BEFORE DAWN HAS WELL AND TRULY CRACKED

Sad to say, this blogger is not ready for the modern world. I suppose I should be overjoyed at the convenience of my cell-phone -- three years ago I still had a land line -- and how compact and multifaceted it is. As well as that people are calling me, quite anxious to hear my voice. They demand to know whether I have Medicare parts A and B, and have I given serious thoughts to covering my burial expenses.

Of course had I not been looking for dental insurance a while back they wouldn't be calling.

[Dave from your local air duct service company hasn't called in ages.]

Their concern is touching. When I tell them 'no', and that I have no intention of dying, their disappointment is palpable. There is great anguish in Rawalpindi and Ahmedabad.
Existential heartache! It is sad, so very buggery sad.
It probably ruins the taste of their tiffin.
The dahi gosht becomes insipid.
The paratha is soggy.

Besvaad!


Many people on the subcontinent have no other function in life than to call me up at an ungodly hour to discuss matters of great import.

It's probably part of their religion. Which has no other effect than to leave me with an appetite for something spicy-soupy before I've even had my coffee. I want hot chai with plenty adrak now, and something that has simmered gently over low heat for several hours, saagwalla nahari, plus fresh and flaky piyaz ka kulcha.

Ghee!

Why is there no desi bhojanalaya open nearby?
And why do you wish to torment me so?



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WHAT YOU REMINDED ME OF ...

A number of years ago I mentioned curry for breakfast. Which is a wonderful concept. Especially if you remember that my breakfast usually is late enough to be considered lunch, and that I cannot stand the weird grain concoctions that many people consume early in the day, and abjure in toto the fried crap variety plate that others prefer.
Breakfast (lunch) is supposed to be real food.

It's the most important meal of the day; why are you eating garbage?

LAMB CURRY

One pound lamb cut into chunks.
Three medium onions, chopped.
One or two Roma tomatoes, peeled, seeded, chopped.
A thumblength ginger, chopped.
One head of garlic, separated, peeled, and chopped.
Three Jalapeños, halved and apathetically deseeded.
Three bay leaves.
Three whole cloves.
One to two TBS sambal oelek.
One whole black cardamom pod.
Half Tsp. black peppercorns.
Half Tsp. ground coriander.
Half Tsp. ground cumin.
A pinch of ground cinnamon.
A pinch of ground nutmeg.
A pinch of mace.
Quarter cup sherry.
Dash fish sauce.

Fry onions with oil till translucent, add in sliced ginger and garlic, black peppercorns, bay leaves, black cardamom pod, and cloves, stir for about a minute or so, then add powdered spices, tomato, and sambal. Cook, stirring, till fragrant. Put in the meat, add the sherry as well as the dash of fish sauce.

Cook till the meat is nicely coloured and begins to brown. Pour in a cup of meat stock and add the Jalapeños. Stir, place on high heat, and bring to a boil, then turn low and simmer for an hour and a half, stirring occasionally and adding water to keep from scorching.
Remove the bay leaves and cardamom pod before serving.


Rice is a good idea. So are lightly crusted potatoes.
Even nice flaky kulcha, if you can find it.
Or noodles. Good over noodles.



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WHAT A PERFECT SUNLIT DAY TASTES LIKE

When I woke up it was with a vivid beautiful dream still playing. Sunlight, late breakfast at a non-existent Anglo Indian hotel in Chinatown. Keema, flaky kulchas, achar pulgobi, and a cup masala chai. I complimented the proprietess on getting the operation up and running in such exemplary fashion in so short a time. Of course there is no such place. No sunlit dining room. No Anglo Indian hotel, alas. And no place near Grant Avenue or Waverly with excellent keema (no damned peas) or hot strong masala chai. No flaky kulcha.

The first problem with keema at most places is the peas. Keema matar is okay, but Indians are way too fond of peas (matar), and will throw the blighters into anything that moves. The second is that the ground meat used for keema is often from the fatty part of the beast, and the resultant dish too greasy to go well with nice flaky kulcha or buttery naan. This breakfast would be heavy enough for a Midwestern farmer, but I couldn't possibly hack it.
A Parsee would probably add a poached egg or two on top.
No, most Parsees are not rotund.


It was a very intense dream. I still have the taste of the keema and kulcha in my mouth.


Why isn't there an Anglo Indian Hotel in Chinatown? There's a Nepali grocery. There used to be an Indian restaurant. There are tourists. And there is, in fact, a hotel where visitors might stay. Two of them. One international luxury standard digs, so the usual "five star" quality that Americans feel comfortable and secure about (bland neutrality, sumptuously unappetizing breakfast food), and the other hotel smaller and more interesting looking, like a place where middle aged Europeans, Parsees, elderly Hong Kong businessmen, and Dutch Indonesian exiles might feel comfortable.
There is actually a third one, but it's right on the border, and late night hamburger or pizza eaters remember it from a previous life. Hard to even guess what it's like. It has garage facilities, so it probably caters to Americans.


The only two Indian restaurants arguably near Chinatown now, are one place which doesn't change the tablecloths often enough, and another which is a skeevy halal place probably connected to that nasty little Uttar Pradeshi cook with whom I used to work, so I will never go there because I might get poisoned. I do not want to get poisoned. It would interact badly with the medications that currently give me such vivid dreams. A bad idea.
I once argued with and fiercely shook the blighter.
Plus I distrust his unclean habits.


The very best kulchas, by the way, were made by a Mexican who has gone back to Mexico City and now probably runs an eatery staffed by his children and other relatives.

The only part of the dream which can translate into reality is the pipe I intend to smoke after breakfast (late lunch). A very snazzy Italian number, jaunty and suitable for a sporty man. Which I am. Got a proper tweedy coat too, which would go with that image, which I shan't put on today because instead I'm wearing a sweater and intend to have the somewhat ratty coat with the multiple pockets in which briar and tobacco pouch fit. Milk tea and a snack somewhere. No keema, no roti pao.



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BELATEDLY, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Yesterday was Parsi Navroz (New Year). And a person who does not live in San Francisco (resident of Bombay, Maharashtra) had an unpleasant time with that. She had ordered the special Navroz feast from a catering service (Mutton palav, Masala dal, Chicken farchu, Lagan nu custard) and should have had a wonderful experience. Instead she and her entire family ended up with food poisoning. Understandably she complained. And got ripped to shreds by the PR wallah of the enterprise.

Even Bamji is suffering!

Yesterday, for lunch while at work, I had a tasteless sandwich made for Americans, very cleanly presented in its see-through plastic container, with crisp lettuce on the side that you can put in yourself, oh the convenience, turkey and cheese on healthful sponge bread. Good for what it was supposed to be, but of course fairly bland and unexciting.

[If from this you deduce that I hate typical American food, you might be right.]

Tasteless crap. But NOT food-poisonous.


So Villoo and Bamji have my complete sympathy. Especially because having been in the restaurant industry, I actually have many years of experience of Indian commercial food preparation, which the worse it is the more defensive it becomes. "We are doing all very best only!"


Admittedly, at Indian restaurants in America and Great Britain, many of the customers sadly don't know anything, but even then they do deserve the very best.


Villoo and her relative Bamji could have and should have had a better meal. From Pot Pourri Restaurant in Vashi, New Bombay.
Bombay is more or less Parsi central.


One of the Parsis on that comment string had this to say about that feast:

"The food sent was tasteless. If any person knows what a pulao is, then plain rice is definitely not it. Added to that, the mutton pieces were tasting a little wierd. The chicken farchas were tough on the tongue as well as the stomach.(More on that later on). The masala daal was not even grinded and had full daal pieces swimming in the thin gravy. It was a mix between yellow dal and masala dal.
All in all we did not want to spoil our afternoon and took all of the above with a pinch of salt and an abberation on the part of the caterer.
This post would not have been put on FB but for the fact that all of us landed up in bed with severe upset stomachs, and the audacity and rudeness of the caterer when we contacted her with our problem.
Madam Caterer......  if you're reading this post, as you have very kindly suggested that "if the food was bad but we ate out of choice". What do you expect us to do at a moment's notice? We still gave you the benefit of the doubt and took it our stride. Also, I assume you must be a superhuman to pass loose motions and vomiting immediately after ingestion of lunch. It's only by night that the effects of your "delicious meal" started to affect our innards. That was the reason a feedback was offered to you the next morning. I think we should have also been shameless and given you the feedback midnight.
Madam, in the hospitality business you have to learn to take criticism and brickbats as also praise for a delicious repast. Your coordinator, the chef was gratious enough to offer an apology instead of the rudeness that you have responded with."

Now that exactly is why you need to be careful about who you choose to interact with the public. Two of the staff members at our restaurant would have raked the customers over the coals for the sheer temerity of heaving, and any subsequent toilet emergencies. And at several other Indian restaurants there were similar people.


Note that others in the comment string shared similar sentiments about the food, the mutton palav especially.

And Parsis know food.

As a matter of common sense, if at the holidays a restaurant or caterer offers customers the convenience of ordering a full set-up, it is probably a good thing if they do their research beforehand and make it the best possible experience the customers will ever have.
It's a priceless opportunity to make a splendid impression.
Might be the only chance they get to do so.
And word will get around.



There used to be two cities in which, despite the huge number of Indian restaurants, I would be hesitant to order Mutton Palav, or even anything claiming to be Biriani. San Francisco and London. Now there are three.

So I'm looking for recommendations.




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SALLY AND BOATIE: FOOD AND THE PROSPECT OF LUNCH

In the same way that Dutch people use serundeng as a necessary garnish for several spicy dishes, the Parsees use thin potato matchsticks fried crisp. Along with eggs, these are almost a definition of Parsee cuisine. The best way to prepare them is deepfrying in an electric fryer, draining and salting them immediately once they come out of the hot oil. They keep in a sealed container, cool dry place, for about ten days.

Parsees dump these on mutton curries, keema, chicken, and even eggs (sali per eedu). Famously, jordaloo boti (a hearty and tangy mutton dish with dried apricots) seems incomplete without sali, though that is not customary. And this would be perfect for cold winters in Brabant (where there are a large number of Dutchmen, and virtually no Parsees).
The most typical dish would be sali boti.


SALI BOTI

Fry a goodly amount of chopped onion in plenty of oil, add ginger and garlic when it starts to turn golden. Drain off the excess oil, keep frying the onion garlic ginger. Add red chili powder, then turmeric. Chopped chilies shortly after, salt and a small splash water. Add chunked mutton gosht and, and when the oil comes out, throw in several chopped tomatoes (peeled), some red chili paste, and two or three whole green chilies. Simmer for an hour or so, adding water as necessary to keep it very slightly soupy.
Then add ground cumin and garam masala.
Cook only a little while longer.

Then serve with potato straws (sali) on top.
A goodly handful. Both texture and taste.

Or French fries, if you're Dutch.

The spice proportions are three parts red chili powder, two parts ground coriander seed, one part each turmeric and cumin. Garam masala, depending on the recipe you use at home, is a variable quantity; one or two teaspoons should suffice. These are fairly standard proportions that can be used for many dishes, by the way.

For one pound mutton, use two large onions chopped.

Oh, and the quantity of turmeric is variable too.
But only slightly, as it can dominate.


An authentic cook would add a few green cardamom pods at the same time as the chili powder or turmeric, and both the whole green chilies (for aroma) and red chili paste (sambal ulek) are my own thing. Star anise also, maybe a half teaspoon toasted ground poppy seeds (why?), and a bay leaf or two. And a half stick cinnamon, which in the United States might be impossible, because real cinnamon is hardly available here; we tend to have cassia instead. It's not the same.


Jordaloo boti is similar, but with about half a dozen dried apricots added halfway through, for both their flavour and to swell in the pan moisture.
Less or no tomato. As well as a splash vinegar, hefty pinch sugar.

Jordaloo, of course, means apricot. Old Persian, Gujarati, and Marathi. Not, strictly speaking, an Indian ingredient, though they grow in Kashmir.
Sali is Gujarati for straw.


All of this is pursuant a previous post, in which I mentioned that I had a very marked fondness for curry, milk tea, and smoking my pipe afterwards. And it will naturally be remembered that India's most famous military man, Field Marshall Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw (born 3 April 1914 – died 27 June 2008) was a pipe smoker, and known for his opinion that you should never entirely trust a man who neither smokes nor drinks.
He was a Parsee, and by accident of birth, a Punjabi.
A fortuitous and splendid combination.
An exemplary man.


"He who neither drinks nor smokes, nor dances; he who preaches and even occassionally practices piety, temperance, and celibacy, is generally a saint, or a mahatma, or more likely a humbug, but he won't make a leader or for that matter a good soldier."

"If a man says he is not afraid of dying, he is either lying or a Gurkha."

------Sam Manekshaw


Now, the astute reader will likely be wondering, what the heck do Dutchmen and Brabant have to do with any of this? Well, I'm a Dutchman from North Brabant. And I like my tea, tobacco, food, and drink, though nowadays I avoid alcohol entirely due to my medication.

No idea what I'll prepare for lunch. It will include chilies and some spices. It will probably not be "heart healthy" at all ("greasy"), and together with the pipe afterward it would displease my regular care physician, per whose orders I saw the nutritionist at the hospital last year. Who then advised me to take "baby steps": cut down on the cookies and sweets.
So none of that later with my tea.

No Scotch in nearly two years.


No one said anything about mutton, ghee, or potatoes.
And my doctor is Indonesian-born Chinese.
So spicy foods are all-right.

TOBACCO INDEX


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A FABULOUS BOMBAY OF THE MIND

A number of years ago I often impersonated Indian gentlemen. This was mostly in connection with an Indian food enterprise at which I worked in the evening, primarily because no one wants to speak to an Anglo about food or catering on the phone. For rather obvious reasons.
Consequently I have been a Madrassi, a Bengali, a Parsee, and sometimes darned well unintelligible. While discussing biriani, haleem, mirch ka salan (for which I have an excellent recipe, it's practically my mothers milk), chai, achaar (about which I know very well only, sar), various sweets (laddoo?), and tea time snacks such as one would enjoy in Bombay.


A friend remembers the years during which I was a pretend-Parsee as well as a most excellent Madrassi chief clerk. She herself is Parsee, and still peeved about that. To do so I had to read up on cricket, which is the great Parsee game invented by homosexual Englishmen. Cricket is boring.

Plus I enjoyed the columns written by Busybee (Behram Contractor). Which of course meant subsequently reading about Irani cafes, The Fort, dhansak, and devouring books by Rohinton Mistri, a smarty-pants Canadian Parsee author whose output I highly recommend.


To this fake Parsee / Madrassi, nothing could possibly be more evocative of his own beautiful imaginary Mumbai than hot milk tea and biscuits. Possibly followed or accompanied by smoking a nice bowlful of Erinmore Flake OR Rattrays tobacco in a Dunhill, Comoy, or Sasieni pipe, because those accompanied Englishmen wherever they went.

So then, carefully researched, and subsequently often enjoyed, a recipe.


KHARI BISCUIT
[Please note: ALL ingredients should be very cold. Chill them beforehand.]

One cup plain flour (maida).
One cup atta (chapatti, durum, or wheat) flour.
Four TBS corn starch.
One cup ghee.
Teaspoon salt.
Half Tsp. baking powder.
Four TBS buttermilk.
Ice-cold water as needed.

Mix the dry ingredients, then knead briefly to a soft dough with the buttermilk and ghee, using cold water if necessary. Chill this for an hour. Dust with extra flour, then pound it flat and roll it out. Fold it over in three layers with a little flour in between. Roll it out and fold again. Cut into several three by five inch rectangles. Now fold these double twice, lengthwise, and pinch each strip in the centre.
Chill once more for at least an hour.
Then bake at four hundred Fahrenheit for ten minutes. Lower the temperature to 300 for another fifteen minutes to let it bake crisp evenly all the way through.

Note that whether or not you sprinkle kalonji, sesame, cracked pepper, or cumin seed over before baking, brushing with ghee is not a bad idea in any case. Use a cold roller to impress the seeds on the surface.

An acceptable shortcut is to simply buy pre-prepped puff pastry and treat it similarly.
And if you do that, a dusting of sugar and cinnamon in lieu of spice is excellent and quite recommended. But it won't be khari.



Along with a tin of khari biscuits, your cupboard should also have a few jars of Indian pickles (achaar), maybe a chutney or two OR a good marmalade (both go equally well on buttered toast), definitely plenty of sambal (hot chili condiments) because in addition to being a fake Parsee and a gouty retired English officer, you are also a Dutch East Indies planter. Plus a bottle of whisky (shades of William Cuthbert Faulkner).
Good tea can now be mercifully purchased nearly anywhere.
Both Erinmore and Rattrays are locally available.
Gout is not caste specific.


The other absolutely essential item is Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce (李派林喼汁 'lei paai lam kip chap'), but other than using it for some Hong Kong dishes, it's presence is purely totemic.



NOTE: thanks and appreciation are due 'K-saheb' and various gentlemen name Singh for some wonderful years and stimulating times, as well as disputatious introduction to many things Indian.



UPDATE ao 4:11 PM: A reader has alerted me to a grievous omission.
No piece written about Parsees can be considered complete without mentioning the revered “Chhota Peg”. A chhota peg is a generous splash of whisky (Scotch), often with water, ice, or soda. Or not.
Absolutely an essential.



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INDIAN FOOD IS TERRIBLE!

A tweet about food has sparked the usual triggered outrage. In particular, the top one percent of sub-continentals and sensitive folks takes issue with American academic Tom Nichols, who said that "Indian food is terrible".
Which, as far as I'm concerned, is a valid opinion.


"I think people often pretend to like non-American cuisines as a way of showing sophistication. I'm honest enough to say that my mostly Irish taste buds can't handle whatever it is that is called "Indian" in the US and UK.
You may all continue with your outrage now. /3x"

-----Tom Nichols.


Quote: "Mr Nichols - who teaches at the US Naval War College in Rhode Island - posted his opinion after another Twitter user had asked for "controversial food opinions". " End quote.

[Source: 'Indian food is terrible' tweet sparks hot debate about racism.]


He may have had considerable exposure to Indian cuisine, in India, and perhaps by comparison he slags the muck commonly served to drunken louts in Britain and America. Or he may have eaten Sulaiman's cooking.
In which case I sympathize.

Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch; Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch; Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch; Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch; Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch; Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch; Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch; Lentils, chappatis, raita, hari mirch.
Achaaaa, bhai!

Having worked at an Indian restaurant for significantly over a decade years ago, my opinion would be more nuanced. But not much different.
I sometimes ate at our competitors.

There is hardly any demand for better Indian food.
Dabba-style sludge is perfectly acceptable.


The customers would mostly prefer pizza in any case, but Gauras will go to Indian restaurants for atmosphere and a change of pace, preferably at a low price, and Desis go so they can talk Hinglish, eat with their fingers, and have some fresh naan.

Each table gets four katoris: tamarind sauce, hari chatni, kachumbar, and chili paste. That last one is for the Gaura-log, who don't know that you can eat chilies raw. Plus a bowl of chopped vegetables in yoghurt.
Pretty standard, for the demographic.

Over the years I heard enough high-fallutin' nonsense from both Caucasians and Indians about Indian art, music, literature, spirituality, Ayurveda, yoga, poetry, vegetarianism, dharma, mysticism, ashrams, Sanskrit, slokas, The Himalayas, Kashmir, the magic cleansing properties of Ganga jal, cuisine, computer skills, honesty, brains, cleanliness, philosophy, pickles, ghee, history, and the great purity and sanctity of everything Indian that I can parrot that crap in my sleep. Om santi santi santi, bitches.

Most of my "teachers" on those subjects were pig-ignorant, and I knew far more in any case. I'm just polite.


Indian food can be many things.
Terrible is one of them.




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PULI FRY -- FRAZZLED MEAT WITH TAMARIND

The following dish is Indonesian Dutch as well as Anglo Indian. They call it 'puli fry' and I've entirely forgotten what we call it. Dammit.


PULI FRY

Half pound meat or slightly more, small chunk cut.
One big onion, sliced.
Tablespoon chili paste.
Teaspoon ground coriander.
Two cloves garlic, mashed.
Equivalent amount ginger, ditto.
One cup tamarind water.

Mix the meat with the chili paste, coriander, garlic, and ginger. Fry the sliced onion golden in sufficient oil, add the meat, fry till fragrant. Pour in the tamarind water and cook till thick. Adding a pinch of ground nutmeg while frying the meat is my recommendation here. The chili paste I use is usually sambal oelek, of which there is always a big jar in the refrigerator.


There's a reprinted late nineteenth century Dutch cookbook of Indonesian food in one of my bookcases, which I cannot find (I just looked, this place is a mess), which has essentially the same recipe. I forgot what we call it. Dutch websites are NO help. Pamela C. might know the Malay name.

Old school. Once very popular.
Because it's so easy.

Like empal.
But wet.



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VINDALOO, BALLICHAO, JHINGA MASALA, KONKANI FISH CURRY, KHARI BISCUIT, AND SALI MARGI; THINK OF IRANI CAFÉS IN THE FORT

Sunday lunch should be fun and filling. I work on Sunday, so that's quite out of the question. My Sundays are on Wednesday. Which was yesterday, but I did not have any of the lovely food described below.
Years ago I often did stuff like this.
I'm older and lazier now.


[Note: the snarky Parsee grandma I mentioned elsewhere on this blogsite will know where and when these recipes are from. So will the bookseller.]



VINDALOO

Ingredients:
Two pounds pork, large cubes.
One onion, chopped.
Quarter cup of cilantro.

Marinade:
Quarter cup vinegar, tablespoon sugar, tablespoon ground pepper, plus one or two green cardamom pods, cloves, bay leaves, green chilies.

Masala:
Tablespoon chili paste.
Tablespoon ground coriander.
One teaspoon cinnamon powder.
Half teaspoon ground cumin.
Ginger and garlic.
Quarter cup vinegar.
Quarter cup strong tamarind water.

Mix the ingredients of masala smooth in a blender. Marinate meat for several hours in marinade.
Brown onions, add the masala, cook till the oil separates. Add meat and marinade, heat to boil, add two or three cups of water, turn flame low. Simmer for a few hours. Add the cilantro, remove from heat.

Serve with plain white rice.
And sourdough bread.


SHRIMP BALLICHAO

Ingredients:
Two pounds shrimp, shelled and veined.
One cup minced onion.
Half cup chopped tomato.

Masala:
Three tablespoons chili paste.
One tablespoon golden sugar.
One teaspoon garam masala.
Half a teaspoon ground black pepper.
Quarter teaspoon each ground cumin, turmeric, salt, cayenne.
Half a cup of vinegar, half a cup of tamarind water.

Put everything except shrimp, onion, and tomato in a blender. Fry the prawns a scant two minutes, remove and drain. Brown onions, add spices, then add the tomatoes. Cook till blended well and thick. Add the prawns and fry till done.

Sourdough bread.


JHINGA MASALA

Ingredients:
Two pounds large fresh prawns.
Half cup oil, half cup finely chopped onions.

Masala:
Three tablespoons chili paste.
Half tablespoon turmeric.
Half teaspoon each: paprika, cinnamon powder.
Quarter teaspoon clove powder.
Plenty chopped ginger, a little garlic.
Four tablespoons vinegar.
Four tablespoons tamarind water.

Put spices, vinegar, and tamarind water in the blender, add water if necessary.
Fry onions golden, add the masala, cook till the oil separates.
Add prawns, cook till done.

Plain white rice and sourdough bread.


KONKANI FISH CURRY 

Ingredients:
Two pounds firm fish, big chunks.
Half cup each: Oil, chopped onions, chopped tomatoes.
One and a half cup coconut milk (more or less one can).
Half dozen green peppers, slit and seeded.

Masala:
Three tablespoons chilipaste.
One tablespoon ground coriander.
One teaspoon each: ground cumin, turmeric, sweet chili powder.
Minced ginger, minced garlic.
Half cup of tamarind water.

Put the chili paste, spices, ginger, garlic, and tamarind water in the blender.
Brown the onions. Add tomatoes and masala, fry fiercely for two minutes. Add half the coconut milk and cook till oil separates. Put in the fish, green chilies, and some water. Cook for five minutes. Bring to a boil, and remove from heat.

Rice. Bread.


KHARI BISCUIT

Ingredients:
One cup rice flour.
One cup unbleached flour.
One cup atta flour.
Half cup ghee.
Teaspoon salt.

[Oh heck, simply use frozen puff pastry, that's what everyone does.]

Mix the flours with cold water, ghee, salt, and spices (cayenne, ground cumin). Chill for an hour. Then roll out and cut rectangles. Fold over four times. Chill again. Either fry, or bake at four hundred Fahrenheit ten-fifteen minutes, then 325 to 350 for about twenty minutes till gold and crisp.

Brushing the top with butter is optional, but if you sprinkled cumin seeds on the dough, it is essential.

Have these with masala chai.


SALI MARGI

Ingredients:
One chicken, cut into eight pieces.
Two onions, finely sliced.
Two large potatoes, peeled, shredded.

Masala:
Mashed garlic and ginger, one tablespoon each.
One tablespoon ground coriander seed.
One teaspoon ground cumin seed.
One teaspoon cayenne.
One teaspoon salt.
One piece of cinnamon.
Pinch sugar.

Rub the chicken with the garlic and ginger plus the ground coriander, cumin, cayenne, and salt. Cover and put it in the refrigerator for several hours.

In a pan fry the onion golden. Add the chicken pieces and cinnamon, and brown all over. Add a splash of water, add the pinch of sugar, cover and keep on low heat for an hour. Put the chicken pieces and gravy on a large serving platter.

Fry the potatoes and strew over and alongside as a garnish.



AFTERWORD

I have never been to Bombay. But years ago I delightedly discovered food columnist Busybee, who wrote for several newspapers. His essays were little gems filled with happy gustational tidbits. Which nicely augmented my reading about Indian food, and experimentation over the hot stove. Among the things he mentioned where Irani Cafés, usually corner locations, with rickety chairs, and ceiling fans, marble topped tables, and very strong chai. As well as toasty melted butter buns, and an idiosyncratic food selection. Places where you could spend long hours with a refreshment, writing the next great American novel. Kind of like Italian coffeeshops in North Beach before all the uniquely artistic spiritual people descended.

Parsees, like the snarky grandma and Busybee, tend to be ecclectic eaters. Sadly there is no Parsee restaurant in the Bay Area, and those places which claim to offer such fare are usually run by unscrupulous salesmen types. Mediocre dal-gosht is NOT dhansak.

Busybee liked to drink rum and gin. Snarky Grandma sometimes has a bit of Scotch. I myself am fond of Scotch, but have not touched any since the beginning of this year, because it combines badly with medication; on the other hand, like Busybee I still smoke. But a pipe, not chain ciggies.

And I too like a nice greasy biriani.




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IRISH STEW, OR: MUST HAVE SAMBAL!

Over on the Anglo Indian food page, there is a long discussion about Irish Stew. Which is mutton chunks from the shoulder or neck, onions, root vegetables. Plus parsley. The meat is browned a bit, as are the chopped onions. Potatoes or other root vegetables are added about halfway through the slow-simmer with liquid phase, so that they won't fall apart during the long cooking. The parsley is added at the end.

Upscale heresies cooked in America may add more vegetables, plus beer or brown stock, as well as thyme, rosemary, and bay leaf.
And roux. Which is slightly pointless.

The key element is long slow cooking to tenderize the elderly sheep or packmule. Plus incorporating the pan-crusties into the broth. Salt and pepper may be used, and are in fact recommended.


As it turns out, most Anglo Indians know it because of their nanny, or a relative, boarding school, the nuns, and just generally their environment.


It should therefore come as no surprise that a group so diverse in origins and home-environments as the Anglo Indians will have so many strongly held and often thoroughly justified different opinions.


Because I am a Dutch American without a drop of Irish or Indian ancestry, living in San Francisco, California, and being culinarily influenced most by Dutch Indonesian food, Indian Restaurant food (having worked at a local Desi restaurant part-time for close to a decade and a half), and Chinatown Cantonese (socialization, environment, and chachantengs), naturally I too have many strongly held and often thoroughly justified different opinions.

About Irish Stew.

[FYI: waking up this morning involved a strong beaker of tea made with cardamom pods, some sweetened condensed milk added. No, not "chai". Masala naai-cha. Chai is weak slopkettle you get at Starbucks, along with that vanilla crap.]


Irish Stew, properly made, needs garlic, ginger, hari mirch (green chilies), a piece of cinnamon, coriander powder, dhannia ka patta (cilantro), and a jigger of Sriracha hotsauce, perhaps a dash of Wooster, pinches sugar, nutmeg, and fenugreek, and should be served soupy, so that crusty sourdough bread and/or a mound of rice are appropriate with it.
Fresh sambal on the side, as a condiment.
Plus homemade achar.


Sambal is the absolute sine qua non.


Something else which adds considerable flavour is being permanently pissed-off at one of the Irishmen you know. As one naturally is.
Because he's an idiot.




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NEXT TIME ORDER SOME PIZZAS!

An Indian politician was so dismayed by the vegetarian-food-only farewell dinner he attended that he tweeted his gustatory despair. With which this blogger sympathizes. Because, truth be told, Indian non-veg food is very delicious! Sure, all the buggery Sanghis and Sainiks who have found Ram are veg-onlies and wish to impose their food fascism on every body else.
But everybody else disagrees.


"Veg only! Will go home & have fish curry."

-----Derek O’Brien, Rajya Sabha MP from West Bengal, as quoted in the Indian Express


How very sad! Bengali food is superb. Most especially their fish curry. Looking at the array of grey and brown vegetable muck probably upset his stomach, as it would mine. I worked for several years part-time in an Indian restaurant, expressly for the food. Often there were weddings or social parties, at which the finest meaty dishes that could be provided were provided. Fish curries! Chicken curries! Lamb and goat curries! Even egg curries. Roast leg of lamb, mutton korma, chicken tikka on sizzling platters, and the queen of feastables, murgh makhni. And, sometimes, when a tourgroup came in, Bengali ilish, and zesty prawn curries.
Bhola vetki jhol, doi maach with mustard seeds.
And jira, methi, mori.

And everything with roti, achaar, fresh green mirch.

Pizza is also great with achaar and mirch.

Paneer and sausage pizza.



Not being a Veggie-weggie or a Bengali, but Gora to the max, I have a marked fondness for late night bacon curry with hari mirch.
But Bonglo fish curry is indeed top notch.
Worth going home for.




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JUSTICE FOR SOORAJ

Complaint given to the IIT Madras administration
JUSTICE FOR SOORAJ·WEDNESDAY, 31 MAY 201

Respected Sir,

R. Sooraj, a research scholar from the Department of Aerospace Engineering, was violently beaten up by a group of eight students. These students rounded up Sooraj and a research colleague of his, Anoop, in Himalaya mess during lunch hours on 30th May, 2017. One of the students, identified as Manish Kumar Singh, came and sat next to Sooraj and started asking him his name and personal details. When Sooraj asked him why he was asking for the same, he replied that it was for no particular reason. Following this, Manish began questioning Sooraj as to whether he had eaten beef the day before. When he got a reply in the affirmative, he got very agitated and angrily asked Sooraj whether he would eat beef and come to Jain Mess (where Sooraj was dining). Immediately afterwards, before Sooraj had a chance to respond, Manish brutally attacked Sooraj with a blow to the back of his head. As soon as the attack began, the group of students who had accompanied Manish rushed and surrounded Sooraj and held him back, and also restrained and pushed Anoop away to make sure he couldn’t intervene. Manish pulled Sooraj’s hair and held his head down and continued to punch his face repeatedly. All the while, Manish was yelling expletives and that he would kill anyone who ate beef.
When finally Anoop and some bystander managed to intervene, the attackers quickly left the scene, along with Manish.

Sooraj was immediately taken to the institute hospital. Manish appeared at the hospital soon after along with his friends. Here, he boasted of having beaten up Sooraj and made death threats to Azhar, one of the students who had come to check up on him. He also named Justin Joseph as another one whom he would kill. This incident should be clearly visible in the CCTV footage of the hospital. Sooraj was later referred to Sankara Nethralaya as the institute doctors were not able to asses the condition of his eye due to excessive swelling. He is now admitted to Apollo Vanagaram, after scans revealed that the injuries suffered to his right eye and face during the attack were severe and he requires surgery to recover.


This shocking incident has happened after some of the perpetrators made open threats through social media platforms like Facebook against the students who participated in the discussion about the implications of the recent Central government rule on prevention of trade of cattle for slaughter. The student who assaulted Sooraj, Manish, had called up some participants of the same gathering to get the names of those who organised the event. He had threatened the same people (and a complaint had already been filed regarding the same with you). Manish had warned the participant students of dire consequences.


The group of students who attacked Sooraj entered the Himalaya mess when there were very few students eating in the mess. Manish had already finished eating and was earlier seen waiting on the ground floor of Himalaya mess along with a few others. They saw Sooraj and Anoop enter the mess and followed them to indulge in the extremely condemnable form of violence. The nature of the attack suggests that it is clearly pre-planned, well thought out and executed.

Sooraj is a senior research scholar who has been helpful to his fellow students and research scholars. His friendly nature and kind gestures had earned him respect among the research scholars in the campus. He was not an organiser of the event that happened on Sunday and took part in the event in solidarity with the nation-wide agitation against the new Central government’s rule. The fact that this has happened to a research scholar like Sooraj points towards the magnitude of perversion entrenched in the students who attacked him.


The perpetrators of the attack are out in open and their presence can cause more harm to the students. These students who attacked Sooraj, including Manish, have been identified to be engaging in similar violent attacks in the past. Institutions like IIT Madras are places for debates and discussion. Horrifying attacks like these will hamper the culture of harmony in these institutions. We demand that all the students who attacked Sooraj be expelled from the institute and disallowed entry into the campus with immediate effect, with Sooraj being given an assurance regarding the same. The institute should take full responsibility for Sooraj’s medical expenses till he fully recovers. All the actions taken on the students involved should be communicated to the general student body. We hope the IIT Madras administration will fulfill our demands and uphold our right to life, right to dissent and right to organize peaceful gatherings, as guaranteed by the Constitution of India.


SOURCE: https://www.facebook.com/notes/justice-for-sooraj/complaint-given-to-the-iit-madras-administration/472873809716963/

A reason for the existence of that page may be found here: Why we exist? #justiceforsooraj.


As of the present time, none of the perpetrators of the assault have been arrested or expelled.


Please note that it is still legal to enjoy your delicious Kerala Beef Fry in Madras, but doing so might cost you your life in Gujarat and Uttar Pradesh, where Bakht goondas not only hold office, but have lynched people suspected of even considering ever eating a fine beefsteak.

The prime minister of India is Narendra D. Modi, whose reputation is not entirely clean; his administration while in charge of Gujarat is considered complicit in the 2002 riots, and his ideological kin led efforts to destroy the Babri Mosque as well as persecute (murder) Muslims, Christians, Parsees, Sikhs, and atheists, in various parts of India. Most notably in Gujarat, Rajastan, Maharashtra, Haryana, and Uttar Pradesh.

This is the muscular Hindu Nationalism beloved by certain circles in the United States, who would see allies in foreign gangsters.


Narendra Modi, by the way, has a fine relationship with our own leader, who puts ketchup on his steaks. Which is an abomination.



PS.: Still researching recipes for Kerala Beef Fry. I have mostly avoided beef since 2004, when our own beef industry was caught lying through their teeth about certain practices that contribute to the spread of BSE (Bovine Spongiform Encephalitis) among other things, but we appear to be clean now, and I will probably soon start experimenting with beef and coconut chunks rubbed with masala and dry-fried on low heat for several hours.
Descriptions of Kerala Beef Fry make it sound wonderful.
It's a pity that you cannot find it here.
For risk of offending.




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THE WILD CHICKENS OF TANDURISTAN

For the first time in ages I ate Indian food. Tandoori chicken, saag paneer, and garlic naan. Courtesy of my apartment mate. She wasn't impressed by the place where it was made, and I have put the remainder of the saag paneer and also the rice pilaf in the refrigerator.
It shall make a splendid breakfast.

Some time last week she had asked if I felt like a spot of Indian food; she needed to be in the vicinity of a new restaurant elsewhere in the city, and she is very fond of desi khana.
When she was still my significant other, I introduced her to it. Being Chinese American from a severely Toishanese background, it was quite new and startling for her. But she took to it like a duck to orange.
She's Chinese; they like food.

This was not that new restaurant, just one of the nearby dabhas.
Shan't mention the name. She didn't like it.



For years while I worked part time at the Indian restaurant of fond memory (it closed about four years ago, long after I left), I would have Indian food three times a week. Then for several years at least once a week.
Since Savage Kitten (my apartment mate) and I stopped being romantically involved with each other it is something I rarely even see. There is no point in going by myself, and anyway, our two favourite places have both closed.

I've actually eaten far more Chinese food since becoming single again than during the entire time of our relationship.



There are some things that one just cannot whip up easily at home. Anything which really requires a tandoor oven, for instance. The regular San Francisco apartment kitchen just isn't equipped with a clay-lined hole in the ground in which to build a fire. Perhaps as new buildings go up that will become standard -- we now have many more computer-wallahs and engineers than before -- but it will take a while before landlords of older rental units consider upgrading.




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RANG MAHAL IN CENTRAL

Years ago I worked part-time at an Indian restaurant here in the City. Because, as you should instinctively understand, every Indian restaurant needs a calm and phlegmatic Dutchman guarding the cash box like an angry pit-viper. Indians are an unruly lot, and I was ready to go ballistic at a moments notice.
We Dutch are stubborn, sometimes rabid.

Actually the problem was due to the belief of every intelligent Indian that they were always right, and the nearest Patel was automatically wrong.
Some one had to tell the Patels that.

Eventually all our Patels were replaced by Nepalis and Mexicans.
The Panjabis (mostly Sikhs) and the Tamil stayed.
My job became harder than ever.

After seventeen years they installed a computer system for doing the table checks and totaling up sales, and naturally with so many Indians on staff modifying it and reprogramming it, it was different every time (different colours, layout, logic, and clickable options), and damned well reprogrammed on a daily if not hourly basis.
So I regretfully departed.

I like fighting over minutiae as much as the next man, but sometimes you have to let the Panjabis do their own thing without getting involved.
I think they're all working in the computer industry now.


A COLOURFUL PALACE

Everything you expect from an Indian Restaurant can be had at the Rang Mahal on Queen's Road in Central, near Jubilee, Gutzlaff, and Graham.
It's not far at all from the International Finance Centre, Exchange Square, and Hong Kong City Hall, a reasonable distance from the HSBC offices, and if an intoxicated Australian in Lan Kwai Fong were to walk westward down D'Aguilar two blocks and then turn left, a relatively short but determined stumble would bring his drunken ass there.
Alas, they do NOT have Vegemite.

Please imagine a typical Indian restaurant menu. Plus roasted papads.
The interior will make you think you are in Birmingham.
They open at eleven for lunch.

Or sleep late, and make a breakfast out of it. Dinner ("supper") at any of the places favoured by Englishmen and Australians will likely put you in contact with a drunken Anglo at his worst (squiffy, pugnacious, plus stupendous body odour and beer breath -- that is why you hire big burly Panjabis; it is to control the rabble), especially as it gets later, so go early (they open for dinner at six in the evening), and have a walk with a pipe afterwards.

It is a very clean place, attentive staff, delicious food.
Prices are comparable to anywhere in SF.
The mutton is always excellent.

A splendid restaurant.

No Vegemite.

Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very
nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice. Very nice, very nice.


There used to be five Indian restaurants within walking distance of my digs here in SF, but only two are left. The busiest food sellers are those rancid Pakistanis three blocks south. Suleiman used to work for them, and one should distrust everything that loathsome little man had a hand in, though their naan is good. They are across the street from the Delhiwallas, whose efforts are entirely besvad, aur ghatia kach'ro.
Naan takes a Panjabi.




You cannot smoke a pipe on Polk Street, as street-people will harass you about marijuana, and programmers will look at you funny. At any moment a yuppie or a vicious old wheatgerm freak will accuse you of destroying the environment and poisoning puppies and little children, and self-righteous harridans of all ages and genders may scream at you.


This city is filled with f***ing Protestants.




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CHICKEN TIKKA MASALA AND KIND REMARKS ABOUT THE ENGLISH DIET

All over England chunky people strain and puff to hoist themselves into public conveyances, or subside gratefully into comfortably padded seating to rest their weary tonnes of flab. Good grief, the Brits are starting to look like Americans!

Quite Cartmanesque!

Post-war prosperity had made them thick. This is not the lean vicious nation that so resolutely fought the entire world years ago; it is a quieter gentler nation, with enough lukewarm bitter beer, bad candy, and rich buttery sauces to make them happy.

The modern Dutch also look "chunky". But I have been told that that is insulation against the beastly climate, much like seals and walruses.


A RICH BUTTERY SAUCE

Years ago I made a murgh makhni sauce for the thanksgiving turkey. After eating, we sank into torpor. Murgh makhni sauce and chicken tikka masala sauce are largely the same, the difference is primarily nomenclaturial.
Oh, and there's more butter and less cream in Murgh Makhni.
But both are rich velvety rust-hued emulsions.

[Originally, murgh makhni (murgh makhanwalla) was made with rubicund tandoori chicken, which was the Pathan version sold by the Moti Mahal Restaurant in Delhi, OR a butter and yoghurt version prepared by stout Punjabis with store-bought whole spit-roasted chicken. Chicken tikka masala was a variation invented in England by a restaurateur faced with a drunkard who wanted gravy on his platter of tandoori murgh & naan. Most English and Punjabis do not have a tandoor oven in their yard, so an approximate will have to do.
The key to the beloved British version is the sauce.]

Chicken tikka masala is THE British national dish. It is the sensible and good taste alternative to dining at the thousands of MacDonalds restaurants that litter London and her environs.



CHICKEN TIKKA MASALA

Ingredients

One LBS chicken pieces on bone, skin removed.
Half TBS dark-toasted ground cumin.
Half TBS paprika.
Half TBS ground coriander seed.
One Tsp. cayenne pepper.
Half Tsp. ground turmeric.
Four or five Roma tomatoes, OR two or three regular.
One or two shallots, minced.
One thumb of ginger, smashed and minced.
Two or three cloves of garlic, ditto.
Two or three green cardamom pods, whole.
One or two whole cloves.
Half cup yoghurt.
Half Tsp. salt.
Juice of a lime.
Small handful chopped cilantro.
Half cup heavy cream.
Two to four TBS ghee.
Pinch cinnamon powder.
Pinch nutmeg.


Score the chicken pieces, put into pyrex bowl. Mix all spices except cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and cardamom pods. Take approximately one third of the mixed spices and all of the salt, add half of the garlic and ginger and whisk into the yoghurt and lime juice. Dump over the chicken, rubbing it all over the meat. Cover and stick into the refrigerator for half a day.
Note that salt is an essential ingredient in such a marinade.

Chargrill the chicken. High heat and smoke is required, but the meat should not be entirely done through. Set aside to cool, then rip the flesh in chunks off the bone.

Melt the ghee in a pan, then fry the shallots till quite dark, mashing with a cooking spoon or spatula the while. Add in the reserved garlic and ginger, fry fragrant, add the remaining two thirds of the spice mixture and blend in well. Now add the tomatoes, and slowly cook mixing and mooshing till all is smooth. Stir in the heavy cream. Crack the cardamom pods open but do not break them, add them plus the cloves to the sauce.

Now put the chicken pieces into the sauce, along with the pinches cinnamon and nutmeg, and most of the cilantro, and simmer gently for about ten minutes, to meld all the flavours. A brisk jigger of Louisiana hot sauce or Sriracha may be added at this point. Garnish with the remaining cilantro to serve.


The educated classes will eat this with rice, naan, raita, and fresh garden salad. Or dumped into a toasted baguette slathered with melted butter.
The more proletarian element will have it with baked beans, fried bread, limp bacon, and strong tea.
In both cases they will have purchased it from a take-out joint.
Or bought freezer packs from Sainsbury.

Just add pappad, bhajji, and payasam for a total English feast.


猫耳!
I'm sure that Kitty and Mimi would approve.
Along with George, Mary, and Anthony.
And Margaret. Probably Daniel too.


Like everything in Britain, chicken tikka masala tastes even better with Patak's pickles. Everything. Curries, fish and chips, MacDonalds, that lousy Greek food in central London, black pudding, haggis, and roast beef with that spongy fried poufy dough ball thing.


American food ALSO tastes better with fine achars.
Minimally, you should stock three of them.
Lime, hot mango, and brinjal pickle.


I really like Patak's pickles.
It's such a British thing.

Good stuff.
Patak's.




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THE FIRST CLASS DINING ROOM AT KAUN JANTA KAHAN HAI

If nothing else, the British misadventure in India taught us about masala tea and chicken curry. We probably would have found out about these things eventually, but both of those have become the standards for living an English life out in the wilds of Borneo or Kansas. Almost nothing else spurs the impulsive purchase of lovely bottle-chutneys, Patak's Pickles, chili, poppadums, and whole spices in the distant corners of the world.
Kansas, for craps sake! It might as well be Vladivostok!
Expect a troupe of ugly dancing girls any moment!
Or colourful native religious rituals.
Swaths of blue and white.
Jayhawkers.

"Confederated at first for defense against pro-slavery outrages, but ultimately falling more or less completely into the vocation of robbers and assassins, they have received the name --- whatever its origin may be -- of jayhawkers"

[Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kansas_Jayhawks.]


Brigands, highway men, and other recalcitrant types!

Keep the dacoits at bay by serving good food and hot tea.
If it doesn't scare them, they may melt.

Where the hell is Kansas anyhow, Dorothy?


MASALA CHAI

Per cup:
One TBS black tea leaves.
Half dozen green cardamom pods.
A thin slice of ginger.
Pinch cinnamon.
Half Tsp. fennel seeds.
Sugar as desired.
One cup water.
Hefty jigger of milk.

Crack open the green cardamom pods so that the seeds are exposed. Bring water to a boil, add the cardamom and other spices, and simmer five minutes to release the flavour into the water. Add the tea leaves, simmer just below boiling for a couple minutes ere adding the milk. Simmer a few seconds longer after that, but do not allow it to roil.

Decant into a porcelain cup and have a kaju biscuit on the side.

Drink while waiting for the train.


MURGHI MASALA

One pound of chicken, chunk-cut on bone.
Two onions, chopped.
One dozen Roma tomatoes, peeled seeded chopped.
One cup cashews.
Half a cup heavy cream.
Quarter cup yoghurt.
Two TBS. garam masala.
Half TBS. cayenne.
Thumblength ginger.
Five or six cloves garlic.
Pinches of salt and pepper.

One teaspoon cumin seeds, roasted till quite dark, then ground fine.

Mince and smash the garlic and ginger to a paste, mix it with the yoghurt and the pinches of salt and pepper. Marinate the chicken in this for an hour.

Pour boiling water (enough to cover) over the cashews and let them soften for that time.

Take the chicken pieces out of the marinade, and colour them well in hot oil. Remove to a plate, add the onions to the pan with a little more oil. Saute till coloured, add the tomatoes and spices, and cook soft, which will be about five minutes.

Dump the cashews and their soaking water into a blender, add the contents of the pan, and osterize smooth. Return this to the pan and reduce till velvety, then put in the chicken pieces. Bring back to a boil, turn heat low, and simmer a few minutes. Stir the cream into the dish, and let it heat, but do not bring it to a boil.

Dust the dark-roasted cumin powder over the top before serving.
Decorate with the merest sprinkle of sliced green chili.


Have it with chappatis, rice, and flaky onion kulcha, OR cornbread, hickory barbecue, macaroni salad, and hot sauce on the side.
Bahot lazeez, yaar.

What the heck do I know from Kansas?



There's a restaurant called "Korma Sutra" in Kansas City. It appears to be run by Punjabis. Apparently their garlic naan is very good.


Whenever it's too early for a gin pahit, it's time for tea.



Please note: Bottle chutneys represent the hope, sometimes forlorn, that whatever that ingredient is, it can be made edible by the addition of vinegar, sugar, and cayenne. Sometimes good things come out of a bottle. Sometimes not. In some cases, what was a brilliant idea has been ruined by the use of malt vinegar, brown sugar, and wholesome additions of a macrobiotic or sustainably farmed nature, along with turmeric.




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DELICIOUS LENTIL CURRY

It is good to wait until after dinner before going onto the internet.
Had I not done so, I wouldn't have had much of an appetite.

On the same evening that one of my facebook friends posted an article with horrific pictures on his wall, a reader left a link underneath one of my earlier blogposts ("when grown men dream of goats").


Quote:

At 4:48 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

More compelling reasons to serve goat.

Noor Hussain (75) is now in trial in New York for beating his wife to death because she cooked him lentils for dinner instead of goat.


http://nypost.com/2014/05/21/man-charged-with-killing-wife-after-she-made-him-the-wrong-dinner/.


Mr. Hussain wanted goat. His wife cooked lentils. He chastised her to death with a laundry stick. Apparently under the mistaken impression that doing so was normative.

Quote:
"He comes from a culture where he thinks this is appropriate conduct, where he can hit his wife. He culturally believed he had the right to hit his wife and discipline his wife."

That's one hell of a nasty culture. It's rotten to the core.

Clearly mister Noor Hussain and all who think like him are not civilized or even human. Is it really "appropriate" to beat your wife to death, ever? For any reason? I'm asking, because his defense attorney thinks she can convince the court that it is, and undoubtedly there are plenty of splendid examples of Pakistanis killing their wives. For many reasons. Even something so trivial as a pot of lentil curry.

Just like there are innumerable examples of Pakistani men throwing acid in the faces of women. For what are, no doubt, "culturally appropriate" motives. As was mentioned in the article that my facebook friend posted to his wall. Which had horrific pictures.

What kind of society condones such behaviour?

I could say any number of horrid things.

About Pakistanis, and depravity.

But their acts speak.

Volumes.



What IS the proper response when you had a craving for goat, and she cooked Tarka Dal instead? Maybe she was tired, or had too much to do that afternoon, and the carnicería ran out of carne de cabrito early in the day. Or perhaps your good woman felt that lentils were a more suitable meal that evening. The only acceptable way to deal with the situation is to say "thank you for a lovely repast", and just suck it up. Have some yoghurt, and avoid the beer.
Eventually there will be goat. You could cook it yourself. Who says women have to do all the cooking? Going batshit crazy and beating someone to death is NEVER the appropriate way of dealing with a lentil curry.
Even if you are a Pakistani, heaven forfend.
There are worse things to be.
It's just not done.


LENTIL & TOMATO CURRY
[Not Pakistani style, more sort of generic subcontinental.]

One cup masoor dal (red lentils).
Two cups water.
One onion, chopped.
Two tomatoes.
Four garlic cloves, minced.
Equivalent amount ginger, ditto.
Four green jalapenos.
One Tsp. cumin seeds.
One Tsp. ground coriander.
Half Tsp. cayenne.
Half Tsp. turmeric.
Cilantro for garnishing.
Oil, and butter.

Rinse lentils well, remove any unidentifiable objects.

Put lentils in a pot with two cups water or slightly more. Bring to a boil, simmer till soft, about forty minutes. Stir frequently to prevent scorching. Set aside.

Roast the tomatoes and jalapenos over an open flame (one of the burners on your stove), then peel &seed -- don't worry if some of the blackness remains, it adds flavour -- and chop coarsely.
Fry the cumin seeds in a little oil, then add the onion plus more oil and some butter, and saute till translucent. Put in the ginger, garlic, chilies, and the powdered spices, and when the fragrance rises add the tomato and stirfry soft.
Decant everything into the lentil pot, and bring back to simmer temperature. Cook for about ten minutes, then squeeze in some lemon or lime juice for a fresh tanginess, and add salt and black pepper as appropriate. Garnish liberally with chopped cilantro, and a sprinkle more ginger, freshly slivered.


This is splendid as is, with white rice, cucumber-yoghurt, and achar.
 I also think it's superb with chunks of roasted fatty pork.
Or high quality pork sausage, grilled.
I am not a Pakistani.



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