Wimbledon Food

Why yes! Strawberries and Cream, of course!
It’s a Wimbledon tradition, right up there with a white-only dress code, Royal patronage and, well, rain.

And by the likes of it, we’re going to have all of the above for tomorrow’s Wimbledon Final. So, quite naturally, in keeping with tradition and because we always like to do things properly and with the requisite British etiquette – we must have the Strawberries and Cream now, mustn’t we?

Of course, what makes this year extra special is that Andy Murray will play tomorrow – the first British man in 74 years to have a shot at winning this, the most prestigious of prestigious Titles. Murray will play Swiss legend, Roger Federer, who has won 16 Grand Slams and 6 Wimbledon titles so far, and it’s bound to be a tension-filled, action-packed, nail-biting whopper of a match.

Truth be told, I never imagined I’d feel strongly about a face-off between this duo – I’m a Nadal fan and lot of my interest in this year's tennis waned when poor Rafa lost. That being said, rather to my own amazement, I’m feeling the faint strains of Nationalistic pride tugging at my heartstrings, and I find myself uncharacteristically emotional about the whole shebang. It’s been a big year for Britain – The Queen’s Jubilee, host to the 2012 Olympics and a Briton competing for Wimbledon for the first time since 1936.

So, here’s to Wimbledon, coming home to Britain.

Go, Andy Murray!

And while you, I, and the world, sit glued in front of our televisions, watching what’s promising to be one of the most exciting, riveting and exhilarating games yet, here’s a little treat that’ll hopefully stop you from biting your nails and instead, get you digging into something much, much tastier.

This is Strawberries & Cream.

Strawberries - scarlet and sweet, the most English of juicy fruit.

And cream. Which is, well, just cream. And if I have to wax eloquent about cream, then I think it's about time you started to enjoy the many simple pleasures of life...

So I'm putting these two made-for-each-other goodies together, because together's how they deserve to be, but I'm adding my own crispier, crunchier take on the basic British Classic. Because…well...simply because, I like crispy and crunchy things :-)

So, here’s what you need:

For the crisp crumble topping…(Do the topping first or the strawberries will start to bleed and get soggy while they wait)

- 300g plain flour

- 175g  brown sugar

- 200g unsalted butter

Here’s how you do it:

Preheat the oven to 180C

Mix together the flour and sugar. Now, cube the butter and rub it in batches into the flour mixture until it resembles breadcrumbs.

Bake in the oven for 30 minutes until the crumble is crisp and golden.

For the Strawberries & Cream:

Here’s what you need:

- 2 tbsp icing sugar

- Juice of one orange

- 2 punnets of strawberries, hulled and quartered

- 150ml double cream

Here’s how you do it:

Place the icing sugar in a bowl and pour in the orange juice, stirring as you go. Add the chopped strawberries, mix well and leave to chill in the fridge for about half an hour.

Just before you are ready to serve, whip the cream until thick, then pour over the strawberries. Spoon the browned crumble over the strawberries & cream - and that’s all folks!

Game, Set, Match!

And regardless of who wins there, you know who the real winner is, don’t you?

;)

Club-style Chicken Sandwiches

I've always wondered why one gets ravenous after swimming...

Notice I use the word “ravenous” because “hungry” simply does not do justice to the thunderous rumbling in my belly that materializes mere seconds after I’ve rid myself of those final chlorine-filled droplets…

Now, I’m sure there’s some very insightful scientific explanation that'll provide a very satisfactory end to my musings. One that involves hormones and muscle groups and metabolism. And I’m sure it is very educational indeed.

But if I were a betting person, I'd bet that you’re really not that interested. Which is very cool, because I’m not either!

More pressingly then: Food for the Famished!

But first, just to be clear…I haven’t actually been swimming. As in, I’ve been in the pool. But I haven’t been flailing my arms and kicking my legs (i.e. getting any sort of exercise.)

Oh no.

Instead, I’ve just returned from having taken Ranbir swimming. Which means, basically that I walk around the kiddie pool on my knees for about 45 minutes, holding the little boy’s hands while he kicks his fat little legs all over the place and sings “One Two Three Four Five, Once I Caught A Fish Alive” – which for some reason he believes to be rather fitting a song to be sung in the pool.

(Don't ask!)

But, I must admit, I’ve quite grown to love these little swimming sessions with Ranbir. See, he won’t hold still any other time; this is one of those rare occasions where there’s no escape, there’s no wriggling away, there’s nowhere to run and there’s nowhere to hide. So I’ve got him, all of him, just to myself.  It’s lovely.

And as I stop to think about it, I’ve always loved swimming really. Right from my giddy, girlie school years. For reasons that are completely different, and yet – at the core – exactly the same. Because even then – in a different time, in different circumstances, in a different city, country, continent – it was time away from everything else…snatched moments of serenity in a world that won't stop moving.

We’d go swimming together straight after school, twice or thrice a week, me and my friend Fazila, and sometimes, her sisters Asna and Sheza and whoever else cared to join us. We’d generally use the pool at the Club – it was close, convenient and usually empty, most people scared off by the strong afternoon sun. But not us! We loved it. We’d jump into the cool, aquamarine waters, under the shadow of the palm trees and we’d stay there for hours. It was our own little oasis.

It was pretty serious swimming, mind you, we’d do laps, fifteen, twenty of them at a stretch; forty, fifty of them in total. We’d take breaks every now and then, surfacing for air and gossip, congregating on the deep end – clutching the side of the pool with both hands, legs hanging loose into the water – and talk about this and that. 

It is a memory as delicious as warm honey on a bun.

And I will savour it forever.

And this wasn't even the best part.

Because after we were done, our muscles tired but rejuvenated and happy, we’d shower and change, and sit by the poolside, under a colourful umbrella, the sun on our faces, the wind in our hair. And order Chicken Sandwiches and Chips (as in crisps, not fries). And devour them.

This was the best part. 

It was a ritual. It made us friends for life.

Swimming and Chicken Sandwiches.

They just go together.

It’s written

And now, just like then, the ritual must be respected.

And so I’m making Chicken Sandwiches – Bangalore Club, poolside style.

For Faz

And for me

And for our poolside friendship

For Ranbir

And for Zayna

And for hoping they meet soon.

For preserving old memories.

And making new ones.

Here’s what you need:

-       200g chicken

-       1 tbsp prepared mayonnaise

-       1 tbsp Dijon mustard

-       Salt and pepper to taste

-       Butter – as much or as little as you can muster!

Here’s how you do it:

Marinate the chicken in some lime juice and some finely diced onion and garlic for about 30 minutes.

When you’re ready, heat two teaspoonfuls of oil in a pan and toss in the chicken, cooking over a medium flame until it turns golden. Now add two cups of water and cover, leaving it to simmer until the chicken starts to come apart. Set aside and when cool, shred it completely with your fingers. Mix in some salt, pepper and butter. 

Separately, mix together the equal parts of mayonnaise and mustard – by the way, this is an absolutely divine mix if you haven’t had it before. Try it with French Fries sometime. With some ketchup on the side. And then try and forgive me for suggesting it.

Anyway, at this point, iIf you want to throw in some grated cheese – go ahead and do it! I just didn't have any in the house at the moment.

Stir is all up till its nice and smooth. Now add in the shredded chicken and toss well.

Take one slice of white bread and butter it. Slather on some of chicken mix. Cover it with another slice of buttered bread.

Now, take this baby and put it on the grill (I have a handy-dandy toastie maker that works beautifully as well)

Serve with some old-fashioned kettle chips. And a bottle of ketchup. And paper napkins made with horrific-quality paper. Ta-da! You have yourself some Club-Style Chicken Sandwiches!
...And now you know the real reason why I have always loved swimming!

Hangover Helper, Helper: (Sprouted Moong beans and an ex-boyfriend's aunt...)

So…

A big thank you to all the lovely people who dropped me a line, wishing me a speedy recovery from “The Dreaded Hangover.”

It was awful, awful, awful, and I spent all Sunday truly besieged by the particular exquisite pain that is so characteristic of the hangover (and nothing else on earth.)

But – I’m happy to report that I’m much better now, thanks!

Owing, in no small part to the old-fashioned (but highly effective) Hangover Helper. Because – as I just remarked to a reader who having spent a similar Sunday with TDH (you poor thing!) sent me a note in empathy – there’s nothing that 250g of deep-fried carbs won’t cure.

Because 250g (and not 1g less) of deep-fried carbs later, life seems worth living again.

There’s a catch though.

(There always is)

And this is it:

The guilt from the excessive consumption of alcohol has been annulled, most effectively, by the excessive consumption of the deep-fried carbs.

So far, so good.

But now, I am awash with the guilt from the excessive consumption of the deep-fried carbs.

It’s a damn vicious cycle, it is.

It gets worse actually. Because in addition to consuming all 250g (and not 1g less) of the deep-fried carbs, I have also consumed, (solo) 4 whole avocados. Gulp.

And now I am consumed with Guilt.

I'm positively giddy with the stuff.

In fact, I feel so much Guilt that I don’t know if this new Guilt is actually greater than the original Guilt.

What came first? The Chicken or The Egg?

And thus, having no answer to the eternal riddle posed above, it is my considered opinion that in situations such as these, you simply can’t win.

But, with some lateral thinking, you can fool yourself into thinking you have.

And how you can accomplish this great act of horizontal contemplation, is simply by following my recipe for the Hangover Helper, Helper.

Guaranteed to hereby and henceforth terminate all Guilt.

New and Old.

So, no more vicious cycles, my friends.

Only virtuous ones.

And before you start to feel the faintest strains of scepticism creep in, believe me when I say that this wonderful superfood is not a myth. Instead, it’s a sprouted Moong bean salad with corn and peanuts.

Perfectly delicious

and

Perfectly virtuous

You’ve got to try this dish guys – trust me, it ain’t that often that you find so incongruous a combination on one plate.

See, Moong bean sprouts are insanely good for you.

Low in saturated fat, cholesterol and sodium, they are a great source of fibre, Vitamins B and C and K, Iron, Copper, Manganese, Magnesium and other miscellaneous elements and minerals from the Periodic Table.

(And that's all I know - I was rubbish at Chemistry)

Corn, sweet and husky, has similar health benefits – low in saturated fat and cholesterol; high in fibre, and Vitamin B. And it's tasty to boot.

And finally peanuts. Peanuts are the darling of most nutritionists (don’t eat chips, they shriek, eat nuts!) and for good reason too. See, just a handful of peanuts a day fulfill most quota’d levels of vitamins, minerals, proteins and anti-oxidants you need!

Phew. That’s the three most boring sentences in this post, done.

Boring. But necessary.

Because it’s important to know the virtues of each ingredient in this 3-ingredient dish. So you begin to appreciate that when put together – this dish is more virtuous than Virtue herself.

And because I’ve just bored you senseless, let me make it up (because I’m nice like that) and tell you something interesting:

I was taught this recipe by the sweet-natured aunt of an ex-boyfriend.

No, no – the ex-boyfriend is not what makes it interesting.

Sadly, the ex-boyfriend failed to hold my interest for too long. But that’s fairly obvious I think, because if he had (held my interest, that is), he wouldn’t be prefixed by the sorry little "ex" now, would he?

So no.

On a far from related note, what does make this recipe interesting is that I didn’t think it would be interesting, back when I was taught it by the sweet-natured aunt of the ex-boyfriend.

To be fair, I wasn’t really “taught” it.

She just happened to be making it once when I and the exbf were visiting.

And to be perfectly honest, at first blush, the whole thing seemed rather ho-hum.

Moong beans

Corn

Peanuts

Yawn

But I had barely tasted my first proper mouthful when I sat bolt upright in my chair, gobmacked by the flavour explosion inside my mouth.

It was glorious, guys. And even more so because I didn’t expect it to be.

And it was precisely this – this element of surprise, this unanticipated “aha,” which is what made it memorable.

Because it was the perfect example of how a dish with three ingredients – and that too, the most basic and commonplace of ingredients – can be great. For the simple reason that no matter what it is you’re making, it’s the clever interlacing of flavours and textures and spices that makes a truly exceptional dish.

And that it was…

And so of course I asked her how she made it, and of course she told me, and of course I have made it many times since.

Of course, of course, of course.

And as it is with these things, every time I make it, I can’t help but think of her.

Which is no bad thing, because she was really quite lovely – one of those soft-spoken, sweet women who never have a bad thing to say about anyone.

Soooo unlike me…

(Just Kidding. I am the Goddess of soft-spoken sweetness…)

Anyway, sadly, things didn’t work out with the ex-boyfriend.

You see, I’m high maintenance when it comes to Love. I need someone who knocks me off my feet and leaves me breathless.

And after searching high and low, when I found the one person who did, I married him right away.

The ex-boyfriend didn’t. Knock me off my feet and leave me breathless that is. Not marry the one who did. (Just clarifying)

But that he had a sweet-natured aunt can’t be denied.

Come to think of it, the hardest part about breaking up with him, was breaking up with his family. The lot of them were rather nice.

It’s rather a hard one, that, isn’t it?

When the family is right and the guy is wrong.

Or when the guy is right and the family is wrong.

Which one’s worse I wonder…

What do you think?

I wouldn't know. I lucked out on both counts. 

It turns out, I am also the Goddess of Flattery.

Anyway, while you chew upon one of life’s truly great mysteries, here’s what you need:

- 1cup Whole Green Moong beans (yields 4 cups sprouted)

- 1 ear of corn

- 1 tsp mustard seeds

- 1 small onion, finely chopped

- 1/2 tsp of ground cumin powder

- Juice of 1 lemon

- Pinch sugar

- Salt, to taste

- Roughly chopped fresh coriander

Here’s how you do it:

First you need to sprout the Moong beans which takes a day or so. So, fortunately or unfortunately, this isn't an impulse dish.

Anyway, first wash the beans well and soak them in water overnight. In the morning, drain all  the water and place the soaked beans in a thin dish-towel or cheesecloth. Place the cloth with the Moong beans inside a container for at least half a day. If most of the beans have not sprouted, keep them for a little longer until they have. Each Green Moong grain should have softened to the consistency of a fresh green pea. Though, after attempting this dish loads of times, I’ve found that it actually adds quite a nice textural variation if not all of the Moong beans have sprouted – so some are soft (and sprouted) and others are hard and crunch to the bite. But it’s all personal preference, so if you prefer not to have any hard bits at all, simply leave them to soak for a bit longer, sprinkling more water and mixing through, if needed.

Once you have the sprouted beans, the rest is a simple affair.

Grill the corn in the oven or on top of an open flame until the kernels are popped and golden. Allow to cool a bit, then cut the kernels off the cobs and set aside.

Heat 1 tsp of oil in a pan on medium heat. Add in the mustard seeds and allow them to pop. Now, add in the chopped onion and cook till the onion softens and turns translucent.

Mix in the kernels of grilled corn and the sprouts. Sprinkle the salt, sugar, ground cumin and lemon juice and mix well. Finish off with fresh coriander leaves.

This is a wonderful dish guys: a beautiful balance of sweet and sour and salt; ripe, smoky corn; warm, nutty, buttery peanuts; the sprouted Moong beans lending texture, adding unexpected crunch.

Simple and subtle and sublime, this dish will leave you feeling positively giddy.

But in a decidedly guilt-free and virtuous sort of way!

Hangover Helper

Argh.

The worst possible way to spend a Sunny Sunday, is in bed.

In a dark room.

With the blinds drawn.

And the AC on.

Because light and sound only make the pounding worse.

You see, I am in the grip of a Mammuthus hangover.

I hate hangovers. The sensational combination of ethanol, pain and foolish overindulgence – there is no more powerful realization of guilt than a hangover. 

Proper party poopers, they are too. An unyielding reminder that too much merriment and mirth can leave you as messed up as a hedgehog in a picnic basket.

And they just seem to get progressively more vicious with age.

I keep telling myself I’m going to stop. And now I am.

For a year. At least.

See, we went to my gorgeous friend Nora’s birthday party last night.

And what a lovely Midsummer’s night it was!

Well, yes, it was. And about time too, after what I hear has been the wettest June since they started keeping records - which takes us back to circa 1910.

Lucky Birthday Girl, indeed!

But Aah! what a night...  

Starry skies, balmy breeze, the full moon casting shimmering silver streaks on the Regent’s Park Canal.

The kind of night where broken hearts are mended and promises are made. 

And lost souls find each other.

And melt into the shadows of the night.

In such a setting, pray, how could I resist the glass of wine that was diligently and with an eagle eye being topped up even as a single sip passed my lips?

How could I, I ask thee?

Well...

I couldn't.

Basically.

So today?

Today, I pay the price.

Today, I am destroyed.

I’m a fool, a fool for listening to the sweet nothings that were being whispered into my ear by one man...

…and losing control of the tampering being done to my wine glass by another.

Men are all the same.

And now I have a hangover the size of the (former) Soviet Union.

Which was very big.

And modern medicine has not helped.

So I’m going the old-fashioned way.

And making something fattening and delicious. Which is the only blessed combination that will speedily and effectively combat the vicious effects of too much spirit.

Trust me. I have practice.

So I’m going to eat a heaped plateful of tortilla chips with salsa and guacamole. Ha! Nothing cures a hangover like deep-fried corn and avocado mush. And some salsa to delude myself that decency and virtue still exist in this world. Despite my shocking and appalling behaviour last night.

But, we shall not conduct post mortems.

We shall simply eat.

So.

For the guacamole…

Here’s what you need:

- A love of avocados

- 4 avocados

- 1 ripe tomato, diced

- 1 small red onion, finely diced

- 2 cloves garlic, finely minced

- 2 Jalapenos, diced

- Juice of 1 lime

- 1/2 teaspoon salt

- 1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

- Handful coriander leaves, roughly chopped

Here’s how you do it:

Halve and stone the avocados, and scoop out the flesh into the bowl. Mash well and then add in the diced tomato, jalapenos, minced garlic, lime juice, salt, and cumin. Stir to combine. Scatter the coriander leaves on top.

For the Salsa…

Here’s what you need:

- 1 400g can chopped tomatoes

- 1/4 of an onion, finely chopped

- 1 clove garlic, minced

- 3 mild chillies, finely chopped

- 1 Jalapeno, sliced thin

- 1/4 teaspoon sugar

- 1/4 teaspoon salt

- 1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

- Juice of 1 lime

- Handful coriander leaves, roughly chopped

Here’s how you do it:

Right, so I’ve noticed a lot of Salsa recipes use fresh tomatoes. Now, I like the word fresh. It’s one of my favourite words. Fresh is new and clean and bright and unsullied. Fresh is not preserved or aged or processed or canned or deep-frozen. Or any such thing. Fresh is the dewdrops on blades of grass. Fresh is the smell of the earth after a sudden rain shower. Fresh is the salty air off the ocean. Fresh is the smell of my baby after a bath.

Fresh is delightful. Fresh is pure. Fresh is worth celebrating.

Except this once.

This once, we use canned tomatoes. Please.

Because fresh tomatoes with chopped up onions is not salsa. It’s Pico de gallo. And there’s nothing wrong with Pico de gallo. But it’s not salsa. And when a girl wants salsa, a girl wants salsa. I moan about this very serious topic in a bit more detail, here

But really, the only way I can think of to make this work properly with fresh tomatoes is to cook them in a bit of water so they soften. And then cool them. And then peel them. Which is already three steps too many. In my current emotional state of mind. So we use canned tomatoes. Please. Just this once.

That settled, please combine canned tomatoes, chillies, onion, jalapeno, garlic, sugar, salt, cumin, lime juice, and coriander in a blender. Pulse until you get the salsa to the consistency you'd like. Refrigerate the salsa for at least an hour. Or if you’re impatient like me, for half an hour. But don't be like me. Because patience, like sobriety, reflects goodness of character and a high moral fibre.

Now, please, if you will, open a packet of crispy, crunchy, salty, and very-fried tortilla chips and pour the entire lot into a bowl. Because I never do things by halves! Hee!

Now dip into the salsa and crunch away

Or dip into the avocado and crunch away

Or do some of both.

Preferably in turns.

You see, I believe in fairness.

Of course, as you can see, there is ZERO cooking involved in the above. Which is fantastic because I really cannot face the stove when there are 500 men with little hammers banging away at my skull. But there is quite a bit of chopping and dicing. Which (in addition to the occasional whispering of sweet nothings on balmy summer nights) is why, one has husbands.

 

Enjoy!  :-0

Oh and by the way...

"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. They wake up in the morning and that's the best they're going to feel all day."

Dean Martin