Monday, October 20, 2008

Recipe: Chhole (Chickpea Curry)

I hosted my book club last night and thematically served an all vegetarian, Indian-with-a-hint-of-Anglo meal (we read "The Indian Clerk," historical fiction but very much based on reality - the story of the Cambridge don and mathematician G. H. Hardy's encounter with the genius-but-unschooled mathematician and upper caste vegetarian Srinivasa Ramanujan, brought to Trinity College from South India and treated as an exotic specimen of "Hindoo calculator" by Hardy and his colleagues).

The menu: hariyali tikki sandwiches; chhole (chickpea curry) served with imli chutney and brown basmati with browned onions and peas; avial (yogurt curry); gobi masala (cauliflower) with chapatis; chopped raw mushrooms, mild radishes, and baby japanese turnips tossed with chaat masala and lemon and lime juice; red onion salad; and butternut squash raita. One of the book club members brought lemon almond whole grain tea bread and we had that with Concord grapes for dessert.

The cinnamon stick swells up with the curry and imparts a woody spiciness to the whole dish.

Chhole for 8 (served alongside other dishes)

1 1/2 Cups chickpeas, soaked overnight (or ~2 Cups cooked chickpeas)
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 1/2 yellow onions, chopped finely
3 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick (about the length of your forefinger)
1" piece ginger, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 tsp. red chilli powder (optional)
1-2 tbsp. garam masala (to taste)
4 huge or 6 normal-sized tomatoes, skins removed, chopped
If using uncooked chickpeas: about 2 Cups boiling hot water
Leaves from half a bunch of cilantro, washed, drained, and chopped

Heat olive oil over medium heat in a soup pot or pressure cooker pot until hot. Add the chopped onions, cloves, and cinnamon stick and saute until the onions are translucent. Add the ginger and garlic and saute until fragrant (don't let the ginger-garlic brown; don't worry if the onion browns a little). Add the chickpeas, salt, black pepper, red chilli powder (optional), and garam masala and stir to combine thoroughly, until each chickpea is coated with the mixture of oil, onions, ginger-garlic, and spices and the chickpeas are heated through. Then add the tomatoes, stir, add additional salt if necessary, and turn the heat up and bring to boil (at this point, add the boiling water if using uncooked chickpeas), stirring.

If you're using uncooked chickpeas and a pressure cooker, follow the instructions to pressure cook the chickpea curry at this point. If you're using uncooked chickpeas and a regular pot, cover and reduce to medium low heat and simmer until the chickpeas are cooked, ~2 hours. If you're using cooked chickpeas and either a pressure cooker or a regular pot, do not pressure cook, just simmer covered until the tomatoes have broken down into a thick curry (~15 minutes).

Then, at the end, if there is extra liquid, remove the cover and boil until the liquid is reduced, depending on how watery versus thick you want it to be.

Stir in the chopped cilantro after removing from heat but while still hot, just before serving.

Friday, October 17, 2008

Food Poem Fridays: Mary Oliver's AUGUST

August
By Mary Oliver
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is.  In the dark
creek that runs by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Quotable Quote

Cooking is like love.  It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.  

~Harriet van Horne

Friday, October 10, 2008

Food Poem Fridays: Mary Oliver's RICE

Rice
By Mary Oliver

It grew in the black mud.
It grew under the tiger's orange paws.
Its stems thicker than candles, and as straight.
Its leaves like the feathers of egrets,
                                                but green.

The grains cresting, wanting to burst.
Oh, blood of the tiger.

I don't want you to just sit at the table.
I don't want you just to eat, and be content.
I want you to walk into the fields
Where the water is shining, and the rice has risen.
I want you to stand there,
     far from the white tablecloth.
I want you to fill your hands with mud,
     like a blessing.