Birthday Cake

I’ve had a perfectly lovely day, thank you. Lunch with my girlfriends, a spot of shopping and lots and lots of sun. Plus, birthday kisses from my son, the best-ever birthday present from Sid, and tons of emails and phone calls and Facebook wishes from all of you!

What more could a birthday girl ask for?

What’s that? Did I hear you say, “Cake?”

Perfectly right you are - Cause every Birthday Gal deserves Birthday Cake.

The problem is, of course, is that if I’ve got to have Birthday Cake, I’ve got to make it myself!

Is that bad? Like throwing one's own party? Well – I can’t really help it, can I? Because Sid can’t bake. But that’s alright, cause he’s a dude and he has other strengths and one really can’t be good at everything. Unless you’re George Clooney. Swoon. Die. (And then eat Hummus and come to life again.)

Yeah, so Sid can’t bake. But I have been hard at work teaching Ranbir. Since I’d really like him to be good at everything. And given that he can’t walk and can’t really talk, he’s totally helping my cause. And on the baking front – I must admit, we haven’t been very successful either. See, we cruise along just fine until we get to the bit where I ask him to measure out the bicarbonate of soda. Then he just stares at me as if he doesn’t understand what bicarbonate of soda is.

It confounds me.

Anyhow, I’m confident that by my next birthday he’ll be whipping ‘em out like a miniature male Nigella Lawson. He’ll be two and half then. Or am I being over-ambitious? What do you think?

So: yes, getting back to the task at hand – it appears then, by my very logical process of elimination, that it’s all down to me, folks. So, shall we give it a go?

Now, first things first. I don’t know about you, but Birthday Cake to me, is always, always, always Chocolate. It’s just the way it is. Nothing else will do.

In fact, quite sadly, the only Birthday Cake I remember from my childhood is the one where it wasn’t chocolate. It was one of those fancy figure cakes - Snow White, I think. Or was it the one with the glass slippers? Cinderalla? I rather think it was. Because I distinctly remember there being a large Pumpkin in the background. And wasn’t that what the handsome prince turned into? Or was it the frog that turned into the prince?? (I’m not going to tell you how old I am today, but I’m clearly too old for Fairy Tales. Which is sad. And rather Grim(m).

Anyhow, whatever my cake was that year – I can tell you with absolute and positive certainty that it was Pineapple. And I remember this because I’d have happily exchanged all the Cinderella’s’ (or was in Sleeping Beauties?) in the world for some good old Chocolate Cake. I feel terrible about admitting this of course, because having just become a parent, I can appreciate how hard parents work on thinking up new party ideas and themes and characters and cakes and flavours every single year for like 13 straight years. And it sounds terribly ungrateful of me to complain.  

I never said it then, because I didn’t want to hurt my parents’ feelings.

Now of course, I don’t give a damn about their feelings.

Kidding. Only kidding.  Thankfully they compete with each other on which one of the two is most technologically challenged, so I’m fairly confidently that my secret lies safe in the vast but unattainable realms of cyberspace.

So yes, I believe – deep within my aging heart – that Birthday Cake’s gotto be chocolate. It just does. That’s all.

Now before we begin, I have to caution you to follow this one at your own risk because I will publicly admit that I’m absolutely rubbish at baking. Food is a different story. With food, you throw in a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and if you’re (somewhat) creative and (largely) lucky, you end up with something that can be quite satisfying, But baking? Baking means figuring out if 1/3 is greater than 2/6. And baking requires a level of patience and precision that I fundamentally lack. I just don’t think I was born with either. Which is why, with this cake that I’m just about to make, I’m whizzing everything in a food processor. Because I can’t bear to measure out and mix a hundred different things separately in a hundred different bowls. And then wash them all. Especially on my birthday. It’s insufferable. So, for all the lazy cooks out there – here’s a super short-cut route to some pretty darn tasty Birthday Cake.

Here’s what you need:
For the cake:

-         250g  bitter-sweet chocolate - I use the Chocolate Society's Cooking Chocolate, 70% cocoa-filled little ovals of heaven!

-         1/2 cup unsalted butter

-         3 eggs

-         2 cups sugar

-         2 tsp vanilla extract

-         1 tsp baking soda

-         2 cups flour

-         1/2 cup cocoa powder

-         1 1/2 tsp baking powder

-     1/2 cup of sour cream

-      1/2 tsp salt

For the Ganache:

-         1/2 cup heavy cream

-         180g bitter-sweet chocolate

And, here’s how you do it:

Preheat the oven to 180°C and line and butter your baking tin. Add all the cake ingredients - flour, sugar, baking powder and bicarb (this is where Ranbir stares at me like a deer in the headlights), cocoa, butter, eggs, vanilla and sour cream - into a food processor and process until you have a thick, smooth, creamy batter.  Pour the batter into the prepare tin and bake about 25-30 minutes - check by using a fork to see if it comes out clean.

Make the ganache: Finely chop the chocolate. In a saucepan bring cream to a boil over moderately low heat. Remove pan from heat and add in the chopped chocolate, whisking until chocolate is completely melted.  Let cool slightly, then pour it over cake until it is completely covered.

Sorry, but now I'm going to need to excuse myself so that I can admire what we've just created. 
Sigh. It’s beeeeaaaautiful.

Chocolatey and rich and luscious and moist and melting...just the way Birthday Cake should be.

So, come, celebrate with me. Go on – count the calories another time.

Because, it’s my birthday. But mostly: Because, you’re worth it!

:)

Immortality, anyone?

So, I’ve just read an article that says eating meat will “increase my risk of dying.”
(7 Reasons Not to Eat Meat.)

Hmmmm. Let’s all put our thinking caps on and process this wild and wonderful insight, shall we?

“Increase my risk of dying?”

Umm. Okay. Hang on a minute: if eating meat will “increase my risk of dying,” will not eating meat decrease my risk of dying?

Really?? Because – call me naïve – but all this time, I have gone through life believing that I will – eventually – die. Which, my poor mathematical skills notwithstanding, implies that my risk of dying is a 100%, no matter what I do.  No?

Come on people, if you want to give me serious advice on matters of life and death, couldja first please just learn how to write? I mean, go ahead - tell me that eating meat will increase my risk of dying younger or earlier or more rapidly or whatever (and I might even believe you) – but please don’t tell me that eating meat will "increase my risk of dying.” Because in doing so, you are implying that not eating meat will keep me alive forever. 

Which is really a bunch of hogwash. 

And so, even if I wanted to believe you (in the deep, dark recess of my subconscious mind) – now, I don’t.

And so, I’m going to eat meat – gobs of it – for the rest of my (not-immortal) life. 

So there.

Anyway and anyhow, apologies for the ranting. But, I’m an English Major. And badly written articles (no matter how illuminating) bother me. Of course, if you overlook – (but just for a minute because I really can’t stand much more than that) – the poor use of the English language and the highly misleading promise of eternal life, there is another problem with this article.

And that of course is - as my friend Elizabeth, rightly says - tomorrow there’ll be another one that exactly and precisely contradicts it. Such as one that tells me a Vegan diet will kill me. As will carrots and cell phones. You see, too little exercise will give me a heart attack, while too much “creates free radicals which cause cell damaging, oxidative stress.” Not a clue what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.

(Is Exercise Causing Damage to Your Body?)

And it doesn’t stop there. 

Too much sleep will shorten my life (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/1820996.stm)
and too little sleep (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep_deprivation) has caused death in lab animals. 

And so it seems, my friends, that the only way one can escape dying – is to die!

Anyhow, while I’m still around on this bountiful Earth, I thought I’d to put my meat-eating, under-exercised, sleep-deprived, ready-to-explode-any-second, BOOM... 

...brain to work and think about the kind of foods that have (in my view) a near-zero chance of killing you, so that I could write about them on Yummyami, and help you all prolong your lives. That – I thought magnanimously – would be my good deed for the day.

And so I’ve been thinking and thinking. And thinking.

And I don’t know if it’s the meat or what, but I gotta tell you – I’m struggling. I mean I can think of loads of things that fit the bill. Like cucumbers. But then I couldn’t really tell you what to do with them. Except the obvious I mean. Such as:

1. Peel cucumber. Or leave unpeeled.

2. Cut into vertical strips.

3. Or slice. 

4. Or dice.

5. Eat until you (never) die

This is not a recipe. This is a travesty.

This means that you would never read me. 

And:

What’s the idea of writing, if I’m never to be read

What’s the magic of living, if I’m never to be dead

Aha!

And so, since I aim to please, I have thought of one thing. One thing that satisfies the three cardinal requirements of today’s Yummyami post: It must be 1) good for you, 2) tasty (or what’s the point of it all) and 3) require you do to a tad bit more than pluck it off a tree.

And that one thing – (drumroll please) – is Hummus.

Now, I have a love affair with hummus. Indeed, I have had for many, many years. Hummus and I met when I was in college and over the past decade (decade? yikes!), we have grown to love, respect and understand each other. We’re like an old married couple in a marriage that never gets old. Ha! The stuff that romance books are made of. Yep, it's true - we have it, Hummus and I. That perfect relationship where the passion remains (and grows), but there is also trust and friendship. Reliability, dependability and (always) fidelity. Hummus will never let me down, nor I – it.  In fact, since I’m so “in the moment,” let me formally declare my love. 

(Sorry Sid, you’ve just been displaced for some beige mush.)

So – here we go:

I, Yummyami, take thee, Hummus, for my lawful companion, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, through thick and thi…

Umm. What was that?  Thin?

Uh oh. 

So sorry, but I’m going to need to amend these vows. Cause I aint staying faithful to any Runny Hummus! Every girl’s got standards, you see. And this girl needs her hummus to be thick. 

At all times. 

Or I might be compelled – despite my better judgment – to go back to Sid.

But no worries – that’s hardly a show-stopper! Because hummus is meant to be thick. And creamy. And delicious. Let’s give it a go, shall we?

Now, hummus is not a difficult recipe. I’ll be honest - it’s not easy. (Like cucumber.) But it’s not difficult either. Yet, most of us – myself included– just grab the stuff off the shelf.  I mean, why not? It’s sitting there in a neat little pot, all nicely packaged, just waiting to be grabbed – and you think to yourself: why bother?

You have a point. But here’s the thing – just try my recipe and you’ll see the difference. This is the “Real Stuff” and if you have the time and the inclination, Hummus made fresh tastes sooooo much better! Honestly! And to boot - no preservatives to kill you either!

I mean I’ve asked Perfect Husband to step aside for Perfect Hummus. That accounts for something. No?

So, here you go folks!

Here’s what you need:

- 2 cups dried chick peas (I think these work so much better than tinned ones), soaked overnight
, in about twice the quantity of water

- 1 tbsp salt


- 3 garlic cloves, peeled 

- 3/4 cup tahini or sesame seed paste


- 1/2 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice


- 1/4 tspn paprika or cayenne pepper

- Pinch of cumin

- 1 tspn extra virgin olive oil

I hope you can appreciate, by the way, that I painstakingly googled all the above ingredients to make sure none of them will kill you. And I can safely declare that they won't. As of today, that is. As of tomorrow - not so sure. Anyhow, live for the moment, the wise men say - so here's how you do it:

Drain the soaked chickpeas, and put them in a saucepan with water and salt. Bring to a boil and cook over medium heat, uncovered, until the chick peas are soft.  Remember, we’re ultimately going to mush these, so they need to cook until they’re almost falling apart – this can take upto 2-3 hours. Just read a book or twiddle your thumbs or something. You may need to add more water if the chick peas seem to be boiling dry.
 Meanwhile, in a food processor, chop the garlic cloves. Add tahini, lemon juice and water, process until smooth and completely mixed – you want to balance the heat of the garlic, with the zing of the lemon. Now, add the cooked and drained chickpeas, cumin and cayenne to the bowl of the food processor with the tahini mixture. Process until well blended, while adding water, as needed. Go slow with the water – thick hummus can be thinned (with water) but runny hummus takes a lot more work to make thick again! And runny hummus is a deal breaker, remember? Never vow to stay true to runny hummus. You're better off with a Sid.

When it's all done, serve topped with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and enjoy with literally anything you have on hand – chips, cracker, pita wedges, carrots sticks, cucumber…anything goes! And it’s the versatility of this dish that makes me go all soft in the knees and causes my heart to race and the butterflies to do their thing (whatever it is that they do), inside of me.  

That, and the fact that its good for you. Oh SO good for you. You see, hummus is high in iron and vitamin C and folate and vitamin B6.  The chickpeas make it a good source of protein and fiber; the tahini – which consists mostly of sesame seeds, is an excellent source of methionine (a good amino acid). Depending on your recipe, it carries varying amounts of monounsaturated fat (the good kind). And finally – it is great for vegetarians because it serves as a complete protein. 

And of course – like I endevour to make all Yummyami recipes – it is absolutely delicious. Thick and creamy and nutty and silky smooth. Yum!

So: till death do us part then? 

Or: if I eat you, and only you (maybe with some cucumber thrown in) – is there a chance that I may live forever?

Scrambling For My Life!

Well, the truth is, folks that I don’t like breakfast.

I know, I know. It’s a terrible thing to say. And just by saying it, I know I’ve offered up my name to be added to the hit list of every Nutritionist out there.

Well, I’m sorry – don’t shoot please. Because while I believe you when you say that eating breakfast is a matter of national importance, I still don’t like it.

I’ve thought about this. A lot. Because face it, it’s not very often that I put anything to do with food and the words “not like” in the same sentence.  So, I have thought about it. And come to the conclusion that I don’t like breakfast because breakfast (to me) is mind-numbingly boring.  I’m talking about breakfast at home, mind you. Not brunch. Now, brunch, I adore. Brunch like the kind you get at a New York City diner on a glorious Sunday morning, with plates of Eggs Royale and endless glasses of Bellini and a jazz band and a view of the Park. Now, that stuff is good enough to actually make waking up on weekends worth it. Nah, I’m talking about the everyday, normal (read: boring) breakfast one eats at home.

Take, for instance, the following common breakfast foods:

Toast: boring

Cereal: boring (although they make something called Cranberry Nut Crunch in the Land where George Bush lives.  Which more than compensates.)

Porridge: (oh-so) boring

Fruit and yogurt: Very virtuous, but every day? Ho hum.

Croissants etc: can be (highly) interesting, but unless you’re French (or my Mother-in-law), you’ll rapidly outgrow your clothes if you make a habit of routinely consuming these innocent looking, butter-laden monsters.

Muffins/Bagels/Pancakes/Waffles: as above - just replace “French” with “American.” Who it turns out, are actually quite happy to routinely outgrow their clothes. And (based on my limited understanding of the financial hole we’re all in right now) replace them with new ones by spending money they think they have.

(Yikes. Given how high my readership is from the North American continent, I think I may have just killed the goose that lays the golden eggs - and effectively put myself on plenty more hit lists...)

Right. Moving swiftly on.

Eggs.

Now, I love eggs. Eggs are not boring. Eggs are amazing.

But it takes time and effort (and tlc) to make eggs.

And most mornings, I’m usually running thin on all of the above.

Which is why, as you know from my post here, breakfast is usually always Sid’s domain. He’s got more tlc than you can imagine. In fact he’s brimming over with tlc. That’s why I married him. That, and because he brings me Snoopy-slippers from Hongkong. Ears sticking out from the sides and all. Adorable (the slippers, I mean...)

Anyhow, today is one of those oh-so-rare mornings, where I’ve thrown my hands up in the air and succumbed. To time, and effort, and, argh - tlc.

Because my child has turned his nose up at most everything else I’ve offered him: toast, cereal, porridge, fruit & yogurt, (boring, all boring) and being neither French, nor American, and nor, for that matter, my mother-in law – I don’t stock the rest at home.

And because my heinous habit of skipping breakfast notwithstanding, he must eat breakfast.

And because if I make something sufficiently yummy, maybe I can eat some too.

There.  You can all nod approvingly and strike my name off your hit lists now. Well, at least all the Nutritionists can. The Americans can keep me on their most-wanted. Since it takes them, oh about 10 years, to hunt down the really scary ones anyway, I think I have enough time to scope out a neat little hideaway somewhere in the Afghan mountains.

More pressingly however, in the here and now, I’m left with no choice but to make eggs.

And while I’m at it (and because I’m worth it J) I decide to go the whole hog and make Indian style scrambled eggs. Tomatoes, chillies, and all. Which of course, simply by virtue of being Indian, takes even more time, effort (and tlc) than normal. But then, simply by virtue of being Indian, is utterly and totally delicious.

This is the stuff I grew up with, see. You ask for scrambled eggs in India, and this is usually the stuff you get. The cooks there have gotten so used to chopping up onions and tomatoes and chillies all the time that the idea of a meal without them – the very idea that you can make and actually consume eggs cooked in a splash of milk and a little bit of butter, that’s all, – is unfathomable.

So when you’re in India and you want scrambled eggs, whether at a road side food stall (my favourite kind of establishment) or a restaurant, or the train station or on the dining table at home on a lazy Sunday morning – in your pyjamas and glasses, coffee mug in your hands, dog at your feet – odds are, this is the stuff you’ll be served.

Here’s what you need

- 4 eggs

- 1 onion, finely chopped

- 1 tomato, chopped

- 1 green chilly (Id have used more if it was just for me)

- ¾ inch ginger, finely chopped

- 1/2 cup coriander leaves

- 2 tbsp oil

- Salt, to taste

Here’s how you do it:

Heat oil and add chopped onions and fry them until they turn translucent. Now add in the chopped chillies and ginger and stir well at medium heat. Add the tomatoes, and salt and stir well.

Separately, beat the eggs in a bowl and add to the onion-chilly-tomato mixture and cook evenly. You are done once the eggs have set. You don’t want the eggs to be runny, but you don’t want them to be dry either. Hence the constant allusion to tlc. This dish does need one to pay attention. Anyhow, when all ready, top with coriander leaves (that truly magical stuff) and serve immediately!

I’m loath to admit it, but this is one of the most scrumptious and elaborate breakfasts I have had in ages. That is, excluding eating breadomlate on the street at 4am, Sunday breakfasts with my family, and that one time – long, long ago, in a Kingdom Far Away – that my husband made me breakfast.

And...it would seem that I’m now on yet another most-wanted. And my husband’s far deadlier than any other special-interest group! The snowy peaks of the Afghan mountains beckon – so I’d better scramble for my life, while I let you scramble those eggs. 

Happy Scrambling!

A Spring in My Step

Food writing is my guilty pleasure. I write in snatched time. When Life pauses long enough to let me.  But when I do, it is the best part of my day. I lose myself in words, and there is nothing in the world that gives me greater pleasure than this – turning into Yummyami and losing myself in words.

I’ve just handed in a large project for work that’s consumed me for the last two weeks. So, I am free again for a bit and it feels soooo good!  

Besides work, my latest preoccupation  has been trying to get Ranbir to walk! He’s got my lazy gene, it seems. The very thought of moving is a chore.  And so, much to his dismay, I’ve turned into Cruella de Vil, and we’ve been practicing every opportunity we get.

Like today.

Today, I decide not to take the pram when I go to pick him up from school. I’m hopeful that we can try and walk back home, at least part of the way. It seems like a good day to do it. The sun is out and it is – dare I say it – warm!!?  After weeks of unceasing, unforgiving chill – cold, dark days and colder, darker nights – this feels like a holiday by the sea. 

So I pick him up. He seems in good spirits, all smiles and twinkly-eyed.  And why not? It is truly glorious out today. Blue skies. Gentle breeze. Birds chirping. And the sun.

And so we walk. I face him, walking backwards, bending my knees, holding both his little hands firmly in mine, as he takes steps forward, tentatively, lurching sideways, tottering like a drunk.

Baby steps.

How amazing that we all start like this.

We have many adventures on our short walk home, Ranbir and I. Everything is a source of awe and wonderment. When a car goes by, he points and says, “Caaa...”  When a big red van goes by, he points and says, “Baaa...” - although it’s not a bus at all! And when a scooter passes, fast as lightening, faster than his little brain can work out, he says, “Uh oh”

He’s gotten bolder, in just minutes, as he grows to trust me, trust my grip. He’s walking in a straight line now, gallantly, like a little warrior – Ranbir, his namesake.

He’s going faster to match my pace. I’m going slower to match his. We carry on like this, until we are locked in our own little rhythm. Me facing him, holding his hands, walking backwards. In tempo. We are dancing, little Ranbir and I. To the melody of birds.

Strangers smile as they pass.

Suddenly he stops in mid stride and I almost lose my balance. “What?” I ask, faintly annoyed. Eyes open wide, he points to something behind me. I turn around and follow his gaze.

He is pointing at something beautiful, dark green and red – a single burst of colour amidst a brown sea of bare branches.

It is a cherry tree. Covered in its entirety with bright red fruit. They are growing together in little clusters, each tiny and perfectly round.  

Baby cherries.

Ranbir doesn’t know this of course but he has discovered something profound. He has discovered the start of Spring.

I bend down so that I am on my knees now, side by side, next to my little warrior. When I do this, we are roughly the same height! How close the ground seems, and how far away the sky. And we are under the branches of the cherry tree, surrounded by little red fruit. They are everywhere, tickling our ears, and the tops of our heads - close enough to stick our tongues out and grab a few right into our mouths! It is a new and utterly delightful perspective.  

And suddenly, standing there with him, under this budding Cherry blossom, I find myself inside his little body, and I look at the world with his eyes.  

I smile.

And I know.

I know that as slowly but surely as Spring will come, that soon, very soon - slowly but surely - Ranbir will walk, alone and unaided, into the wild and wonderful world.

I pick him up - all chubby 16 months of him - into my arms, and run to the lovely fruit lady around the corner from my home. I buy cherries – grown-up ones, dark red and ripe, plump and juicy.

Here’s what we do:

For the Cherry Mix

- 4 cups fresh cherries

- 3/4 cup water

- 3/4 cup castor sugar

- 2 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch

For the Crumble

- 4 tablespoons butter

- 1/3 cup packed brown sugar

- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

- 1/2 cup finely chopped walnuts or pecans (optional)

Here’s how we do it:

Heat the oven to 190C/375F.

Lightly butter five, 5-ounce custard cups (or muffin molds or ramekins.) When buttering, coat the bottoms first, then butter the sides using upward strokes.

Meanwhile, pit the cherries – and please resist the temptation to go through the entire blessed lot while you’re at it!

In a medium saucepan, combine the cherries, water, 3/4 cup sugar, and 2 1/2 tablespoons of cornstarch. Stir well over medium heat. Bring to a simmer; reduce heat and let it cook uncovered for about 10 minutes, stirring frequently. Divide the cooked cherry mixture evenly into each buttered custard cup.

Now, combine all the crumble ingredients together and sprinkle evenly over each cherry-mix filled cup.  

Put the ramekins in the oven and bake for 25 to 30 minutes until the crumble is nicely browned and crunchy.

And listen when I tell you that there is nothing, nothing, nothing in the world that compares with the aroma of just-baked crumble!!

And so it’s time to eat.

Sid is away this evening. It is just Ranbir and me.

We eat the cherry crumble together. It becomes our dinner, 2 for him, 2 for me, and 1 (upon mutual agreement) put away for daddy. And as we lick our plates clean, I tell him that I’m going to spend the next 7 years in the gym. He doesn’t understand a single word of course, but nods solemnly all the same.

I put on some music on a whim, hold his hands and kneel down so I am back to being about Ranbir’s height. We twirl around once and he bursts into squeals of laughter.

So we do it again, simply because it makes us happy. We are full of Cherries. Spring is around the corner. My baby boy will walk soon, very soon. What’s there not to be happy about?

We twirl and we twirl and we twirl.

Norav's Adventures With Thai Food

As you know from my last post, The Red Carpet, I’ve been on an obsessive Thai food phase of late. It’s been a week now and all I ever want is Tom Kha Kai and Yam Ma Khuea Koong Pao and Choo Chee Koong Nang and Kai Phad Med Ma Muang Him Ma Parn. Like, all the time.

(By the way, I challenge you to say all that in one breath. Do it and you’re invited home to a Thai meal, cooked by Yours Truly. Scout’s honour!)

Anyhow, see - I’m usually not the kind to go on food phases. I don’t like phases. Phases are mucho-boring. Variety, on the other hand, keeps me on my toes. And it’s nice to be on my toes. I was born a little short.

But my Thai food kick? I just can’t seem to kick it!

So, naturally, I was beyond thrilled when, after weeks of hearing on the foodie-rumour-mill (yes, there is such a thing), that Norav had become a True Thai Masterchef, I finally got invited for an authentic Norav-cooked Thai meal! Yay!

I must confess, this was possibly due (in no small part) to the wistful look in my eyes every time I met Norav. Wistful eyes are an excellent strategy, by the way, if you’ve haven’t tried it. It is a strategy most subtle and ladylike. Much more effective than screaming in your loudest voice “When are you inviting me over?” That can (rarely) have the unintended effect of putting off your host for life.

Anyhow, before we go into Thai cooking and all its splendour,  in minute and excruciating detail, wanna know something funny?
Norav isn’t a person!
Now when I say Norav isn’t a person, I don’t mean Norav is a little green Martian with a big head. Or anything like that.
When I say Norav isn’t a person, what I mean is: Norav are two people!

Norav, the deserving protagonist(s) of this post are a wonderful soon-to-be-married couple, individually known as Nora and Gaurav, whose names have been lovingly (and inventively) united together by me.
So, Nora + Gaurav = Norav.

Beautiful.

Well, at least I think so. They don’t (incidentally). But that’s tough luck, because I won’t stop. Referring to them as ‘Nora and Gaurav’ when you can just use ‘Norav’ seems utterly wasteful to me. The only other alternative I will consider is ‘Gora.’
But you will all agree, I think, that Norav is infinitely more becoming.

Anyhow, this post is about the two of them, in unison, their joint culinary skills and their Adventures with Thai Cooking. And the two shall therefore, by decree, henceforth (and Till Kingdom Come) be referred to, as Norav.

Now, wanna know something else that’s funny?
Norav are not Thai. As in – neither Nora nor Gaurav is Thai.
Gaurav is Indian, and Nora is – Hungarian!
Would you ever in a million years have guessed it?

Which of course is what makes this all so exciting! Because cooking the kind of food you’ve grown up with is great. Because it’s familiar and comforting and nostalgic and it makes you think of your mother and your grandmother and there’s something rather special about that. I’d argue it’s perhaps what you do best.  But – venturing outside your comfort zone, this brave foray into unchartered waters, trying new, unfamiliar cuisines, testing your own boundaries - I love this!

And Norav are fantastic in this regard.
They are experimental and adventurous and worldly and interesting. They love to try new food and travel to new places and meet new people. I suppose the Indo-Hungarian combo says it all.  And I love this about them.

Sid and I and The Closet Gourmand (aka Pritam Basu) have spent many a memorable evening with this warm and welcoming and fun and loving (and fun loving!) couple over wine, cheese, Hungarian chorizo, Arabian dates (don’t ask), and the most divine chocolate coated cherries in the world (and I don’t even like chocolate). And we’ve sat down – in the garden under the stars on a warm summer evening, or cuddled up indoors under cosy blankets on a cold winter night – and talked. About everything. They are that rare combination of person that you can laugh with, uncontrollably, over things that you’d usually deem too childish to share, that challenges you intellectually, unafraid to question your preconceived notions and biases - all the while making you feel so completely comfortable .

Having you as friends, Norav, has been a pleasure.

And now, I think we’ve all had more than enough syrupy praise for a lifetime, thank you very much.

So zipping along to topics far more interesting...
(Not to say that Norav are not interesting. They are. Exceedingly so. But life, quite sadly, is relative.)

So, zipping along, then, I think it’s time to discuss the highly pleasurable, completely delectable, and mad-obsession causing meal that Norav created for us. I could pay a lot of good money for Thai food and not get any better that this. I mean, it was enough to set me off on a Thai phase. And I never go on phases. To my simple little brain, I think there is no higher praise.

So, here is what we ate:

We started off with a hot, spicy, creamy, coconuty chicken soup that they got just right. A harmonious coming together of the senses, it was the perfect balance of sweet and salt and spice and sour.  To follow, there was a shrimp and broccoli stir-fry – fresh, juicy, plump shrimp and perfectly cooked, broccoli - al dente and all. A bit of garlic and spring onion and chilli – and voila – a wonderfully light, tasty, satisfying dish. The final entre which totally blew me away, not only because it was so good, but because it was so maddeningly innovative, was a Thai stir-fried salmon. Alaskan salmon, soaked in flavours of lemon and olive oil and ginger, so fresh that it took me a few seconds to figure out that it was fish! Delicious!

Now, if I’ve accomplished what I’ve set out to accomplish with this post, then by now, you’re all gagging to know how Norav made all this.  So, here are the recipes (and the tips) directly from the Chefs.

But before I reveal all - here’s the thing with Thai food: It presupposes an ingredient list more formidable than other cuisine I can think of. I mean, things like Galangal and Kaffir lime are enough to make your eyes glaze over. But relax. You can find perfectly acceptable substitutes or do completely without it.  Naturally, nothing compares to chucking in the authentic stuff, but you’re not cooking for MasterChef, you’re just cooking for yourself.  And for a bit of fun!

So I’ve taken the liberty of putting an E next to the ingredients I consider Essential. And the others? If you have them, or can easily get your hands on them – great. If not, use whatever you have. Believe me, no ones going to be able to tell the difference.

So, here we go, adventuring!

1) Thai Tom Kha Soup

Here’s what you need:

-          Coconut Milk , 400ml - E

-          Water, 2 cups - E

-          Lemon Grass, 1 stalk, cut to 1″ pcs (use lime juice, it’s fine) - E

-          Galangal, 6 pcs.

-          Kaffir Lime Leaves (use lime juice or rind) - E

-          Baby Corn (small size) – 5

-          Bamboo Shoots – 10-15 slices 

-          Straw Mushrooms – 5-6

-          Thai Basil, 2 sprigs - E

-          Tomato , 1, med, cubed - E

-          Mushrooms , 5-6 , sliced

-          Chicken breast, 400g

-          Spring Onions, 1 stalk, chopped - E

-          Lime, 1 good squeeze - E

-          Cilantro, 5 sprigs - E

-          Soy Sauce or Fish Sauce , to taste - E

-          Palm Sugar,  to taste (use any sugar) - E

-          Thai Chilli, to taste (use any chilli) - E

-          Salt , to taste - E

Method:

In a sauce pan, pour out the coconut milk from their cans. Add water and allow the mixture to come to a boil on medium heat. Add in the galangal, lightly bashed lemon grass, lime leaves or rind, and Thai chillies. Mix and allow the soup to boil for 15 minutes. Now, add in the palm sugar, soy sauce and the salt. Taste to get the right balance. When you are satisfied, add in the chicken and a few minutes later the vegetables you choose to add. Norav used baby corn, bamboo shoots, straw mushrooms, regular mushrooms and tomatoes – which worked perfectly, but feel free to vary it around as you like. Add in a few basil leaves to the soup for flavour. Once the soup is boiling, add in the lime juice and the spring onions. Switch off the stove and pour in a serving bowl. Garnish with some more basil and cilantro, and serve piping hot!

Chef’s Tip:
1. It is very important to get the right balance of the sweet, sour and salt from the palm sugar, soy sauce and lime, respectively.
2. Do not add too much soy sauce or it may ruin the colour of the soup.

2) Stir-fried Prawns with Broccoli

Here’s what you need:

-          King prawns, 100-150g - E

-          Broccoli, 1 medium size - E

-          Mushroom, few slices

-          Spring onion, 1 stalk, chopped - E

-          Garlic, 2 pods, minced - E

-          Thai Chilli (or any chilli) - E

-          Oyster Sauce, 1tbsp

-          Olive oil, 1 tbsp - E

-          (Light) Butter, 1tbsp

-          Black pepper, to taste - E

-          Salt, to taste - E

-          Soy sauce, to taste, E

Method

In a sauce pan or wok, sauté the broccoli for a few minutes. Remove quickly from the fire and set aside. Now, with all Asian stir-fry’s, as I keep banging on about (see my post on Vegetable Stir Fry, here), you really need your wok to be hot enough to add smokiness to the flavour. This makes all the difference in the world. You’ll see!

So, heat your wok and get it smoking hot first. Now add some olive oil and the chopped garlic. When the garlic starts to sputter, add in the prawns and season with black pepper, salt, and chilli. Stir-fry slowly on medium heat. Now, add in the vegetables (broccoli and mushroom, in this case). Pour in some oyster sauce and soya sauce and cook everything for approx 8-10 min. Stir in the broccoli at the very end. To complete, add in some (light) butter and stir it very carefully until the butter completely melts in your dish. Take it off the flame and serve hot!

Chef’s Tip:
1. Try not to over-cook the Broccoli, the crunch is great.

3) Salmon with soy sauce and ginger

Here’s what you need:

-          (I've used Alaskan) Salmon, 300g - E

-          Ginger, to taste - E

-          Soy sauce, to taste - E

-          Olive oil, 1 tbsp - E

-          Lemon, to taste - E

-          Salt, to taste - E

-          Black pepper, to taste- E

-          Green salad leaves, to serve

-          Jasmine rice, to serve

Method

In a wok or pan, heat the ginger in some olive oil on medium heat. Once the ginger starts to give off a delicious, spicy aroma, increase the heat to high and add the chopped salmon. Fry it for 5 min.  Once the fish is fully cooked, add in salt, black pepper, soy sauce, and lemon juice and stir together for another 5 min.  To serve, place it on a "nest" of green salad leaves with some Jasmine rice on the side.

Now, on the wonderful evening in question, when Nora brought out all this fantastic food and laid it on the table, she made a little announcement. In her usual sweet, shy, soft-spoken manner, she said, “I hope you all enjoy everything, because it’s been cooked with a lot of love!”

Love.  Aah, the most elusive ingredient of all.
I don’t know where you find it, but our Chef says you can’t do without it.

So I’m adding it to the ingredient list:  
Love – E.  Essential!