With age comes wisdom, independence and a reduced tolerance for all things annoying. Also, a slower metabolism and a reduced ability to go out for big greasy meals without feeling like a garbage dump for the next few hours. More and more, I am favouring restaurant meals that leave me feeling light and nourished, not clogged up and overly full.
Asian food, especially Vietnamese fare is often a winner. I’m slightly obsessed with the quirky ambiance of the tiny corner establishment Madame Nhu. Their fresh tasting pho leaves me feeling positively angelic, that is until I find my legs taking me up the road to have the best gelato I’ve ever tasted at Gelato Rivareno. Other fabulous pics in the area are Xage, Yullis and Miss Chu, which serves a knockout frozen crushie besides the flavoursome food. If you go to Yullis, you really must leave room for dessert. Further into the city lights is Home Thai, which offers cheap, fast and no-nonsense Thai street-food.
If you don’t want to find that elusive empty parking spot in the city, Saigon Bowl offers good, authentic suburban Vietnamese fare. I won’t order the dumplings anywhere except New Shanghai, where you can watch them being made and really taste the quality ingredients in the fillings. I have daydreams about their prawn wontons that are served in a divine peanut and sesame sauce.
Bamiyan, also suburban, offers Afghani cuisine, which feels a bit like a lighter version of Indian cuisine. As a bonus, you will probably be able to park right outside, a real luxury in Sydney.
Being an Italophile, I seek my fix at La Disfida, also a suburban gem. Again, order dessert here or I will have to seriously reconsider our friendship. Sven Viking Pizza has been a pleasant surprise. I had no idea the Vikings made pizza but gosh they do it well! My most recent mouth-watering discovery is Soffrito, where they make handmade pastas that melt in the mouth. I dined here with two friends and each of our meals were flawless.
There’s nothing wrong with a bit of indulgence however and the Chicken Institute will sort you out for all of your fried chicken needs. You’ve ruined the diet anyway so you may as well follow up by gorging on some Turkish ice cream at Hakiki.
For some more dining recommendations, have a peek at Stay.com’s new travel app.
This post was sponsored by the super clever people at Stay.com but all opinions and recommendations are my own.
If you follow me on Instagram you would have seen that I’ve been so proud of my little boy this week. After tearing a ligament in his knee and hobbling around pathetically for a week, I finally took the leap and operated. We anaesthetised him, all 7.8 kg of cuteness. We stuck a needle into his little spine to deliver epidural pain relief. He had an entire team at his disposal. An anaesthetist, a surgeon, a vet student, two nurses and two trainee nurses. Many many two-leggeds for one tiny little nugget of a 4-legged. Then he was all draped up and for a little while I could forget that it was my precious little fur-child I was doing major surgery on. This helped as it had been all I could do not to curl up in a ball of nervousness leading up to the event.
Thankfully it all went according to plan and before I knew it I was packing a sleepy and sore bundle of fur into my car alongside his drip pump and medications. Two days on, he is vehemently disagreeing with the post-operative plan to keep him confined and is demanding in true small dog style to be given access to the rest of the house. He is using a well prepared arsenal of woeful looks, sad tail wags and softly incessant whimpers which even I as a veterinary professional am struggling to ignore.
But ignore we shall as the little body with the chubby little knee needs to heal. And if Cookie can withstand and recover from major surgery as an eleven year old pooch, I’d better do my part to ensure that his recovery is as smooth as possible.
All this has nothing to do with popsicles. However I am a firm believer that coffee and popsicles are enough reason to indulge in coffee and popsicles. These have a good caffeine buzz, with fragrant cardamom providing an extra jolt. Sweetened with rice syrup, they are almost toffee like, the warm flavours complementing the freeze. A grown-up popsicle, if you will.
Coffee, Cardamom & Yoghurt Popsicles
Makes 6
Get:
1/3 cup strongly brewed coffee
6 cardamom pods
1 cup full-fat Greek yoghurt
1/3 cup honey or rice syrup
Special Equipment:
Popsicle moulds
Freezer
Make:
Use a mortar and pestle to crush the whole cardamom pods until they break open and the seeds are roughly powdered. Place the seeds and pods in the coffee and set aside for 30 minutes to infuse. Once infused, pass the mixture through a strainer and discard the cardamom.
In a large bowl, whisk the yoghurt with the syrup or honey and cardamom infused coffee to form a smooth mixture. Fill the popsicle moulds, insert popsicle sticks and place in the freezer for at least 6 hours or overnight.
To serve, dip the popsicle moulds in hot water to make it easier to lift out the popsicles.
Of all of the stories that are associated with Diwali, the tale of Lord Rama, his wife Sita and brother Lakshman has to be the one that is dearest to my heart. It is a tale of honour, exile, self-control and eventually, triumph. This part of the epic Ramayana begins with the self-imposed exile of Rama after an administration bungle involving his stepmother and the throne. Despite the pleas of his father the King, honour drives Rama into the forest, where he is willingly followed by Sita and Lakshman to begin what is to be an adventure-filled, fourteen year camping trip.
And what of Sita? Her adoptive father, also a King, discovered baby Sita in the fields (one assumes she was discovered by one of his staff as what King would toil the fields?). He is delighted with his find, which if you ask me is a refreshing change in the attitude of that time, when female babies were generally considered a consolation prize to sons. He raises her as his own and when she is of marriageable age, hosts the equivalent of a celestial weight lifting championship to filter out the men from the mice. Thus, Rama is found. He is known in Hindu mythology as Purushottama, literally the Supreme Being, or Perfect Man (thereby confirming that on Earth, one may find Mr. Right but can forget any hopes of finding Mr. Perfect).
So after having to suffer through watching keen suitor after keen suitor attempt to lift the heaviest bow in the world, the Princess Sita finds her perfect man, marries him and is rewarded with a honeymoon of more than a decade in the woods with no mobile phone connection and barely a hairdryer to her name. As if having to wander around in the forest with your husband and the third wheel his brother wasn’t trying enough for the poor lady, she manages to get herself kidnapped by Ravana, an obnoxious demon with appalling table manners.
So Diwali marks the return from exile of the trio, after Rama proves his perfection by slaying the evil Ravana, rescuing his wife and bringing her back to civilisation before she can get herself into any more trouble. Known as the Festival of Lights, an important feature of Diwali is the lighting of lamps and of firecrackers. The flames and bursts are a symbol of good triumphing over evil, of light obscuring the darkness.
In Sydney, the law dictates that we be content with the lighting of sparklers and of small oil filled lamps, or diyas. When I was in Mumbai as a child however, it was a different story. Weeks before the much anticipated festival, we would stock up on firecrackers of all shapes, sizes and colours. Then the day would come and after the religious rituals were duly observed and obscene amounts of food eaten, all of the inhabitants would gather in front of the apartment block, the youngest kids hoisted safely onto their fathers’ shoulders.
We would often start softly, with flower pots that would spray a bouquet of light upwards and chakkars (wheels) that would spin madly when lit, spraying colourful sparks unpredictably in all directions. Some of the braver boys would venture onto rockets, placing them in used soda bottles. These had to be lit quickly, legs in take-off position, so that the mad dash to safety could be done before they launched. The grand finale would be strings of tiny ‘Dum Dum’ crackers, named so for the deafening cavalcade of explosions that began when they were lit, leaving ears ringing till Christmas. When the boxes of firecrackers had all been systematically reduced to burnt paper and the air was heavy with the strangely intoxicating scent of over-done popcorn, we would all head back into our homes (or each others’) to enjoy a vast array of sweets for dessert.
Firecrackers and sweets jostle for first place among the highlights of Diwali and in Australia, where the law is limiting, sweets win every time. There are no rules against sugary, milky gratification and indulge we do, with at least three different types of sweets every year. This year, I played with a variation on kheer, a popular condensed milk and rice pudding. In this version, the quinoa lends a nuttiness which cuts through its creamy, mildly sweet coconut vehicle. There is a pleasant coating of the tongue of thickened coconut milk and the delicate balance of the cardamom, saffron and vanilla that it carries. Jaggery lends a warm, caramel sweetness, but you could use brown sugar if you don’t have any on hand. An abundant drizzle of toasted, crushed nuts is mandatory and gives the molars something to work on in an otherwise soft world. I chose almonds and also used some Persian fairy floss that I happened to find strutting around in the pantry. From a nutrition perspective, quinoa is mostly protein and therefore a healthier option to rice. Also, the natural sweetness of coconut products means that only a small amount of sweetener is required. Serve in small bowls, as both quinoa and coconut milk are filling entities and the last thing we all need is dessert fatigue*.
Now onto the competition! St.George Bank is giving away 2 tickets to India this Diwali (see the video below), and if I hadn’t spent my leave galavanting around Tuscany and the UK, I’d be entering. To enter, all you have to do is snap a pic of some aspect of your Diwali celebrations. Post the pic on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, with the #StGeorgeDiwali by 12 noon Sunday, October 26. The best entry will win flights for 2 to India! The competition is open to NSW, ACT and QLD residents. For further info, including T & C’s, head to http://www.stgeorgediwali.com.au/
So whether your Diwali consists of Dum-Dums and squealing children, or quiet rituals and too much food, may it be filled with light, love and sweetness. Happy Diwali!
This is a sponsored post, but words, opinions and ramblings are my own.
Coconut and Quinoa Kheer (Pudding)
Makes 8-10 serves
Get:
1/2 cup quinoa
1 tin coconut milk
1 tin coconut cream
50-70g jaggery, powdered, or brown sugar (depending on how sweet you like it)
The insides of 6-8 cardamom pods, roughly powdered
1/8 tsp (generous pinch) saffron strands
1/2 or 1 whole vanilla bean
About 1/4 cup crushed, toasted nuts of your choice
Make:
Boil the quinoa in plenty of water for 6-8 mins. Drain and rinse the quinoa well.
In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, place the drained quinoa, coconut milk, coconut cream, powdered jaggery or brown sugar, powdered cardamom seeds and saffron. Split the vanilla bean and scrape out the seeds. Place the seeds and the bean into the pan.
Bring gently to the boil, then lower the heat and simmer gently for 20-30 minutes, stirring every few minutes, until the pudding has thickened to a porridge consistency. Crush and toast the nuts in another pan while this is happening. Serve topped with crushed nuts and whatever else happens to be serving a purely decorative purpose in your pantry.
Notes:
*We all know dessert fatigue is a myth, but the weak amongst us claim it exists. Also, I may have made way too much of this and eaten it for breakfast 3 days in a row.
Jaggery is an unrefined Indian brown sugar that you can pick up at Indian grocery stores.
If you don’t have vanilla beans, you can substitute with vanilla extract or paste.
The young man always set his stall up just outside the main gate. He would line the steel canisters up on the cheap plastic table, leaving the lids on until the first few walkers would trickle past. The gate behind him led into a paved path, which encircled a large man-made lake called Sankey Tank. Every morning, the sweetly smiling, crisp shirted young man would peddle his wares to the local residents who walked or jogged the popular Bangalore path.
Two large signs rested against the front row of vessels.
Nutritious and Healthy Hot Soups are Available Here explained the first one.
Next to it, the other sign went on to list the options: Hot Ragi (millet). Palak and Methi (Spinach and Fenugreek). Vegetable. Baby Corn. Aloe Vera and Wheat Grass.
In the earlier part of the morning, it was mainly the office-goers he served, confidently ladling hot liquids until he achieved the mixture that each customer looked forward to. They would drink quickly, blowing into their cups between sips, then rush off with a wave to begin a new day. Later in the morning came the housewives and retirees, often in pairs or threes. There was no air of urgency about this bunch and they would linger a little longer around his stall, sipping the spiced, healthful broth and exchanging news.
He wore no watch, but guessed the time according to the regulars. The old man who fed the pigeons arrived at precisely eight am, and left at nine fifteen. There was the trickle of school children that would begin at around 8.30 and trail off around nine. And the aunty who always wore a woollen beanie, regardless of the weather, usually arrived around ten.
Then, at around ten thirty, when all the walkers had walked, joggers had jogged and soup drinkers had drunk, the young man would meticulously pack away his things and head home. Every day he would take pleasure in the lightness of the canisters at the end of the morning. It made him happy that people liked his soup, so full of nourishment. And it made him even happier that the cycle home from Sankey Tank at the end of his shift was always easier than the one he had done in the wee hours of the morning.
Spinach, Baby Corn and Mung Dhal curry
Get:
2 large bunches English spinach, leaves and tender stems only, finely chopped
8-10 fresh baby corns, sliced to 2-3mm pieces
1/3 cup dried split mung dhal
Salt
Lemon juice
Boiling water
Small handful coriander, roughly chopped
For the Tempering:
2 tsp vegetable oil
1 tsp black mustard seeds
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
1/2 tsp chilly powder
2-3 dried red chillies, broken into large pieces
Make:
Boil the spinach in 2-3 cups salted water (enough to submerge it) for 5-7 minutes. Drain and reserve the water.
In a large non-stick saucepan, dry roast the mung dhal, stirring continuously until they have gained a little colour and are fragrant. Remove from the saucepan and set aside.
Boil the sliced baby corn in plenty of salted water until they are starting to become tender. Then add the roasted mung dhal and cook until the dhal is mostly but not completely cooked. Drain and reserve the water.
In the non-stick saucepan, heat the oil and add the mustard seeds. When the seeds have popped (adjust the heat to prevent burning them), add the other tempering ingredients. Add the spinach and cook for a few minutes, then add the baby corn and mung dhal. If the mixture is a bit dry, add a little of the spinach water. Add salt to taste- start with 1/2 tsp. Stir through, taste and add more salt if needed. Cook, covered, until the baby corn is fairly tender and until any excess water has evaporated (you may have to cook uncovered for a few minutes at the end).
Squeeze in a generous about of lemon juice (start with a tbsp, add more according to taste) and stir through just before serving. Enjoy with your favourite Indian flatbread.
Nourishing Spinach Broth:
Get:
The spinach and baby corn water from the previous recipe
2-3 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 green chilli, split down the middle
1-2 tsp turmeric powder
Salt and lemon juice to taste
For the Tempering:
2 tsp vegetable oil
1 tsp cumin seeds Make:
Boil all the ingredients (apart from the oil, cumin and lemon juice) in a pot for about 15-20 mins. Add salt only if needed after tasting. Strain the broth to remove the garlic and chilly. In a separate small non-stick pan, heat the oil and add the cumin seeds. When they have popped, add the mixture to the broth and stir. Add lemon juice to taste.
Notes:
Mung Dhal, dry red chillies and all the spices are readily available in Indian grocery stores.
I write because when I do, I forget all else. As my fingers bounce across the keys, as words tumble over each other to land in succession on the page, as letters become words become sentences become paragraphs, life becomes something that makes a little bit of sense.
To write makes my heart beat faster with the sheer invigoration of it. It is my car racing, my bungee jumping, my watercolour. It makes me more of what I am, the best version of myself.
There are days when ideas and concepts in my head that are jostling their way out of my little brain. Characters….some real, some imagined and some real-imagined. Each being born in the fog of science in my cranium, elbowing their way past treatment protocols, drug contraindications, suture properties, principles of wound healing. Many of these men, women and yes, animals, never see the light. Some underdeveloped and some not very interesting in the first place languish quietly before they can emerge into the world. But a few remain, laying low, biding their time, building their strength until they can climb out onto my laptop. Others form stories that blossom, give me hope, then whither like the end-of-day flowers at the railway station kiosk. The ones that sell for half price to husbands who are home late again and couples who don’t like to turn up empty handed to dinner parties. Perhaps one day a concept, an idea will take on a bigger life….one that makes it to my screen and eventually onto paper.
Why do I write? I write because that act of weaving words, of hitting keys to make people, places, animals and situations take shape is what allows me to call myself a writer. I write because writing is like medicine for my soul. Because what I have written may be all I ever leave behind, even if no-one ever reads it. Writing allows me to start to un-jumble the mess that at times is life, to put it into simple words and complex sentences. I write because sometimes the beauty and sorrow of life is so overwhelming that I need to reduce it to mere words to improve my grasp on it. When I write, I at times escape reality and at other times embrace it.
I write for me. I write to show you a piece of me. To connect with you, even if it’s only through words on your screen.
I write because I am a writer.
Why do you write? And if you don’t, what is it that takes you to that happy place?
It is my firm belief that as adults we don’t take enough opportunities to roll down grassy hills. To lie supine, succumbing to gravity, body against plush felt and eyes squeezed shut. To relinquish control, if only for a minute, like kids do without a second thought.
What holds us back? Is it the a fear of scratched knees, bruised elbows and scraped egos? Of nice clothes stained with chlorophyll and indignity? Of achy joints and stiff muscles that may groan a little the next day? Or is it that our grown-up, weary eyes just see grassy slopes as a part of the scenery, their true potential buried under the clutter of finances, relationships and other sensibilities.
Childhood holidays to Canberra, the nation’s capital, included a mandatory visit to Parliament house. It was an oblong white structure on top of a hill where the country’s politicians would discuss, defend and decide on how best to run this place. As kids though, the drawing card was the immaculately manicured carpet of green lawn that sloped away from the building without a tree or even so much as a pebble to interrupt it. It was the perfect grassy hill to roll down, gathering speed until we would land at the bottom in a pile of grass and giggles.
The sculptured lawns of Parliament house paled in comparison to the emerald slopes of Tuscany. As we drove to Pienza, a tiny Tuscan town nestled in the Val D’Orca region, winding roads took us past the velveteen undulations of the Tuscan countryside . There were patches of vineyards here, a punctuation of a farmhouse there but mostly, it was the vast expanse of many-shaded green. The town itself was a tangle of intriguing, winding. streets and charming shops. Of inconspicuous restaurants and dusky pink stone walls. It’s cathedral was as lovely as any, the immense ceiling stretching away from its wooden pews, polished by hands for centuries.
But what drew my attention again and again was the view from the city walls. From there one could see a circumferential expanse of the voluptuous green hills. Those hills that the child in me wanted to roll down fearlessly, gathering speed and momentum.
Unhindered, without a second thought and never looking back.
I know it’s been a while since I’ve had a recipe here, and I’m afraid I’m not here to remedy the situation. Not today. You see I have been shamelessly gallivanting around the Tuscan hills up until a week ago and I sincerely believe at least a third of me is still over there, feet tramping through poppy fields, skin refreshed by cool mountain air and gelato melting over my fingers faster than I can lick it.
So call it a kind of post-holiday lethargy, a time shortage, or let’s just blame jet lag, that old scapegoat, but I have no dish for you today. As the Italians say…..Is ok? Va bene!
What I do have for you are some images, a representation of what I got up to in the food styling and photography part of the Plated Stories workshop. And what I can say was that there was something inspiring about styling and shooting that assortment of foods in that sunny Tuscan Villa. Briana, Paola, Robin, Cathy and I jostled for space, cutlery and photography boards, claiming patches of sunlight like cats. And after the used and abused vegetables were fed to the resident donkey Socrates, we took a look at our images and were a little bit proud of what we had produced.
So here are some of mine and I promise that next time there will be real food. Or at least, a recipe.
I’ve been like an excitable little kid, anticipating this day. The day that marks a year of blogging for me. A year of breathlessly rushing into the kitchen after a day at work to try out a new idea I had. To make it truly amazing so that I can share it with you all. A year of thinking way too much about every canape, main meal and dessert I ate. Of putting every dish through a deep analysis to figure out how I could make it at home, what interesting twist I could give it and more recently, what I could do to make it sugar-free. Twelve months of drawing on my imagination and the things that have inspired me to decide how I want to style the dish and the best way to photograph it to provide a visual complement to my words.
Also, perhaps closest to my heart, the words themselves. The stories I would tell and the windows that dish would open up into the inner workings of my mind. Because for me, food is as important as it is because it always tells a tale, triggers a memory or incites an emotion. There is a commonality between my mother’s family’s puliyogare, and a terrine served at a fine dining restaurant. Between that three ingredient fudge and that delicate, seven layer cake that graces the window of the upmarket patisserie, looking far too pretty to plunge a spoon into.
That connection may not be in the ingredients, the method or how it is served. What all food has in common is that it was made by hands that are controlled by a mind with a story to tell, a history to either reveal or protect and thoughts to express.
Food is sustenance, for nourishing and for fulfilling. But it is also for sharing, for drawing people in and for bringing them together. A bowl of warming soup that you slowly savour while watching television, curled up on the couch on a wintery evening. The pudding that is eaten slowly, each syrupy spoonful punctuating words that you share with someone you are just getting to know, while you try desperately not to let the sauce dribble inelegantly down your chin. The cup of too-hot tea that you blow the steam off before you settle your head back onto the shoulder of your sweetheart.
It is a privileged position, this one. To be able to view food this way is a function of a comfortable life. But it is how I view food, and I thank you for allowing me to share that with you for the past year. This yearling space of mine means more to me than perhaps I could ever explain. A creative outlet, a happy place and a raft that has helped keep me afloat through what has been a challenging year. Each comment, glowing or otherwise, every tiny piece of interaction and encouragement has made my heart smile.
At the basest level I have discovered rosewater, cashew cream, how to steam puddings and how wonderfully therapeutic bread-making is. I have found rice syrup, Quinoa and kale. I have worked out what makes a good food prop and just how much light I need for a photo session. Beyond that, this small corner of mine has given me so much more.
We have come a long way, you and I. From that first kulfi recipe with its endearingly awkward photographs to now, when I finally feel I am getting a grasp of things. We can go further, we know this. We have so much more to discover about each other, to share over a cup of coffee and a chocolate truffle.
This blog is growing too. I am working to make some positive changes here in this space and outside it. So do stick with me. For there is no-one else in the world I can imagine moving forward with.
Thank you all for sharing the past year with me, it has meant more to me than you could possibly know.
Rose and Raspberry tart (Vegan, Gluten-Free, fructose-free)
For the crust:
2 1/2 cups almond meal
Generous pinch salt
1/4 tsp baking powder
4 1/2 tbsp coconut oil
3 tbsp rice syrup
For the rose and cashew cream filling:
1 1/2 cups raw cashews
Water
2 tbsp rosewater
1/3 – 1/2 cup rice syrup or honey
To decorate:
2 small punnets raspberries, washed and patted dry
Anything else you desire- chocolate, crushed nuts etc etc etc.
Make:
Immerse the cashews in water and soak for at least 3 hours.
To make the crust:
Preheat the oven to 175 C.
Place the almond meal, salt and baking powder in a large bowl and mix well.
In another bowl, whisk the coconut oil and syrup. They will not mix very well but do your best. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and with clean hands, crumble everything together and knead lightly until a dough is formed.
Grease a tart tin and press the mixture evenly into its base and about 1 1/2 cm up the sides. Bake for 15-20 min or until golden brown.
To make the filling:
Drain the cashews and rinse. Place them in the bowl of a high speed food processor. Add rosewater, syrup or honey and 1/3 cup water. I found 1/3 cup of syrup to be adequate, but taste and add a little more if desired. Process on high speed until a smooth or slightly coarse cream forms, scraping down the sides as needed.
When the tart base has cooled, remove it from the tin and fill with the cashew cream, spreading evenly. Refrigerate for 20 mins before decorating with raspberries and whatever else you choose. I used some dark chocolate leaves that I piped. You can of course, opt for another fruit if you wish!
My summer holidays were often spent in a way that my parents thought best combined the two elements of being an Indian family in Australia. It was a time before the teenage years descended on me with all their accompanying awkwardness. Before that phase where the parentals were mortifyingly embarrassing, no matter what they did. Anything they did that was too typically Indian would make me want to crawl under the nearest table and any attempts on their part to be more Aussie would be met with a roll of the eyes. During those teenage years, they really couldn’t win.
But this was a time before all that adolescent angst set in, when this marrying of cultures was just part of life. We would drive to caravan parks in seaside towns, often with two or three other families from our community. We stayed in a string of mobile homes that never went anywhere and splashed around in the pool while our mothers cooked and our fathers ate Bombay bhuja mix with their beers.
The smell of barbequing meat would waft past us from the Australian families with whom we were sharing the park. Our mothers would wrinkle up their vegetarian noses in disgust and set about cooking a good Indian meal using the impressive toolkit of ingredients they had packed into the cars. Lentils were cooked, rice micro-waved and spices blended, the scents mingling with that of cooking meat, chlorine and sunscreen.
There was often some sort of South Indian bread- fluffy steamed idlis with chutney, or dosas made from batter that had fermented perfectly in the warm car. Otherwise there would be the semolina based upma or some sort of flavoured rice dish such as a puliogare, lemon rice or this green mango and coconut rice.
Luckily all the teenage angst eventually gave way. Anything else would be a real pity as there is nothing remotely embarrassing about this flavourful, slightly tart rice dish that is a favourite in this Indian family.
Mangoes are in season now and although the ripe fruit are undeniably delicious, there is much you can do with the raw green version readily available in markets and ethnic grocers. For this dish, try to choose greener, less ripe mangoes as the more tart they are, the better. The crunch of the peanuts and roasted dhal adds something special. If you are allergic to peanuts but tolerant of others, try using cashews.
Mum’s Green Mango and Coconut Rice
Feeds 6-8
Get:
1 & 1/2 to 2 green mangoes, peeled and flesh finely grated (the greener the better!)
2 cups uncooked basmati rice
2 & 1/4 cups water
For the spice paste:
2 tsp fenugreek seeds
4 dry red chillies
Generous pinch asafoetida
1 cup fresh shredded coconut (I use frozen)
Any bits of mango that you could not grate
1-2 tbsp water
For the tempering:
1/4 cup cooking oil
2 tsp mustard seeds
1 tbsp channa dhal
1 tbsp urad dhal
1/2 tsp turmeric
Generous pinch asafoetida
10-15 curry leaves
3/4 cup small peanuts (available in Indian stores)
Salt, to taste
Make:
Cook the rice. This can be done by placing 2 cups of rice in a rice cooker with 2 1/4 cups of water and cooking according to the rice cooker instructions. Alternatively, you could place the rice and water in a large microwave dish and cook uncovered for 11 minutes, then covered for 2 minutes.
In a large non-stick saucepan, roast the fenugreek seeds until fragrant. Grind the seeds in the spice grinder or food processor, then add the other spice paste ingredients and grind to a smooth paste. Add a little more water if necessary.
In the non-stick saucepan, heat the oil and temper the mustard seeds on low heat. Once they have popped, add the dhals, turmeric and asafoetida. Fry until the dhals are a golden brown and then add the curry leaves, covering the pan immediately.
Once the curry leaves have crisped, add the peanuts. Ensure the heat is on low and fry the peanuts, stirring gently until they are a golden brown colour. This should take 5-7 minutes.
Add the spice paste and warm through for a minute or so.
In a large mixing bowl, fluff up the warm rice with a fork. Add the grated green mango, spice paste/peanut mix and about 3 tsp salt to start. Toss through gently to coat the rice in the other ingredients. Taste and add more salt if needed.
Serve on its’ own or as a side dish to curries.
Note:
Green mangoes, the spices, dhals, small peanuts and frozen shredded coconut are all available at Indian grocery stores.
This month I got my first taste of one of the many perks of being a food blogger. I attended a lovely, intimate afternoon tea hosted by the good people of ABC Books at the kitchen of the Williams Sonoma store in Bondi. The book in question was acclaimed food writer Valli Little’s Love to Cook (Harper Collins), the latest offering in the stunning ABC delicious series.
Let me start by gushing a little about this kitchen. That enormous, stylish, airy space was a dream come true and I half contemplated crawling into one of the pristine white cupboards and hiding out till everyone left so that I could, like maybe, live there. I had almost convinced myself that no-one would notice, when the vivacious Valli started speaking and demonstrating a couple of the dishes from the book. Realising that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the experience quite so well from inside a cupboard, I ditched my original idea and just soaked in the atmosphere.
And Valli Little? Warm, encouraging and approachable, much like her writing and her recipes. Her food is unpretentious and completely achievable for a home cook, while still being special enough to pamper your loved ones with like this dessert. Little makes it clear that there is no shame in using ingredients such as Nutella and condensed milk to put together a beautiful dish. She has a unique style and sense of fun to her writing; think ‘Green Goddess Dressing’ and ‘Laura Ashley Soup’.
Each of Little’s cookbooks is not only beautifully written, but enriched with stunning food photography which is the work of stylist David Morgan and photographer Jeremy Simons. This gorgeous new addition to the delicious series is one that would snuggle in nicely on the bookshelf of anyone who loves to cook.
I was a guest of Harper Collins & ABC Books at this event hosted at Williams Sonoma.
onesmallpot 