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?

some people say i done alright for a girl

well, i think the kirsty-specific adventures in pot tossery have been running into the colossal slacker category lately. it isn't that i haven't been cooking, more that i haven't had any time to reflect on it. i know i always list my excuses, but they are as follows: being felled by some kind of massive plague that was doing the rounds at work, visiting papa mitchell for the first time since christmas at his sunny leicester residence, mountains of paperwork for my maths project at work, and entertaining my esteemed blogging partner here in sunny northampton. these have all been occasions to cook; the illness resulting in me dragging myself out of bed to cook only the fieriest pacific asian inspired food, visiting my dad being the first time i'd ever cooked for him ever (a most nerve-wracking concept in the extreme), paperwork meaning i created only the most sugry thigh-enhancing comfort baking, and ed visiting meaning i cooked for him for the first time ever, possibly even more nerve-wracking than cooking for my father. more nerve wracking, you ask? indeed, i answer. for those of you more attuned to gleaning gossip from the unsaid on the internet (tumblr contingent, i'm looking at you) may have noticed there is a relationship going on behind the scenes here at pot tossery. so normally the first-cooking-for-the-other-half-and-trying-to-impress thing is hard enough, right? imagine how much harder it is when you run a food blog with them and they're in the kitchen with you. yeah. exactly. still, i'm pretty sure i pulled it off. unless ed is actually a monumental liar in the name of tact. it did however firmly cement my belief that i am a cook of the never-going-on-masterchef kind, mostly cos of my lackadaisical approach to presentation, precision, and pissing about sharpening knives rather than just using a blunt one. but we knew that anyway.

so i'm gonna have lots to talk to you about on the rare occasions when i get to sit down and talk to you about them, it would seem. the backlog got a bit overwhelming, which hasn't helped me to sit down and write. i figured i'd start with the simple, what i made when i could feel myself coming down with something. my 'spicy food > all other food' ethos seems to be becoming a bit of a running joke around here, but it is never felt more keenly than when my throat starts to go. i think the last winter i spent in portsmouth, in what was the coldest flat ever, eating purely chilli--and-ginger heated foods in an effort to have the basic body heat required to do things like, oh, turn the pages of the books i had to read for university, and make enough coffee to stay up all night writing essays. when i wasn't drunk, that is. there also, i've noticed, since i started writing fo this blog, seems to be a recurring theme of me cooking Small Fried Things, be they falafels, pancakes, whatever, for dinner, mostly when i'm cooking for myself. these two obsessions dovetailed nicely with my cookbook buying/accumulating habit, when i found myself perusing a good housekeeping thai cookery guide from the mid 90's, that my late stepdad had given me. i have a fair few cookbooks of this ilk, actually; books that probably most other people might turn their nose up at, full of housewife-shortcuts and cheats, but i've found that if you are a serious enough cook to ignore these exhortations and say, enjoy making your own spice pastes or looking for the authentic ingredients that some of the cheat's shortcuts are intended to replicate, you can actually get some decent meals knocked out from the recipes. if nothing else, they're always written in plain english, and evn i tire of the sensual slater metaphor from time to time. and i have to admit, i do always have at least one mae ploy thai curry paste in my kitchen in case i'm in a bind (but that's okay, so do john torode and nigella lawson). so i idly browse these cookbooks from time to time after work, if i can't focus on literature, and i occasionally come across a gem that i decide to make. so, in this case i found:

sweet potato cakes with baked garlic

for the baked garlic:

2 heads of garlic, about 125g total weight
15ml dark soy sauce
15ml lemon juice
pinch of salt
pinch of sugar

potato cakes:

450g sweet potatoes
225g potato
15g fresh coriander roots
2 tbsp chopped fresh coriander roots
50g dessicated coconut, toasted
15g plain flour
5ml sesame oil
(2x chopped green chillies, and a pinch of chilli flakes, kirsty's addition)
flour for dusting
50g sesame seeds
oil for shallow frying

preheat the oven to 200 degrees c/gas mark 6. cut a small slice from the top of each garlic head and sit on a double layer of foil. combine the soy sauce, lemon juice, salt and sugar, then pour over the garlic. seal the foil and bake for 30 minutes. set aside until required.

for the potato cakes, peel and cube all the potatoes and place in a saucepan. scrub and chop the coriander roots and add to the pan. add plenty of cold water to cover, bring to the boil, and cook for 12-15 minutes until tender. drain, return to the heat for a few seconds to dry out the potato, then mash with a potato masher. allow to cool slightly.

stir in the coriander leaves, cocnut, flour, and sesame oil (and, if you're adding, the chillies). season to taste. with lightly floured hands, form the mixture into 12 small patties.

dip the potato cakes into the sesame seeds to coat. heat a shallow layer of oil in a heavy-based, non stick frying pan. fry the cakes in batches for 2-3 minutes until golden and heated through. drain on kitchen paper.

serve with the caramelized garlic cloves.

and here are mine, served with red lettuce from the garden dressed in honey, soy, and lemon:

okay, so before i give you the rundown on this, let's just take a moment to pause and admire my beautifully formed red lettuce. i had six of these in the garden two weeks ago, i am now down to half of one left in the fridge. i can't remember the variety but they were 'little red' oakleafs i planted from seed (the name may or may not have influenced my decision) and they were lovely. the stems tasted, as my dad put it, kind of like peapods. and since this crop was so successful so early, my gardening spirit has been massively buoyed and i am in a bit of a planting frenzy.

anyway, back to the recipe. the reason i decided to include chilli in mine was because the original recipe also included a how-to for nam prik, a thai prawn paste, which was obviously off the cards. i figured i'd be getting the salt and umami flavours in masses if i soy-dressed the leaves i was serving it with, so to make sure it wasn't lacking in dimension i went for my old favourite go-to: heat. it worked beautifully, and i don't think i'd make it without again, so i'll apologize in advance to the friends with no spice tolerance i still bizarrely have. i obviously didn't eat all the potato cakes, but i've frozen some unfried for a day when i can't be arsed (and they do occasionally happen despite all my talk of daily kitchen action, believe it or not).

i would love to promise you guys that it won't be as long until my next post, but since i'm going down to ed's on tuesday before we fly to barcelona on the wednesday, i'll cross my fingers that i can squeeze in another food-ramble before then, but i'm not hoping for miracles.