YOU COOK LIKE A WHITE MAN!

Apparently I cook dhansak like it was cholent, or sumpin'!
A person whom I shall identify by the nickname Bawi wrote about dhansak recipes in general: "Just so you all understand - every single one of these recipes stinks. The method is wrong, and there is no ginger=garlic paste in a truly authentic Parsi Dhansak. All the recipes in Indian cookery books are written by pretenders."
[True enough - a lovely cookbook by a female author whom I shall not name has a dhansak recipe listing the weirdest substitution for dhansak masala. And some cookbooks written for Englishmen add pineapple chunks, apples, or potato. ]


This was in follow-up to the recipe here: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/06/dhansak-or-this-is-why-you-should-never.html and the comments appended thereto, plus an e-mail discussion among several of us.

Bawi is a Parsi. I am not. Her words must outweigh mine on this issue.


So, for comparison's sake, I present the recipe that she uses.


BAWI'S MOM'S DHANSAK

Masala - grind to a fine paste:
One teaspoon Methi (Fenugreek) seeds
Half teaspoon Cumin seeds
4 Cloves
2 Cardamoms (green)
Half inch stick cinnamon
Six to seven dry red chilies (more like chile d'arbol than other)
One clove garlic

One and a half to two teaspoons dhana-jeera masala (add when frying paste)

Dal:
One and a half cups toovar dal
One onion, halved or quartered
Two and a half cups cubed red pumpkin
One eggplant (med - small) - no seeds if possible
One tomato
Half cup cilantro (not chopped)
Three to four sprigs mint (must!)
Four to five green chilies
Salt

Boil all vegetables and dal together until dal is done. Put dal and vegetables through sieve. Heat oil and fry ground masala paste. Add dhana-jeera masala and fry on low heat till done (clarification: the fragrance has changed and the oil has come out). Add dal and bring to boil. Simmer a while longer - about 15 to 20 minutes.

Serve with brown rice (she means Parsi style rice - gilded with some onion and sugar).

Note that there is no meat in this recipe - it is just the lentil gravy. Many cook it with meat (NOT chased through the sieve), and some prefer chicken over mutton, for reasons that are entirely their own. I would add about a pound of mutton, goat, or lamb, in chunks, to this quantity of dal. Browned in onion and spices first.

[Refer back to my recipe for the meat.]

The main difference is that whereas I, cholent-like, leave the vegetables in distinct chunks and the dal slightly textural, she insists that vegetables and dal should be chased through a sieve to yield a smooth puree.
[Hence leaving the cilantro as whole sprigs - it will stay behind in the sieve and not make the finished puree spotty.]
To her, dhansak is meat in thick dal gravy (with the pumpkin and brinjal smoothly incorporated in the gravy). No problem. That works for me too.

Another major difference between her recipe and mine is the absence in her recipe of any souring agent. Nor is there any gol-mirch or tej patta, and here I must somewhat differ of opinion with her, as I consider tej patta an essential (though minor) component, along with a spot of imli.

Where we absolutely come together, with no reservations, is her insistence that there should be ambakalio on the side (she insisted, I looked it up, and it sounds delish).


AMBAKALIO

One pound small green mangoes (or in any case, NOT squishy ripe mangoes)
Half a pound jaggery (palm sugar in big chunks)
A fragment of stick cinnamon
Chopped onion (about a quarter to a half) optional (some recipes leave it out, as would I also).
A green cardamom or two, a whole clove or two.
Water - two to four tablespoons.


Break jaggery apart, put in an enamel saucepan with water, the cardamom, and the cloves. Plus the onion, if despite my better judgment you decided to use it. Cook till the jaggery is dissolved.

Peel, cut, and de-seed the mangoes. Note that very nicely green mangoes will have a tender seed and the flesh will not have become all fibrous around it. Nor will juice and pulp cascade over your hands at this stage of unripeness, and the flesh is firm and fragrant, albeit pleasingly tart.

Add the sliced mango to the jaggery water, and simmer till the mango has softened and the liquid has become stroppy. Serve with the dhansak.

Note re dhana-jeera masala mentioned in the dhansak recipe: I believe this would be roasted and ground coriander and cumin, in the proportions that are fairly standard in almost all cuisines that use these spices in combination: two parts coriander, one part cumin.

Jaggery is palm sugar, rarely coarse molasses (cane) sugar. Somewhat over a cup should do it.

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I posted about cholent (tsholnt) sometime last year. For your convenience, here's the recipe again:


CHOLENT
[Genig tshernt for sechs oder acht mentshen.]

Three quarters of a cup white beans (navy).
Three quarters of a cup red beans (kidney).
Half a cup pearl barley.
One and half pounds brisket or beef shortribs, attacked with a cleaver.
One and a half pounds potatoes, cut into large chunks.
One large onion, or two small - large chunks.
One large tomato, or two small, chopped.
Three to five cloves garlic, chopped.
One and a half TBS paprika.
Two or three bayleaves.
Salt, pepper, sugar, splash of sherry, jigger of Louisiana hotsauce.
Pinches ground cumin, turmeric, and dry ginger.
Olive oil.
Vinegar, to dash if wished.
Six or eight hardboiled eggs, rolled to crack the shells.

[Bonenkruid (Satureiea Hortensis, or Summer Savoury), if you have it in your larder, is an excellent addition - a sprig or goodly pinch added to the pot of beans has a salutary effect. Add it to all bean dishes.]


Soak beans overnight. Cast out the soaking water, and remove any grit or stones. Place in a large enamel stewpot with enough water to cover by an inch. Heat up the oil in a skillet, gild the onion and garlic, remove to the bean pot. Set the skillet aside for use in another hour or so for the meat. Bring the beans and onion to a boil, turn low, simmer for about three hours.

Salt and pepper the meat, and sprinkle just a pinch of sugar over, to facilitate browning. Put the meat in the skillet, brown a bit, stir in paprika and seethe with sherry before it burns, then transfer this also into the bean pot and scrape in the pan-crunchies after the beans have already simmered for about three hours. Add the pearl barley and everything else, burying the eggs and potatoes in the beans. Add a dash of vinegar also, and simmer on a backburner for an hour longer. Judge the liquid level and adjust (probably not necessary), then cover the pot and place it on the blech till Saturday afternoon, when you will serve it.

According to Resh Lakish, you have an extra degree of soul on the sabbath. For that extra soul's sake, please swallow some beano before eating.

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Final rather silly note: If you combine the dhansak and cholent recipes, are you cooking for Parshews?

RUN-AWAY TRAIN

Something e-kvetcher said set off a train of mental associations. This post is dedicated to him in consequence, and you may blame him of you wish.


CHOLENT

One of the things which many people eat with "affection" on shabbes afternoon is cholent (tsholnt: chaud-lent; mediaeval French: slow heat), which is a compound of meat, vegetables, and lentils similar to both Parsi Dhansak and industrial strength spackle, and just as dangerous. According to reliable reports, cholent may contribute to heart disease, arterial sclerosis, obesity, erectile dysfunction, and depression, and may actually have caused the premature demise of more Jews than anything else in history.

It is prepared by placing the filled casserole in a dying oven on Friday before shkiya, so as to be ready to eat on Saturday around midday. But perhaps you should try beid b’hamam instead? Or even some tasty Cassoulet?


Per a discussion in meseches Kilayim (vessels), cholent is quite similar to what Yakov fed Esav, as described in Sefer Bereishis, Parshas Toldos, psook 25:29 - 30: "Va yazed Yakov nazid, va yavo Esav min ha sade ve hu ayef" ('And Jacob seethed a pottage, and Esau, coming from the field, and being faint'), "va yomer Esav el Yakov, haleiteni na min ha adom, ha adom haze ki ayef anochi - al ken kara shemo Edom" ('and Esau said to Jacob ‘let me, I beg of you, have some of this red red pottage, for I am faint – wherefore would he be called Edom').

In short, Yakov wheezled Esav’s birthright out of him in return for some beandip, nebech.

[A metzia. Such a gonif, that Yakov, tssk tssk.]


Note that Edom means 'redness', just as ‘ha adom ha adom’ emphatically points to an intense red. These both derive from adama (earth - think of red clay), whence Adam, the first man, who was made of clay. As in our day only a golem is.

[Golem = A being without a will of it’s own, created to perform the wishes of it’s master; a politician, a State Department functionary. The cognate in Arabic (gulam) means slave.]


Once Esav recovered from the worst indigestion he had ever experienced, he realized that he had been had. Since then, Esav has looked upon Yakov with disfavour.


We are much more fortunate – we have an entire row of stomach medicines at Walgreen’s; everything from pink goo-swill for acid, purple pills for reflux, green once-a-days, E-Z Pepsid, various fruit-flavoured chalk-o-tabs for bile and gas, and swallowable charcoal compounds, to complex chemical cocktails which either tighten you up or loosen you down, plus a wide choice of fibrous substances for regularity, and clay & pectin blends for firmness and smooth passage. Kaolin is a mitzvah!

[But you have to wait (unless you stocked up since last Saturday). The end of shabbes brings as much joy as the beginning did - it ain’t just the bsomim either.]



DHANSAK

Jews are not the only tribe that favour methane-fruit bio-hazards for their day of rest - Parsees like to enjoy a fine dhansak on the weekend, followed by either a long and gut-rumbling-disturbed nap, or a half-hearted attempt at pru-urvu in the sweltering tropic heat of a Bombay afternoon.

[Dhansak = A Parsee dish of mixed lentils, meat (mutton), red pumpkin, kasoori methi (fenugreek leaf), and spices, slow stewed, and served with browned rice and potato croquettes or chicken kababs (marghi ni pattice), often on the weekend.]


Busy Bee (nom de guerre of the journalist, editor, and food-meyven Mr. Behram Contractor, himself a Parsee), often waxed eloquent in his columns for The Afternoon Despatch & Courier about this quintessential Parsee dish.

In his column on August 23, 1991 Busy Bee lamented that "the best restaurants for dhansak are closed. Café Health off Meadows Streets, where old waiters moved about in waist-coats and gave brass finger-bowls at the end of the meal; (--) Patuck next door, and Victory Stall on Apollo Bunder..."

[I wonder what caused 'em to close. Maybe it was artery-clog from too much Parsi Dairy ghee....... Pity though, they sound delightful.]


Excellent dhansak may still be had at the Ripon club, opposite Bombay University, and at CCI and Royal Yacht Club – but these are private clubs, and one must be invited.

So fond are Parsees of their dhansak, that they are nicknamed Dhansakiyas, just like Sindhis have become ‘Papad-khor’.


I think once peysach is over I'll go in search of some methi bhaji, and perhaps some pumpkin. I feel an urge coming on.

VINDALOO EVERYTHING

As I write this, I'm eating lunch. Curry and rice, fish fritters, seethed zucchini.


The best Chinese food we had in Vancouver was when I ate lunch by myself in Chinatown. Two little pastries and a bowl of fish-slice jook at the Boss Bakery and Restaurant on Main Street near East Pender.
[Jook is rice-porridge (congee). It is easy on the digestion, light, and if properly made, very tasty.]


I've always been a sucker for fish-slice jook (魚片粥). Made velvety and smooth, thick slivers of very fresh fish added to poach in the heat of the porridge, a drizzle of sesame oil and some minced chive or scallion over - there is little in this world to compare. It is a very simple dish.


It is also a hell of a lot better than the food we had together at other Chinese restaurants in Vancouver.

Memo to self: do NOT take recommendations from white people about Chinese food. Just remember what the white folk did to tofu - the Chinese had it for over two thousand years, and everything was fine no problem; whitey had it for less than a generation and invented tofurky. QED.

In case you're wondering, SHE took the recommendations from white people. Sometimes Savage Kitten is far too trusting (which explains why she is with me, but let us not go into detail about that). I would never listen to my fellow honkies when it comes to Chinese food. Based on bitter experience.
I also do not go into Chinatown for eaties with most other Caucasians, because for some reason they can't resist ordering sweet and sour pork. Or cashew chicken. It's some kind of atavistic addiction. They're twisted.

One of these days I'll probably be flabbergasted when some glow-in-the-dark of the same bleachy hue as myself orders the claypot eggplant with haahm-yu (salt-fish 鹹 魚).
[Haahm-yu is even more of a cultural determinant than bitter-melon, because even though bitter melon (fu-gwa, Momocordia charantia 苦瓜) upsets most non-Asians, it isn't anywhere near as universally appealing as something salty-fishy-funky-stinko. Most occidentals shy away from either. ]

I did not see bitter-melon in Vancouver, in case you are wondering. But, surprisingly, I did see fresh rambutan (hairy fruit; Nephelium lappaceum) and long-ngaan (dragon eye, dimocarpus longan 龍眼). To the best of my knowledge fresh hairy fruit is not available here. Nor do I believe I've seen fresh long-ngaan often enough. So consequently I am rather jealous.


SOMEONE ELSE'S TRIP
Having returned from my vacation, one of my coworkers is going on hers. This is the season for jaunting.
Pursuant her departure, I asked her: "how many days after you land will it take for you to dig your chompers into some dansak and pattice? Wafer per eida?"

She answered: "Dhansak the first Sunday I’m there. Wafer per Eeda, not sure. Haven’t had that in a while. My first priority however, is Suterfeni. I’ve instructed my brother and sister-in-law to have some in the car when they come to Bombay airport to pick me up."

Sounds divine. She's leaving at the end of this week. I hope she has a wonderful time.


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About the title of this post:
Savage Kitten and myself were remembering the most frightful thing we ate while in England a few years ago. Which, hands down, was spam fritter (a thick slice of spam, battered, deep-fried, served still soaking with oil). It was stomach-churning. Far worse than the mahogany-coloured burrito (filled with chipped beef and baked beans) served at a pub. Which was inedible.

One should always be willing to try something new. It is educational.

Most English people, and many Americans, are familiar with the clichéed sweet-and-sour sauce composed of sugar, vinegar, and red food colouring. We first thought that if the spam fritter were treated with sweet-and-sour sauce, in the manner of horrid Chinese restaurants out in the provinces, sales would go through the roof - Anglos just purely love sweet-and-sour sauce (see atavistic addiction mentioned earlier). But it would be probably be far more profitable to serve it as Vindaloo. Anything and everything can be cooked vindaloo.
Vindaloo is a cultural paradigm.

DHANSAK MASALA

A friend is heading towards Poona in another ten days, for a month on the Old Sod. The old sod being not Blighty but India. And herself being not some insipid little trout from the boggy north, but a Parsi.

So I expect her to have gained weight when she returns. Parsis are seriously into food, and before trekking to Poona where her parents live, she'll be in Bombay for a few days. Where there are several places to seriously upload food. Real food. Parsi food.


Jimmy Boy off Horniman Circle, Ideal Corner in the fort, and Paradise in Colaba, near the causeway. All good places for standard Parsi fare. Plus Yazdani Bakery in the fort for excellent baked goods.

All of this is hearsay, of course, because I have never been to Bombay. I just know about it from reading Busybee's loving descriptions of eating out.

Who, you ask, was Busybee?

Busybee was the food-writing persona of the late Parsi journalist Behram Contractor (see here: http://www.busybeeforever.com/timeline.asp), whose meanderings across dinnertime Bombay remain a joy to read and reread, and by which one may remember the man long after his passing.

[For a food-write feast about Dhansak, go here: http://www.busybeeforever.com/viewarticle.asp?filename=eatingout9212004122600.xml&section=eatingout]


However, being the food-slut that I am, I do have first-hand experience with some of the things he writes about, including chicken farcha, sali boti, patrel biriani, sweet-sour carrot pickle, wafer per eeda, and Dhansak.

So, seeing as you have probably yourself always wanted to load up on Dhansak, and, like me, you are not a member of the Rippon Club, you must make your own. With mutton, of course. Plus pumpkin, brinjal, and methi bhaji. And Dhansak Masala.


DHANSAK MASALA
[Parsi spice mixture used primarily for dhansak]

9 Dry chilies (Guajillo or New Mexico chiles secos).
Two and a half TBS coriander seed.
One and a half TBS cumin seed.
One TBS whole peppercorns.
Half a TBS fennel seed.
Half a TBS black mustard seed.
Half a TBS fenugreek seed.
Three Tej Patta (cassia leaves - bay leaf may be substituted, but it isn't really the same).
Three green cardamom pods, seeds only.
One black cardamom pod, seeds only.
One three-inch stick of cinnamon.
One star-anise pod.
Nine whole cloves.
One Tsp. mace.

Roast all spices except the mace. Cool and grind. Add mace and regrind, sift. If it is to be stored use a brown or blue glass jar. Optionally add half a teaspoon of turmeric to inhibit mold if you intend to make more than you will use soon.

To use, mash with about eight or nine cloves of garlic and a thumb of ginger. It will be sufficient for enough dhansak to feed about eight people.

You would use two thirds of a cup of toovar dal (telwalla), one third of a cup each of masoor and moong dal. Slightly more than a pound of red pumpkin, one or two Chinese eggplants, three or four tomatoes, two or three onions, and a small bunch of methi leaves plus a handful of cilantro. You will need about a pound and a half of lamb-stew meat chunks on the bone, up to two pounds.

The procedure is standard, and you probably do not need me to describe it - cook the dals smooshy in one pan, gild the onion, aromatics, spices, lamb in another pan. Then mix everything for further cooking. A small dash of vinegar and a little tamarind may be added for a pleasing tang. Do NOT add pineapple, unless you are Angrezi and more than a little mad.

Serve with kachumber and Parsi brown rice. Plus some lime segments for squeezing. And croquettes or pattice.


Then spend the rest of the afternoon sleeping.

PARSEES

Heavy antique furniture. Picture of Zarathustra on one wall, picture of the queen (Victoria) on the other wall. Scotch whisky. Impeccable English...

Sometimes antiquated slang, from the nineteen thirties. A general lamentation that today's Parsi boys are not up to the manly standards of the past, plus an immense pride in the cricket-greats of the last century. A casual, affectionate aquaintance with European capitols.

If they're from Gujerat, a weird affection for Undhio. If not, they hate the stuff.