority on the subject, not least because it would actually be pretty disgustingly imperialist of me, but what i will do is share the things i have learned and am still learning, with you, as i do with everything i discuss in my cooking. what is interesting about indian food to me, is its thousands of subcategories and parameters. the regional differences, the religious differences, the impacts of the old caste systems. at university i studied a unit called 'tropical gothic', which looked at the ways in which india and surrounding countries such as bangladesh, pakistan, and sri lanka have been misrepresented by imperialist chroniclers, using the critical lens of the gothic (things such as fear of the other, the uncanny, the return of the repressed). i guess a lot of people might think that we basically looked at 19th century texts, but a surprising number of them were contemporary. and i think it's one of the viewpoints that still persists today, whether it manifests in fear and unease, or starry eyed romanticism at the wild, seductive, mystical qualities of india as a country. needless to say, i do not like these viewpoints. i think they're patronizing at best, offensive and stemming from racial fear and lack of understanding and analysis at worst. demystification and analysis are necessary.

the one thing that interested me in terms of what i am about to talk to you about, is the fear of the food. the english as a nation have a culinary history of preferring a seperatist plate. divide and conquer is not just a technique you can apply to colonial rule's methodology, but an apt description of our national dishes; think of a sunday roast, or of fish and chips, and everything is visible and seperate. there is nothing served in anything else. the english colonialist public servants had 'native' cooks, and while this led to some interesting hybrids and created anglo-indian cuisine (kedgeree, anyone?), it also created a narrative tradition of poisoning horror stories, due to the 'concealing' properties attributed to indian cooking both visually and in terms of flavour. the english did not understand the ingredients and foods they were being served, and transferred their fear of tropical sickness onto the food and the cooks who prepared it. it was a similar process to american white slave owners misinterpreting their african slaves cooking and preserving methods as signs of witchcraft or voodoo. fear and misunderstanding born of the anxiety underlying christian senses of entitlement and superiority. very gothic, very awful.

i would love to say such attitudes have disappeared today (currently ed and i have been in fairly heavy debate about the british public's attitudes to food, and, actually quite surprisingly, i am the far more cynical about our supposed culinarily enlightenment; i guess i shouldn't underestimate my disappointed idealism's negative power), but i'm afraid they haven't. how many times have you heard people say things like 'curry was invented to disguise the taste of rotten meat'? i mean, that's untrue, and inappropriate on so many levels, and is a reinforcement of that previous colonialist gothic fear of tropical sickness, rehashed for a new and equally perception-blinkered century. if you ask me, the only antidote to the damaging beliefs and thinking about indian cuisine is, as i previously stated, demystification and analysis. reading and thinking are pretty much the cure to all forms of oppression, including that manifested in the culinary and attitudes to food. for indian food, as a starting place, i would heavily recommend camellia panjabi's 50 great curries of india. published in 1994, i still consider its information on the basic mechanisms of indian cookery completely invaluable and necessary.

the most important thing that panjabi writes about in this book, is the actually fairly limited flavouring set used in indian cookery. time and time again you see cumin, tumeric, cinnamon, chillies, garlic, onions, and so on, appear in recipes for indian dishes, and yet the dishes all taste remarkably different. one of the things most people are daunted or put off by in indian cookery is a lengthy ingredients list, but once you accustom yourself to the notion that these ingredients will usually be the same set, with a few regional variants, you remove that anxiety completely. it is how you treat the ingredients that creates the particular colour, aroma, body, and taste differences in the curry, and again, panjabi writes remarkably usefully on this. as you progress in indian cookery you begin to see the very distinct differences in regional style, religious impacts, colonialist intervention, and so on, and again, i cannot recommend panjabi's book enough in terms of guiding the beginner.

anyway, i have waffled enough, so i feel it's probably time i actually embarked on some of the deconstruction and explanation i mentioned as being so vital. what i cooked this weekend was:

Omelette curry, Cauliflower fried in shredded ginger, and toasted almond and coconut rice.

Omelette curry

for the omelette:

3 eggs,

1 small onion, finely chopped,

2 green chillies, finely chopped

1 teaspoon chopped coriander leaves

salt, black pepper, and oil for frying.

for the curry:

2 tablespoons grated coconut

1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds

1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds

2 teaspoons coriander powder

1/2 teaspoon red chilli powder

1/4 teaspoon turmeric powder

1/2 teaspoon garam masala powder

2 tablespoons oil

3 small onions, finely sliced

2-3 green chillies, chopped

2 medium tomatoes, finely chopped

1 teaspoon cider vinegar

1 tablespoon chopped coriander leaves.

put the coconut, cumin, and fennel seeds, coriander, red chilli, turmeric and garam masala powders into a blender with 2 tablespoons water and grind to a paste. set aside.

to make the omelette, whisk the eggs. add the onion, green chillies, coriander leaves, pepper and salt to taste, and mix well. heat the oil in a large pan and add the egg mixture. flip the omelette when the underside is cooked, and when it is done, remove it from the heat and cut it first in half, then into 1 inch strips in the other direction. leave aside.

to make the curry, heat the oil in a frying pan and fry the sliced onions over a moderate heat for ten minutes. add the spice paste and fry for 3-4 minutes. add a little more oil if it starts to stick, but do not skimp on this frying time.

add the chopped chillies and tomatoes and saute for 5 minutes. then add the vinegar, 750ml water, and salt to taste. simmer for 10 minutes before adding the coriander leaves and omelette strips and cooking for three minutes over a low heat before serving.

okay, so i know i went straight out there on my first post on the subject by cooking something that the traditional english palate might find slightly unorthodox. this is a muslim dish from the malabar coast in northern kerala (somewhere i eventually plan to visit when i return to india, because despite e.m. forster's best efforts to put everyone off in a passage to india, i really want to see the malabar caves). this curry was spicy, rich, and sweet, so using eggs as the protein component adds a lightness. coconut is included as palms grow prolifically in this region, and the comparatively short frying time on the spices keeps them light and clean tasting. the tomatoes add sourness and create the body of the sauce along with the onions, and the vinegar is actually a portugese catholic colonialist influence. i would definitely recommend trying this dish at least once, especially if as a vegetarian you're pissed off with being fobbed off with the same generic 'potato and cauliflower curry' recipe all the time (as a heads up it is awesome on toast the next day, like scrambled eggs on toast with balls). anyway, on to the next, taken again from panjabi's book:

cauliflower with shredded ginger

500g cauliflower

3/4 teaspoon cumin seeds

3 tablespoons oil

1-2 tablespoons grated ginger

a pinch of red chilli powder

1/4 teaspoon cumin powder

salt

a pinch of garam masala.

cut the cauliflower into florets. pound the cumin seeds lightly.

heat the oil in a wide pan and fry the ginger. after 30 seconds add cumin seeds, chilli, and cumin powder. then add the salt, and, stirring, the cauliflower.

sprinkle with the garam masala and stir well. cover with a lid and cook over a low heat until the cauliflower is as tender as you would like it. it is now ready to serve.

okay. it's really as simple as that. i took a leap here as this is actually a dish from the punjab, but it is one of my favourites and i knew its smoky flavours would compliment the sweetness of the omelette curry i was making. it might seem a bit counterintuitive to cook cauliflower with such little moisture, but the lid helps it to steam, and the spices catching and blackening slightly in the pan crisp parts of the florets, creating big texture and a really interesting, nutty smoky flavour. this is so quick and easy i'd honestly espouse it's virtues to anybody. i could probably eat a bowlful of it solo, it is that good.

which brings me onto my rice. i usually wing my rice according to what i've paired (i so often cook indian food in twos or threes as i enjoy the colours and textures in combination) and this is exactly what i did this time, toasting a handful of dried coconut and some flaked almonds until they were the colour of a latte, before adding my rice to toast fleetingly and then adding water to boil. i added a clove or two and a cinnamon stick and ended up with a sweetly perfumed rice that cooled the ardor of the chilli involved in the dishes. i'm onto something of an indian cooking groove now, so expect more of my food overanalysis in the near future.

on the grass being greener.

ok, wow. so of all the rash and ill-thought out decisions i've made in life, turning vegetarian and then starting a food blog with somebody talented enough to make me really, really wish i hadn't is right up there near the top. i had the luxury of seeing process-pictures throughout the day yesterday and they were so good i ended up showing them round at work, as and when i received them.

is anyone else surprised that the first ethics post came from the meat eater? you shouldn't be. realistically speaking, i am aware of the already massive count of preachy veggies in the world, and don't plan on joining their ranks. i am completely and totally with ed on the fact that if you will eat meat you should be responsible about it, and i agree with absolutely every point he makes in his thoughts on it. my own departure from the flesh was fuelled in part by disingenous friends and associates who were economical with the truth of the provenance of what they served, and discussing with my vegetarian friend (who was at the time studying a masters that involved numerous explorations into impacts on marine environments) the omissions and oversights involved in the labelling of seafood. 'responsibly fished, sustainably caught' langoustines are still trawled, which still means bycatch, which to me is very irresponsible indeed. it became something i couldn't think about anymore, and as someone who strives to live their politics it became something i simply couldn't do any more. it's a personal decision, however, and i really don't want to get into all the things i disagree with because i would be here forever, however i will say that if more meat eaters were as responsible as ed (and previously, me; i ate offal in my time), then there probably wouldn't be any need for angsty conscience-guideds like me to go vegetarian and make people feel carnivore's guilt in the first place.

i do, i have to admit, find it highly amusing that the weekend ed was making something so inherently animal-y, i was indulging in the kind of worthy, earthy cooking, that so many people associate with vegetarianism. you know what i mean, the kind that makes everybody think we're all neil from the young ones, not to mention undernourished and not real food fans. i find all those notions laughable. i have not, as yet lost any fierceness since i gave up eating body parts, nor have i declined in health. and as for not being a real food fan? well, really? i think we all know by now that i am almost childishly guided by appetites and within my dietary parameters and environmental beliefs, a total hedonist, it just comes out in different ways.

so, let's talk bean curry shall we? i have to say even when still an omnivore i made dishes like this allllll the time. why? because it's the kind of food i like. it's boldly flavoured and coloured, it fits in with my big-dish approach (you can blame my desire for abundance on my late northern-irish great grandmother's early influence), and it's, on a practical level, enough to keep your average highly strung barmaid going through a friday night shift. so without further ado, from nigel slater's tender vol. I, i present you with (the recipe for, fuck copyright law, i can reproduce seventeen percent of whatever i choose for educational purposes, and the author is correctly credited):

cabbage with beans, coconut, and coriander

enough for 4-6

dried haricot beans, 200g

onions, 2 medium

vegetable or groundnut oil, 2 tablespoons

garlic, 3 cloves

green cardamoms, 8

coriander seeds, 2 teaspoons

yellow mustard seeds, a teaspoon

cumin seeds, a teaspoon

ground turmeric, 2 teaspoons

chillies, 3 small, hot

chopped plum tomatoes, two 400g cans

a pinch of sugar

coconut milk, 250ml

fresh coriander, a large handful

a lime, maybe 2

for the greens

a soft, leafy cabbage, such as spring greens - a good handful or more per person.

soak the dried beans in water overnight. the next day, boil the beans till tender in deep, unsalted water. drain and set aside. (if you are using canned beans, rinse them under cold running water, then set aside.)

peel the onions, cut them in half and slice them thinly. add them to the oil in a large, deep pan and let them soften, colouring lightly over a moderate heat. this often takes longer than you might imagine, a good fifteen minutes at least. peel and chop the garlic and add to the onions.

crack the cardamom pods open and extract the tiny seeds. crush these coarsely, using a pestle and mortar or a very heavy rolling pin, then stir them into the softening onions. crush the coriander seeds and then the mustard, and add them to the onions, with the whole cumin seeds, ground turmeric, a generous seasoning of salt and pepper. cook, stirring regularly, for at least five minutes, so that the spices toast in the heat.

meanwhile, seed and finely chop the chillies, and add, with the chopped tomatoes, 400ml of water and a pinch of sugar, followed by the cooked beans. leave to simmer gently over a low heat, with the occasional stir, partially covered with a lid, for about thirty five to forty minutes.

mix the coconut milk into the sauce, simmer for a further five minutes, then add the coriander leaves and the lime juice. when the curry is almost ready, make a tight fist of the greens and shred them quite finely. steam or blanch briefly, then serve with the curry.

okay, so i'm going to let the colours of this badboy speak for themselves. i am such a visual magpie (note the bright red hair and penchant for chaotic sequinned clothes) that i insist on brightly coloured dishes like this in months like january. this really is the kind of food i love cooking. slowly adding spices to a big pot and filling the house with the smell (anyone who lived with me in university will attest to this; coming home to the smell of indian spices was a regular occurence for them). i think the only changes i made were using canned beans, and using a coffee grinder i devoted to spice-grinding a long time ago. i haven't been serving this with rice, but eating it by the huge bowlful, steaming the greens as and when i need them, as i'm not major on carbs where i don't think they're necessary (pasta with garlic bread, j'accuse). if i was making it for a non vegetarian friend, i might perhaps lazily fry some parathas at the stove, glass of wine in hand, just to stop it seeming so lentil-brigade, but myself i preferred to just appreciate the deep spiciness of the beans with the clean mineral taste of the cabbage. oh, and regarding cabbage; haters to the left. you don't like it because you've had it cooked badly. all kinds of cabbage are a thing of beauty and have their rightful place in cuisine. i mentioned that northern irish great grandmother, right?