Ammi's Phirni

One of the most rewarding things about knowing how to cook is cooking for others, and (believe it or not) I enjoy cooking for others even more than I enjoy cooking for myself. And you know how much I enjoy cooking for myself!

(If you want to think of this as a blanket invitation to come over for a meal, so be it – I'd be thrilled to cook for you, and that’s the truth!)

I've also mentioned in my blog profile, that Sid, my husband, is the love of my life and guinea pig for my culinary creations. This couldn’t be more true – I love, love, love cooking for him – honestly, there are few things in life that give me more pleasure. 

But sadly, I may not have that pleasure today, because in all likelihood this will one of those occasions where Sid is not going to be my guinea pig – not because he doesn't like what I'm cooking. But because he loves it so much.

And if that sounds like the greatest irony of all times, it is.

Because what I’m making today is Phirni.

And Phirni is special.

Phirni was made famous by the late and legendary Ammi.

Phirni was her trademark

Phirni was her triumph

Phirni was consummately hers.

And so it will always be.

Ammi, Sid’s grandmother and chef extraordinaire was an exceptional lady who I had the privilege of knowing and learning from, albeit too briefly. Nonetheless, I am thankful for the time I had  – beggars can't be choosers in this uncanny game of life – one takes what one gets.

Sid often tells me that he is surprised at how badly I took her death – "I don't understand why you seem more upset than me,” he says, “after all she was my grandmother."

True.

She was his grandmother

I only knew her for three years

We lived continents apart

And yet…I felt a kinship with her that was special for a very special reason.

And that is because there is perhaps no one in Sid’s family (or for that matter, mine, barring my own grandmother) who shares my love for food as much as Ammi did.

When we spoke on the phone, we inevitably ended up talking about food - she never tired of it - her enthusiasm evident in the high notes of her voice when I'd ask her how to make this or how to make that, the unmasked delight when I'd report to her that I'd made one of her dishes for friends, and how it was universally declared a resounding success.

I miss that.

I miss her.

So yes:

She was his grandmother

I only knew her for three years

We lived continents apart

It doesn’t matter.

Passion unites like nothing else.

And so in losing her, I lost a friend and an ally.

It’s been an immeasurable loss.

There’s much I learned from Ammi; much that was still left to learn.

For she did many things exceedingly well.

But surely the thing she did best of all was to make Phirni.

When she died, Sid said in an emotional outburst, "I'm going to give up sweets forever!"

Ha! If ever there was anything that was guaranteed to have made Ammi smile, it would have been that statement of extreme bravado. Because Sid has an insatiable capacity to consume sweets (and a mouthful of cavities to show for it!)

So, give up sweets? Hmmm...

“It’s a sweet thought,” I counselled him wisely, as he smiled at my unintentional play on words, “but don't make promises you won't keep.”

He looked at me earnestly “You seriously don’t think I’ll be able to do it?”

I shook my head, no. Positively, no.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he admitted later. “I’m not that strong. Ok, then I will give up Phirni.”

And – as much as he loves it – he hasn’t had it since.

Which is just as well, because no one can possibly match Ammi’s Phirni. It was, quite simply, the best.

I’m going to give it a shot today – it’s a long shot, I know. But everything in life is worth a try. At least, that’s what I believe.

So, here goes nothing – this is Ammi’s Phirni.

Whether Sid chooses to try it or not, I respect his decision. We all have our different ways of showing love.

Making it is mine.

Here’s what you need:

- 4 tablespoons rice

- 1 litre milk

- Saffron, few strands, soaked in milk

- 2 tbsp sugar (you can add more if you like – I think if it’s overly sweet, it takes away from the other flavours, but that's just me)

- 4-5 crushed cardamoms    
- Nutmeg, a tiny "suspicion"

- 10-15 almonds, blanched and sliced   
- 10-15 pistachios
- 10-15 dark raisins

What I don't have, that Ammi's recipe calls for is rose water - if you can get a hold of some, please do sprinkle a few drops in - it will add a distinctive, delicate touch that will kick up the flavour a notch or two. I just have no idea where to get rose water in England!

What I am adding as an experiment, however, is the tiniest amount of nutmeg (a pinch of ground powder or a single grate of the whole nut is more than enough). Nutmeg lends a sweet, spicy, almost camphorlike aroma and I'm hoping it adds a bit of spark to the dish.

Here’s how you do it:

Soak the rice in water for half an hour, and then grind it to a coarse paste so the grains are not visible. I grind my cardamom along with the rice as a silly shortcut!

Bring milk to a boil, stirring all the while. Add rice and crushed cardamom paste and keep stirring. 

When the milk begins to thicken, add sugar and cook till the pudding is of a smooth, custard-like consistency. Add the nutmeg, saffron, nuts and raisins (and rose water, if you can get some). 

Pour into earthenware or glass bowls and chill before serving.

Ranbir watches me as the Phirni sputters and simmers on the stove, filling the kitchen with a rich, warm, comforting aroma of crushed cardamom and nutmeg.

I inhale deeply.

If love had a smell, it would smell like this.

I ruffle Ranbir’s hair with my left hand and keep stirring with my right. I can’t stop stirring for fear of the milk sticking to the bottom of the pan. This is not a difficult dish to make, guys, but it is not quick. So, I stand there, stirring constantly. I stir for a good hour and a half. (Ammi, by the way, stirred for three hours, but if mine’s half as good in half the time, I’ll be happy). So I stir and stir and stir. It is a labour of love. But when it’s done, it’s worth it.

I taste a spoonful of the delicate saffron-scented pudding and I smile to myself. I'm objective about my cooking. I know when something's good, not so good, could be better, simply sucks.

This is nowhere as good as Ammi's.

But had she tasted it, something tells me she would have approved.

It is…

Lush and light...

Warm and nutty and vibrant

A touch of sweet, a hint of spice
A deep penetrating richness

An earthy floral fruitiness
…lingering on my tongue

It is exquisite.

I offer some to Ranbir. He is hesitant at first, tentatively sticking out his tongue to try the teeniest bit. He seems startled by what he tastes – it is not what he expected. Curious now, he opens his mouth for more. And more. And more.

"Mo" he says

"Mama, mo quick."

Sid is watching us intently.

Wordlessly, he walks over to where we sit, takes the spoon from my hand and

dips it into Ranbir's bowl.

"If you made it” he says quietly, “she would have wanted me to..."

And so, he tastes a spoonful of the creamy cardamom-infused sweetness.

I hold my breath.

Then a nod, a slow smile: "It’s really good, Amu, well done."

I take a lot of pride in my cooking. And so it makes me happy when it’s appreciated. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy or as proud. Or as touched.

This was no ordinary dish.

This was different.

This was special.

This was consummately hers.

This was Ammi’s Phirni.

And before I know it, it's polished off. Between father and son. Just like that.

It’s true what they say. There are some things money can never buy.

Friday's Treat: Orange-Chocolate Mousse

Guys, I’ve been wanting to share this recipe for ages, but I’ve been too busy making Eggs Florentine and not making Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Talk about priorities.

But today is Friday.

Which means, today is the day.

Because on Friday – everyone deserves a treat!

And this treat is perfect. Just perfect. Actually, it’s beyond perfect.

Just the thing to kick start a beyond perfect weekend.

So, I’m going to keep this short and sweet so that we can all get started on our beyond perfect weekends.

And no matter what other plans you have for your weekend, guys – just get your lips around these luscious little lovelies, and there's no way your weekend will be anything short of beyond perfect.

This is not only a promise, this is a money-back guarantee.

In fact, I can't wait to get started on mine!

(Which are cooling in the fridge right now)

So I have to wait for them.

Although I don’t want to.

I hate waiting.

Patience is not a virtue that’s mine.

(Is that a bad thing?)

Anyway: this is orange-chocolate mousse, seriously the most divine combination that God ever made.

A marriage made in heaven. Truly.

The first time I had these creamy, dreamy pots was in my x-boss's house, made by his x-wife, and should have come (rather appropriately), with an x-rated certificate - they were that sinfully good.

And while everyone else was gathered around the living room animatedly discussing the eccentricities of the Chinese equity markets (or something), I was lingering by the dessert table and trying (and failing) not to lose myself in an orange flavoured sea of decadence...

Which sounds far more interesting, don't you think?

I mean, if I knew these people better, I'd have stuck a finger into the bowl and licked it clean. But I didn't, and so I didn't. And I lived to regret this decision forever.

Close your eyes and have a taste (in your heads)

Dark, dense, rich chocolate
Citrusy, tangy, bittersweet orange
Now put them together...

Feel the rich, sensuous cocoa-cream shashaying in your mouth, the vanilla-perfumed orange-y notes swirling on your tongue...you won't know where one ends and the other begins...until you melt completely into it...

Now, stop dreaming, and open your eyes.

And read on.

So you can have a taste (in real life)

Which is gonna be oh-soooooo  much better!

So here’s what you need:

- 8oz good quality dark chocolate

- Juice and zest of 2 oranges

- 1 tbsp Grand Marnier

- 120 ml double cream. Or if you’re watching your weight - 110ml. Hee! 

- 4 eggs

Here’s how you do it:

First, finely chop the chocolate.

And please, please, please – this is only going to be as good as the chocolate you use. So be picky!

Now, bring the 120ml of cream (or the 100 ml) to a boil in a large saucepan, then turn off the heat and add the chocolate. Stir until the chocolate melts completely and you have yourself a smooth, creamy paste. Now for the good part - add in the orange juice, zest and Grand Marnier.

By now, a divine, heady aroma will be wafting through your house. If you have guests over, they will never want to leave.

(I think that's a good thing).

Anyway, separate the egg whites from the yolks.

Add the egg yolks to the cream and chocolate mixture and whisk together.

Whisk up the egg whites until you have a nice fluffy texture. Now, gently – and with love – fold in the the egg whites into the chocolate mixture.

Pour the mix into glass dessert bowls (or if you have nice shot glasses, they make for a lovely - and very professional - look too!) and put it in the fridge until ready to eat.

But before that, stick a finger in. And put it straight into your mouth.

Go ahead – I give you permission! No regrets, guys!

:D

When you are ready to serve, decorate the top with sliced oranges, and let the fun begin!

This is indulgence to the core, guys. Pure temptation. Dark, decadent and devilishly delicious!

A TOTAL TREAT!!

And mark my words - it’ll be gone before Sunday.

Or if you're like me - before Friday night.

(But don't be like me)

In fact, I’m going to the fridge to get mine now. 

So goodbye! And have yourself a beyond perfect weekend!

Swimming with the fish...

Well, well, what do you know!

The sun is out. Yeah, you heard me!! The sun is out.

Why, hello, sun! How do you do? How nice to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a lot about you from my friends - the ones who live in different time zones, that is...

  

But, seriously - I can hardly believe my eyes. Not only is it not raining in London, but the sun is out (yup, I'm going to keep saying that, stop me if you can). What a sight for sore eyes, honestly - I'd virtually forgotten what colour the sky is meant to be. 

And it’s perfect timing as well because I was all ready to jump into the Thames and end it all if there’d been one single more day of rain.

Methinks, if I am to drown anyway, I might as well drown properly.

And the fish would have been rather delightful company. I like fish, you see – they’re my friends.

So I had it all worked out and I was very serious about it too.

And that, my friends would have been, that.

Goodbye and thank you for reading me.

BUT

Aren’t you lucky, because it is not so.

The sun is out.

And I am intact.

And you can read me, forever more.

And isn’t that just swell?

Except the fish don’t get to have me anymore.

Poor unfortunate souls.

Your gain is their loss.

We were so looking forward to chatting late into the night.

But alas! It is not to be

So I’m going to put them of their misery. 

Post haste.

And Crumb Fry them instead.

Here’s what you need:

- 800 grams fillets of King fish (6-8 fillets depending on size)

- Juice of 1 lime

- 5 tbsp corn flour

- 2 tbsp grainy mustard

- 2 eggs

- 1 ½ cups bread crumbs

- Salt, to taste

By the way, I use Panko breadcrumbs, which (based on trial and error. Umm...LOTS...of error) has happily resulted in an end product that is crispier, crunchier and lighter and – very important – not greasy.

Because grease (unlike greed) is not good.

Definitely not.

(I crack myself up.)

Here’s how you do it:

Marry the fish in mustard, lime and salt for a few hours.

Meanwhile, beat the eggs well in a large, shallow bowl. Because eggs were born to be beaten, poor things.

Now for the assembly line setup that will make Toyoda-san (of Toyota fame) proud:

Please lay out, in shallow dishes, the following, in the specified order...

1)    Corn flour

2)    Beaten eggs

3)    Breadcrumbs

(My cooking methods are very scientific)

(Ha!)

Now, in order, please dunk the fillets, first in the corn flour, then in egg mixture and then finally in the bread crumbs. Make sure they are completely coated. Naked fish are not attractive. And we don’t work with anything that is not attractive. We are vain like that. Never believe people who tell you that true beauty lies on the inside. No, no. no.

Once you've realised the truth of that and it's all sunk in, nice and deep, get out a frying pan.

Heat some oil in the pan and drop in the fish in batches – listen to the wonderful crackle and stop when the fillets are fryer-fresh and caramel brown. Drain on a paper towel and serve hot off the pan, accompanied by my version of tartar sauce…

Here’s what you need – (never thought you’d ask!)

- 200 gram natural yogurt

- 50 gram crème fraiche

- 1 tbsp fresh coriander, chopped

- 1 ½ tbsp of fresh mint, chopped

- 2 cloves crushed garlic

- Salt and fresh cracked pepper to taste

Mix the lot together and that’s all, folks!

Enjoy!

By the way, the husband came home and – between bites of the crisp golden morsels – told me not to jump into the Thames, even if it rains again tomorrow, because if I did so, he would miss me very much indeed.

Aww, isn’t that sweet?

And wait – it gets better. He said that if I still insisted and jumped in after all, he’d be forced to jump in there too and rescue me.

I got all choked up at this point.

Unable to speak.

And then, he explained why.

“Cause thish shtuff is thoo yummy for wordsh and if you jumped into the Thamesh there’d be no one to make thish for me”

(I do so love unique compliments, don’t you?)

The PB&J That Never Happened

No…sadly this isn’t about Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Well it is.

But it isn’t.

It is about Peanut Butter.

And

It is about Jelly (well, sort of Jelly)

But it’s not about Peanut Butter and Jelly.

It isn’t.

It almost was.

But it isn’t.

See, here’s the thing.

I met an old undergraduate classmate the other day – the very lovely Kimberly Broker. She had emailed a few weeks ago, saying she’d be visiting London where her husband was doing a research project on something – the specifics of which she explained to me, but I really can’t explain back to you because I don’t think I’m clever enough to even explain it properly. Oh, all right. If you must know it was something to do with the influence of the Royal Navy on Shakespeare….

Dost thou SEA what I mean?

Sigh.

Every day of my life I encounter people cleverer than me.

Such a problem.

The other day, I read that a 14-year old girl won the 2012 Scripps National Spelling Bee crown for correctly spelling “guetapens.”

Geutapens?

What, in the name of love, is geutapens?

I don’t know how to pronounce “geutapens,” let alone spell it. As for what it means – Uh. Duh.

Which, my dearest friends, is why she gets “$30,000 in cash, a trophy, a $2,500 savings bond, a $5,000 scholarship, $2,600 in reference works from the Encyclopedia Britannica and an online language course.”

And I get to tell you about the Peanut Better and Jelly Sandwich that never happened.

(Not that I’m envious or anything) (Just saying)

Anyway, so back to the lovely Kimberly Broker. Yes, so she said she was going to be in London with her clever husband and asked if I was free to meet up.

So, of course I said, yes. I’m always free.

And then she asked if I knew of Borough Market.

And I laughed. And I thought, why here’s a girl after my own heart.

So we agreed to meet for lunch at Borough Market. And we did. And we ate and we drank and we had a lovely old time.

And when I saw her again, after all these years, I remembered just why she’d (inadvertently) broken so many hearts back in the day. She just has that serene sort of beauty about her. That, and the fact that she’s called Kimberly “Broker.”

For e.g.

“Oh, no – what happened to your heart?

“Kimberly broke-her…”

(sorry Kim, couldn’t resist that one :D)

Anyway, Kim has nothing much to do with Peanut Butter and Jelly, except for the fact that meeting her took me all the way back to my college days. And suddenly, I found myself drowning in a flood of memories. Which is an absolutely dreadful choice of words because  “drowning in a flood of memories,” sounds awful and horrible. But it was quite the opposite actually. I loved college. One of the best times of my life. No doubt about that.

So, I shall amend accordingly:

So - and suddenly I found myself “riding on a candy-train of memories”?

How’s that?

Does that sound a bit happier?

Anyway, anyway.

Now what does all this have anything to do with Peanut Butter and Jelly, you ask.

I’m telling you, I’m telling you. Gawddd, where’s the patience?

Well…let’s rewind back to 1996.

Now, it so transpired that soon (very, very soon, in fact) after I started college, my friends and classmates discovered my boundless love for food. (To be fair, I do spend an inordinate amount of time talking about food, and well, such things do not stay in the closet very long anyway.) 

So almost as soon as I admitted that – yes, I do enjoy food very much indeed – all the said friends and classmates (and some randoms as well) took to stopping me in the middle of the tree-lined campus streets and discussing food with great gusto. Which was all just too excellent for words. But then I started to notice a rather curious thing. During these many discussions about food – with friends, classmates and said randoms – we would always inevitably arrive at the following three characters from our Great English Alphabet.

P, B and J

More specifically, I would be asked the following rhetorical question – “Don’t you just love PB&J, isn’t it just the best?”

So, of course, for the first-many times, I thought these lovely people from the lovely state of Ohio just had, for some unknown reason that I’m not clever enough to comprehend, a particular kinship to the letters P, B and J

(Oh, I don’t know, I love A, M, and I for example. For totally unrelated reasons)

But then – as I began to observe the trend that the said letters were always centered around an otherwise obvious discussion about food – I managed to put two-and-two together. I’m cleverer than you’ll think, you know.

Aha! I said (in my head). P, B and J is some new and wonderful kind of American Food.

And I was so excited I couldn’t stop shaking.

So, naturally, I asked what on earth PB&J was.

And, naturally, I was told that PB&J was Peanut Butter and Jelly.

I stopped shaking.

Because how anything called “Peanut Butter” could possibly go with Jelly was beyond my comprehension.

For many reasons:

First and foremost, much like “geutapens” – I didn't have the faintest idea what Peanut Butter was. To give credit where credit is due, I probably could have spelled it correctly, but that was hardly the point. The point was that I didn’t even know that peanuts made butter. The only butter I knew of, came from cows.

See, I grew up in India and so I’m familiar with all manners of Indian food. That is more or less to be expected. Slightly more weird is that having been born into a family of Pretentious Bengali Anglophiles, I’m also intimately familiar with British food. You see, my grandfather worked for the Indian railways – which for most of his working life, was actually the British railways – and so in their house, I was always served English meals by the English cook. Who wasn’t English at all. He was actually a short little Bengali chap with a thin moustache and a middle parting. But he cooked English food like a true champion. And I mean, the whole nine yards – proper sit-down, 3-course, soup-main-dessert English meals…(yes, very anglophilic, I know).

But as a result – quiz me on the inner makings of Roast Lamb & Mint or Chicken & Leek pie, and I promise not to let you down.

But American Food? PB&J?

This, I don’t claim to have even the faintest imitation of knowledge about.

Then there was that little matter of Jelly.

And this of course, introduced into the mix, a whole new layer of complexity. Or in other words, the elusive animal better known as the American Language.

Which, after 12 years in that wonderful country, I still fail to completely grasp.

Because Jelly to me is the cold, wobbly stuff one eats with custard.

Which is clearly not the Jelly of PB fame.

The Jelly of PB fame is actually Jam.

And my Jelly is actually Jell-o.

And if you’re confused, well tell me about it!

And while we’re on the topic and all, maybe some of my American friends can please explain something to me:

Which is why you guys take simple monosyllabic words, which already exist, and then go through all the trouble to re-name them, so that the resulting new word, actually becomes longer?

So ‘flat’ become ‘a-part-ment’ and ‘lift’ becomes ‘el-e-va-tor’ and ‘jam’ becomes ‘jel-ly.’

Why?

And this is from a nation where Robert has become Bob and Theodore has become Teddy and James has become Jim. And John (although it’s not shorter and sounds nothing like it) has become Jack.

??!

But we won’t go there right now. To the elucidation of why John has become Jack I mean.

Instead, where we will go (finally) is to PB&J.

Which is actually PB&Jam.

Which, in turn, puts me in an even deeper pickle because it makes me think – if there’s anything that seems less likely to go with Peanut Butter, than Jelly – it’s Jam.

I mean, really.

And I’m not un-daring with food. I get the concept of flavour combinations, I’ve read Niki Segnit’s Flavour Thesaurus cover to cover and I’ve even written a piece on it. But this combination? It distresses me.

Peanuts are salty and oily and buttery and well – nutty.

And jam? Jam is sweet and a bit tart. And fruity.

And well – East is East and West is West. And never the twain shall meet!!

And so, I am somewhat ashamed to report that amoung all the various glorious items of the edible variety that I consumed in my glorious time in that glorious nation – this famous everyman’s-favourite was notably absent.

But that was when I was young and stupid.

So now…now that everything’s changed (!!) and given that I just met Kim and rode the candy train of memories back to my days in America, I thought – What the hey! Let’s give the old classic a shot.

And so I take:

- 675g Unsalted peanuts

- 2 ½ tbsp Sesame Oil

- Salt to taste


And this is what I do:

Chuck everything into a food processor and blend till I arrive at the consistency I want. I think the crunchier versions taste infinitely better, but it’s a very personal choice – I like texture in my food, but you may not, and that’s cool :)

Anyway, so there was my butter (from peanuts, not cows) done.

Now, for the jam. And so sorry to disappoint, but I’m not going to call it jelly. Just like I’m never going to call poor Bob, Baaarb. Just not gonna happen.

So, for my jam, I take:

- 1kg raspberries

- Juice of 1 lemon

- 750g sugar (the ratio of sugar to raspberries is usually 1:1, but Im not a fan of anything too sweet, so I’m cutting down on the sugar a lot. Plus, I like to watch my waistline. That last part is a joke.)

And here’s what I do:

Place half the raspberries into a pan and add the lemon juice. I mash the berries to a pulp (just beat the poor things mercilessly) over the heat, then leave to cook for 5 minutes. Now I run this through a sieve over a bowl, and drain off all the juice. Then I work the pulp through the sieve until I am left with just the seeds.

Next, I chuck the seeds and tip the juice and pulp back into the pan and stir in the sugar till it dissolves. I heat it gently, then add the remaining whole raspberries. Finally, I bring it to a boil, and keep the boil for 5 minutes.

(You can test if the jam has set by putting a teaspoon of it on a cold plate – it should wrinkle when pressed with a finger. If it doesn't, boil for another 2 mins, then test again.)

This is yummy, yummy jam guys – bold and chunky with proper pieces of fruit.  This couldn’t be further away from the over-sweetened, tasteless gloopy stuff you get on supermarket shelves.

I mean, if we want to OD on sugar, folks, then at least let’s make it worth it!

Anyway, so now it’s time to put it all together.

So I take some bread – a just bought, freshly baked, wholemeal loaf, chewy and crusty and just the way bread should be.

And I layer on the jam – ruby red and chock full of raspberries.

And then I begin to layer on the peanut butter.

And then suddenly…

I stop.

I stop in mid-air, knife in hand. Frozen like a statue of Napoleon in bronze.

Houston we have a problem.

I can’t do it.

I just can’t do it.

I absolutely – honest to goodness, cross my heart – want to do it.

BUT

I absolutely – honest to goodness, cross my heart – cannot see how these two things can go together.

Sigh.

It would appear that nothing much has changed. 
I’m older but still as stupid.

It’s my loss, I know.

My palette against that of an entire nation.

There must be something wrong with me. (You think?)

So: as I said at the outset….

No…sadly this isn’t about Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Well it is.

But it isn’t.

It is about Peanut Butter.

And

It is about Jelly. (well, sort of Jelly)

But it’s not about Peanut Butter and Jelly.

It isn’t.

It almost was.

But it isn’t.