South Indian

Lime and Pepper Rasam (broth)

Posted on June 3, 2018June 4, 2018 by Deepa

The air has gotten a whole lot colder here in Sydney. Our balcony, while offering us unimpeded views of the city, is also exposed to sometimes aggressive winds. We often come home to find that anything that is not heavy or secured down has been ruthlessly thrown out of its place. Vegetation must be limited to heavy, solid pots against the sheltered wall. The gardenia I resurrected from a dried-up stick trembles behind the cane chair, refusing to bloom under such conditions. The spiny succulent sits against the door, resolutely maintaining its preference for the outdoors while it cowers in the corner of the door frame. There’s a trough of herbs which I planted with almost no hope for their survival, given my dubious history with keeping anything edible alive. Surprisingly, they stare at me defiantly, a few leaves tattered but still very much alive and almost productive enough to harvest for tossing through dishes.

Rasam Lime Pepper (4 of 10)_edited

The winter quilt and heaters came out a few weeks ago. Winter clothes were unraveled from suitcases, some forgotten about, the reminder of their existence like a small retail-therapy buzz. Dragging ourselves out of bed an hour earlier to fit in a gym session seems like a mammoth undertaking, and we are more frequently hitting the snooze button to favour a little extra time in the warmth instead. Noses run unbidden and at the most inconvenient of times. Our throats are scratchy on occasion and each time, we wonder whether it’s a cold or worse still, the dreaded flu.

There are cravings for soup and these are dutifully satisfied. Rasam is a South Indian staple. It is what every southie kid remembers eating several times a week, mixed with rice and accompanied by a vegetable side dish. It is the antidote to sniffles, colds, and even the dreaded flu. Rasam is a delicate balance of spice, sourness and salty undertones. It takes a little practice but it’s worth getting just so. This version uses limes, as I was gifted a bag of these by a generous colleague with an overactive lime tree. Also, pepper to soothe the throat, the comforting sourness of tamarind and a few basic spices. Rasam is often made with lentils, but this one is more of a clear broth.

For more wintery comfort foods, try this dhal, Palak Paneer, or this Egg Curry.

Rasam Lime Pepper (7 of 10)_edited

Lime and Pepper Rasam

Get:

1 golfball sized chunk of dried tamarind
2 L boiling water
7-8 cm fresh ginger, finely grated
½ tbsp freshly ground pepper
1 tsp whole peppercorns
1 tsp cumin powder
1 tsp coriander powder
1 ½ tbsp tightly packed soft brown sugar or jaggery
Salt to taste
3-4 tbsp lime or lemon juice
Small handful fresh coriander, roughly chopped

For tempering:

2 tsp vegetable oil
2 tsp cumin seeds
Pinch asofoetida (optional)
6-8 fresh curry leaves

Make:

Shred the tamarind with your fingers and place in a bowl with 1 cup boiling water, set aside. Place 6 cups boiling water in a medium sized saucepan on the stove. Add ginger, spices and jaggery. Bring back to a boil and then reduce to a simmer for 10 to 15 minutes. When the water that is soaking the tamarind is cool enough to handle, squeeze the tamarind within your fingers to extract the flavor into the water. Yes, it feels kind of gross but no pain, no gain. Set aside for another few minutes. Add salt to the rasam mixture, starting with 1 tsp. Stir to dissolve, and taste- you may need to add another ¼ to ½ tsp.

Strain the tamarind water into the rasam mixture, taking care not to include any chunks of tamarind. Simmer for another 10 minutes. If the mixture is getting too concentrated, add a little boiling water. Taste along the way. There should be a nice balance of pepperiness, and sourness form the tamarind which is offset by salt and sugar. Remember this is a savoury dish so sugar should not be the predominant flavor.

Once you are happy with the flavor balance, boil for another 10 minutes, then take off heat. Add 3 tbsp lemon or lime juice, taste and add a little more if a subtle flavor is not coming through.

To temper: In a small saucepan, heat oil on the stove. Add cumin seeds and allow them to pop. Add asofoetida, then curry leaves and stand back because they will sizzle and pop in a violent fashion. You may need to turn the heat down before you bolt to the other side of the kitchen. Once the spluttering tantrum is over, add the tempered mixture into the rasam and stir through.

Finally, add coriander leaves and stir. Serve mixed with rice or on its own as a clear soup. If it is a little too spicy for you, allow the sediment to settle and scoop the clearer liquid from the top, which will be less peppery.

Rasam Lime Pepper (1 of 10)_edited

Tefal Cook4Me and Spiced Chickpeas with Coconut

Posted on May 24, 2016 by Deepa

I’m the first to admit that I have control issues in the kitchen. The stove is a ship and I, its captain. This makes it near intolerable for anyone who dares to help me put together a meal. It also makes it very difficult for any sophisticated appliances to be truly useful in my kitchen. My need for control means that I must stir the pot myself, pottering between that and chopping of the next ingredient to be added, while simultaneously shooing out anyone who ventures in.

Cook4Me 3 colours

When Tefal asked me to trial their Cook4Me Electric Pressure Cooker, I have to admit I was sceptical. I am a stovetop pressure cooker user from way back, refusing to be swayed even by an exploding-dhal-from prematurely-opened-cooker incident a few years ago. Would I still be ‘hard core’ with an electric pressure cooker, I wondered?

I don’t know exactly when I officially joined the Tefal Cook4Me camp. Was it the heart-achingly moist, buttery fish fillets I made using the ‘Sweet Chilli Salmon’ recipe? Or the realisation that I didn’t have to pay attention and count the whistles from a stovetop cooker in order to ensure my lentils were cooked but not pureed? Whatever the trigger, the result is that I now use my Tefal Cook4Me almost every day.

You guys, this thing not only cooks things to perfection, retaining moisture and flavour, but it also tells you how to do it!! It is programmed with loads of gorgeous recipes that take you through the cooking process, step by step, for 2, 4 or 6 people. Even an intuitive cook like me is quite happy to minimise the firing of neurons at the end of the day and still end up with a delicious, healthy meal. Also, this thing is one sexy looking machine! I know, I know……I saved the most important bit till last.

A lot of things are supposed to change your life these days…..appliances, cars, cosmetics. The Tefal Cook4Me may not change your entire life, but it sure will transform the way you cook, especially if you like quick, healthy, simple meals that are easy to clean up afterwards and so, so good to eat.

Oosli, or Spiced Black Chickpeas with Coconut, is a traditional South Indian Dish, popular during festival times but made throughout the year. It is a protein rich dish, perfect for those who rely on non-meat sources of protein, but also delicious as a filling workday lunch. The earthiness of the legume is offset by the freshness of coconut and a subtle-but-definitely-there hint of lemon. If you can’t find black chick peas, you can also use regular chick peas.

Tefal Cook4Me was kindly provided by Tefal Australia, however all opinions are my own. Cook4Me images are from Tefal.

Spiced Chickpea coconut (4 of 5)

Spiced Chickpeas and Coconut (Oosli)

Serves 2-4 as a side dish

Get:

1 cup dried small black chick peas, soaked overnight
2 tsp coconut or vegetable oil
1 tsp black mustard seeds
1/2 tsp turmeric powder
Pinch asafoetida
½ to 1 hot green chilli, split down the middle
2 dried red chillies broken into large pieces
8-10 curry leaves
3 tbsp fresh or fresh frozen (thawed) grated coconut
Salt
Lemon Juice
Small handful coriander, roughly chopped

Special Equipment:
Tefal Cook4Me Electric Pressure Cooker

Make:

Drain and rinse the soaked chickpeas. Place in the Cook4Me pot with plenty of the water (chick peas should be completely submerged with about 1 cm of water above them). Choose manual on the Cook4Me panel and reduce the time using the dial to 2 minutes. Press ok to start. Once your Cook4Me beeps to indicate that it is finished cooking, allow the pressure to dissipate (about 5-10 minutes). Open the lid of the Cook4Me and remove the pot to drain the water from the chick peas. The chick peas should be cooked through but firm.

Replace the empty pot into the Cook4Me and use the manual option to choose the ‘Browning’ setting. With the lid now left open, heat the oil in the Cook4Me pot. Add the mustard seeds. Once they have popped, add turmeric, asafoetida, red chillies and green chilli. Cook, stirring gently for 1-2 mins. Add 4-5 curry leaves (they will splutter so step back or momentarily lower the lid). Once the curry leaves have crisped, remove the green chilli and discard.

Drain the cooked chick peas and add to the pot. Add 1/2 tsp salt to start with. Stir and leave to cook, with the lid lowered (but not latched), for a couple of minutes. Add the coconut and remaining curry leaves, toss through. Taste and add more salt if needed. Stir again.

Turn off the Cook4Me and add 1 tsp lemon juice. Toss through, taste and add a little more lemon juice to taste. The dish should be a little lemony but this shouldn’t be a dominant flavour.

Sprinkle with coriander just before serving. Serve as a side dish or as a vegan protein-rich main dish with flatbreads.

Notes:

All the ingredients should be available in Indian grocery stores.

Spiced Chickpea coconut (3 of 5)

Monsoon Mocha Ice-Cream Sandwiches for a Nespresso Challenge, and a Giveaway!

Posted on April 5, 2015April 26, 2015 by Deepa

Decoction (noun)

A concentrated liquor resulting from heating or boiling a substance, especially a medicinal preparation made from a plant.

– Oxford Dictionary

It’s a jarring sound, decoction. A sudden awakening from slumber by the cries of the vegetable seller from the street, and the racket of steel on steel as the maids wash the morning dishes. It is the clanging of the heavy temple bell as early worshippers wake the Gods, offerings of fruit and flowers balanced in the other hand. It is the impatient tooting of the horns of scooters ridden by morning commuters, some with saree clad wives perched sideways on the passenger seat.

Di-caack-shun when pronounced by a mami (aunty), is a little softer. It is what South Indians call their coffee, brewed strong and slow, through a filter. It’s rich aroma floats from the kitchen with that of freshly ground coconut flesh that is to be blended into chutney. It wafts across the courtyard of a traditional Tamilian home to mingle with the intoxicating scent of jasmine blossoms and delicate incense smoke. It is an unmistakeable morning scent, the promise of piping hot coffee in tiny steel cups alongside fluffy idlis (steamed rice cakes) and fragrant chutney. For many South Indians, it really is somewhat of a medicinal preparation, an essential start to the day. Until the first dose is taken, the morning cacophony can wait.

No European coffee, prepared by professionals using noisy steam-spurting machines comes close to South Indian philter kaapi, lovingly brewed by mami baristas. Rich and deep without bitterness and creamy with full-cream milk, sipping dose after dose from those stainless steel cups is an experience that cannot be mimicked by western coffee in paper cups. When Nespresso sent me their new, limited edition Monsoon Malabar Grand Cru capsules however, I was surprised at how much the aroma and taste reminded me of South Indian coffee. It’s deep, warm tones lend themselves perfectly to dessert and I couldn’t wait to create a sweet treat that incorporated this gorgeous blend. My Monsoon Mocha Ice-Cream Sandwich uses a modification of a spiced Indian biscuit, known as nankhatai, with rich and creamy no-churn mocha ice cream. Coffee is no stranger to spices, at least in the middle-east, and the sharpness of cardamom helps cut through the sweetness and warm coffee tones.

It takes a little planning, this one. The ice-cream should be given at least 12-24 hours to freeze, and the biscuit dough can be made and refrigerated at the same time. The next day, leave yourself a little time to roll out, cut and bake the biscuits, then allow them to cool before crumbly biscuit meets cold, luscious ice cream. The result will be a pleasantly surprising combination of flavours and textures, a dessert that does full justice to the lovely Monsoon Malabar Grand Cru.

Before we get too carried away with this intoxicating business of coffee, ice-cream and whatnot, I have a couple of important things to mention. Firstly, I would be super grateful if you would please head over to the Nespresso Facebook page at the end of this week, like the page and vote for my Monsoon Mocha Ice-cream Sandwich Recipe in the blogger challenge. Thank you in advance!

Secondly, and more excitingly, I have a giveaway! It is a stunning cookbook by Chef Kumar Mahadevan and his wife Suba Mahadevan, who own two of the best Indian restaurants in Sydney. Chef Kumar has also appeared on Masterchef Australia as an expert Indian chef. From a personal perspective, my family and I are frequent diners at both restaurants and long before this giveaway was even in the works, I placed both Abhi’s and Aki’s in the guide to my favourite Indian restaurants in Sydney on Stay.com. Having indulged in Chef Kumar’s dishes at the restaurants as well as at various events, I know that the recipes will not only work but will be delectable. What makes this book special in my opinion is it’s lean towards South Indian dishes, delicacies from my part of India, many of which are not available in the majority of Indian restaurants outside India.

I have a copy of Chef Kumar’s cookbook, ‘From India: Food, Family & Tradition’ to give away to a lucky reader, along with a sleeve of the limited edition Nespresso Monsoon Malabar Grand Cru. For a chance to win, tell me in the comments box at the end of this post, about your most memorable cup of coffee. What made it special? Was it the place? The person who was sitting across the table from you? Was it linked to an important event? Or was it just the taste of the coffee itself, good or bad?

The competition is open to those living in Australia only, and closes at midnight Sydney time on the 23rd of April. Please leave me some way of contacting you- either a link to your blog or check in here for a reply in case you win! If I don’t hear back from you within 3 days of me contacting you, I will have to pick another winner.

I look forward to your entries and your memories. Oh and I would be forever grateful for your votes (Click here, then vote for the recipe from One Small Pot)!

*This competition is based on skill and I will choose the answer based on my discretion. Prizes have been kindly provided by Nespresso and Chef Kumar. Monsoon Malabar Grand Cru capsules and a loan machine were also provided by Nespresso for creation of the recipe. Words and opinions are my own.

**Update : the winner of the giveaway was Ilana Mendels with her gorgeous words about the coffee she sipped during her first visit to her home country. Congratulations Ilana!

Monsoon Mocha Ice-Cream Sandwich

Makes 24-28

Ice-cream recipe modified from a Nigella Lawson recipe.

Get:

For the Mocha Ice-cream:

240g (just over 2/3 cup) sweetened condensed milk
320ml double cream
120g good quality 70% dark chocolate
2 freshly brewed espresso shots Nespresso Monsoon Malabar Coffee

For the Coffee Nankhatai Biscuits:

180g butter at room temperature
3/4 cup brown sugar
Seeds from of 8 cardamom pods. roughly ground
2 tsp cinnamon powder
2 freshly brewed espresso shots of Nespresso Monsoon Malabar (about 3 tbsp brewed coffee)
1 1/4 cups besan (chickpea) flour
1/2 cup plain flour
1/4 cup coarse semolina
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt

Special Equipment:

Nespresso Machine

Make:

To make the ice-cream:

Melt the chocolate in a double boiler or in the microwave in 20 to 30 second bursts.

Brew the coffee and place in the freezer to cool.

Once the coffee and chocolate are cool, lightly whisk together the condensed milk and cream in a bowl, then add the coffee and chocolate. Lightly whisk until combined.

Pour into a container and place in the freezer for 12-24 hours.

Be patient!!

To make the biscuits:

Brew the coffee and place in the freezer to cool.

In a large bowl, cream the butter with the sugar and the cardamom and cinnamon powders. Whisk through the cooled coffee until combined.

In a separate bowl, sift all the flours, baking powder and salt together.

Add the flour mixture to the butter and sugar mixture and combine with a spatula. You will then have to get your (clean) hands in there to form a dough. Knead the dough for a couple of minutes until it is smooth. If it is too sticky, put it in the fridge for about 10 mins. Knead again for a minute.

Wrap in cling wrap and chill for at least 2 hours.

Divide the dough into 3-4 parts. Flour the outside of the dough and place between 2 sheets of grease-proof paper. Roll out evenly into 5 mm thick sheets. using a round cookie cutter (about 7 cm diameter), cut the cookies out of the sheet. Leave the rest of the dough in the fridge and just take out sections as you are ready to roll them. Repeat until all the dough is finished.

Lay the cookies out on baking trays lined with baking paper. Leave 2-3 cm between cookies as they will spread a little. Place the trays in the fridge for at least 10 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 170 C.

Bake on the middle shelf of the oven for 10-12 minutes mins. The cookies are done when they have spread a little and are slightly browned at the top and bottom. They will be soft initially but will firm up after they cool. Allow to cool completely before assembling.

To assemble, scoop the ice-cream into a rough ball using an ice-cream scoop and a dinner spoon. Place the ball of ice-cream in the centre of one biscuit and place another biscuit on top. Apply gentle, even pressure to the top biscuit with the flat palm of your hand until the ice-cream spreads a little between biscuits. The biscuits will break easily, so it is important to be gentle.

Serve immediately!

Curry Leaf Thambuli

Posted on August 3, 2014August 5, 2014 by Deepa

My parents are farmers, of sorts.

Not really, but in one corner of the garden is a curry leaf tree of grand proportions. It towers above the hibiscus, overshadows the quietly achieving chilli plants and puts the tiny basil crop to shame. The slender, lustrous leaves caress the fence and carpet the garden bed, softly making their presence known. They tickle your face as you walk past, filling the nostrils with their subtle but unmistakable scent.

It is quite common for Indian families to have a curry leaf plant. The herb is a staple in South Indian cuisine, most dishes bearing a scattering of the deep green leaves. That they aid digestion is well known, but curry leaves are also packed with iron, buzzing with antioxidants and help regulate blood glucose levels.

Couple that with the fact that a small package of shriveled leaves, their fragrance but a distant memory, will set you back at least four dollars in most Australian supermarkets, and growing your own just makes good sense. My parents’ version however, is one of mammoth proportions that surpasses what is dictated by that good sense. It turns out that this particular Indian has taken a liking to Aussie climate and soil. This piece of urban foliage could probably supply a small Indian city or a large Indian town without too much trouble. It certainly does supply a sizable sector of my parents’ friends circle on a regular basis and anyone who dares to ask for a few curry leaves is usually bombarded with an overstuffed shopping bag of vegetation that will suffice for the coming year or so.

The tree’s offspring have been adopted out to various friends and colleagues in the past and are now thriving like leafy teenagers in pots and backyards. When it begins to flourish out of control, Dad has been forced to prune the tree back lest it completely destroy their pergola and invade the garden, engulfing the house and possibly even the entire street.

This Curry Leaf Thambuli sees the leaves blended with fresh coconut and yoghurt to make a spicy cold soup or condiment. This is another recipe from my cousin Chaithra, you know, the one who brought you that delicious ivy gourd and coconut dish, Thondekaye Sukha. You will have to make a trip to the local Indian store for this one, and a good food processor is important. Eat it on its own, stir it through rice or even drizzle it onto a piece of grilled, Indian spiced fish. Should you find yourself in possession of a large overstuffed shopping bag of these leaves, this is a fabulous way to use them up in a healthy, nutrient-rich way. If you do not have access to such a bounty, well then the investment is probably worthwhile.

Curry Leaf Thambuli

Serves 2-4 as a side dish

Get:

2 tsp ghee
70-80 curry leaves (or the leaves from 4 sprigs)
1/3 cup fresh or frozen grated coconut
1 cm ginger
1-2 hot green chillies (I used frozen ones), to taste
1 tbsp + 1/4 cup Greek style yoghurt
Water
Salt, to taste

For the tempering:
1/2 tsp ghee
1/2 tsp cumin seeds
1/2 tsp black mustard seeds
1 dried red chilli, broke into pieces
Pinch asafoetida
2 tsp urad dhal

Make:

In a small saucepan, melt and heat 2 tsp ghee. Add the curry leaves. If they are fresh, they will splutter, so stand back. When they are browned and crisp, take off the heat and allow to cool a little.

In a food processor, blitz the ghee/curry leaf mixture, coconut, ginger, green chillies 1 tbsp yoghurt and a couple of tbsp water. When it is a slightly coarse paste, add it to the remaining yoghurt in a bowl. Add 1/4 tsp salt and stir through. Taste and add a little more salt if needed. The mixture should be spicy and slightly sour. The salt serves to balance out the sourness of the yoghurt.

In a small saucepan, on medium heat, melt and heat the ghee. Add the mustard and cumin seeds and when they are popping, turn the heat down to low. Add the other tempering ingredients and stir until the urad dhal browns a little. If it is browning quickly, take the pan off the heat and just stir the hot oil mixture. Add a few more curry leaves if available and stir until they are crisp.

Add the tempered mixture to the Thambuli and stir through. Serve with rice or as a sauce.

Eight Little Women

Posted on April 1, 2014 by Deepa

It was a time when rounded verandahs were all the fashion, and the two girls who were old enough to know this convinced their father that a rounded verandah was the thing to have. The little ones looked on in awe as the teak doors were painstakingly carved by hand. Eventually, curiosity would get the better of them and they would play with the sharp wood fragments, only to be shooed away by the old carpenter. The same teak doors still separate the rooms of the fifty-something year old house, their carved patterns intact, their hue slightly darkened with age.

My mother is the fifth of the eight, all girls. The older ones cared for and scolded their younger sisters, in equal measure. Over the years, the solid brick walls absorbed the gleeful chatter, melodious singing and silly squabbles of eight little women. Clothes were bought or home sewn, handed down, fought over and innovatively re-sewn. Nothing was wasted or carelessly tossed away. Pleasures were simple and always shared. A pretty piece of fabric, a small bag of sweets, a new song.

Education was deemed important beyond almost anything else. Nooks were claimed for study and the safe-keeping of books. The table, a staircase landing, the stone used to wash clothes upon and the tiny attic above the third bedroom all became valuable study areas where books were devoured and exams were fretted over. As the older girls graduated, their spaces were relinquished to be occupied by younger sisters. Etched into the door of a small cupboard with a knife sharpened with procrastination, is the name of one of the sisters, the surrounding wood worn smooth by the years.

My grandparents saw no reason for eight daughters to be any less academically accomplished than if they had been eight sons. Their thinking was progressive for their time and as a result, the house churned out an assortment of doctors, scientists, accountants and teachers. Brass plaques that were nailed into the front door bearing names and once shiny new qualifications still adorn the dark wood. Among the plaques sits the two oldest of them, one bearing my grandfathers name and the other bearing the name of the house.

Jyothi

A brilliant light.

Stairs along the side of the house led up to the open terrace, a common feature of houses of that time. This wide open space was for daytime yoga sessions, afternoon naps on summer days and a makeshift salon where wet hair was dried before it was braided. My grandmother would venture up there to dry chillies and tamarind on large blankets weighed down by rocks. Diwali saw that terrace bathed in a glorious display of light when all the girls would race up there to set off firecrackers. Later, the wrappers would be proudly carried down and piled in front of the house, lest the neighbourhood kids think that eight little girls couldn’t set off their share of explosions.

Marriages were arranged or beaus were found, kept secret, breathlessly whispered about and finally disclosed. Weddings were organised, the youngest still giggly schoolgirls excitedly watching their akkas (older sisters) move away with the men they chose.

Later, there were grandchildren. Small, sprightly offspring who would climb the bars surrounding that rounded verandah. Quieter little ones who would curl into those same nooks with story books. Aunty Jyothi, the very daughter for whom the house was named, lives in that house now with her family and so two more daughters have been raised between the solid walls, fed from the same kitchen and have crammed for exams in the same rooms.

During my recent visit, my cousin Chaitra and I spent a morning cooking in the kitchen of the house our mothers grew up in. It was apt, and terribly exciting that she taught me to how to cook one of my favourite vegetables. Thondekaye (Ivy Gourd), resembling tiny cucumbers, is available only in frozen form in Australia, although those in the UK can find it fresh in Indian stores. My love of it is widely known amongst my mum’s side of the family, meaning that many of my aunts will indulge me by cooking me a thondekaye dish whenever I visit India. So when Chaitra, who has flourished into quite the cook, offered to teach me how to make this Manglorean Thondekaye Sukha (dry stir-fry), I was in.

It is important to cut the whole thondekaye lengthwise, into quarters or sixths. What happens is that each piece curls lovingly around the spiced coconut matrix, the flavours settling nicely between the internal ribbing. The sharpness of chilli, hint of jaggery sweetness and sour notes of the tamarind are offset by the freshness of the coconut, and the tiny thondekaye wedges are the perfect vehicle for this intricate mixture.

That morning, my cousin and I cooked, giggled, chatted and cooked some more. I chopped as Chaitra grated fresh coconut. She roasted spices to fragrant perfection while I soaked tamarind. Each step was patiently explained to me while I madly scribbled it all down.

So it was that we added new memories to the fifty-something year old kitchen. And the gleeful chatter of two more women mingled and were absorbed into the walls of the house with the rounded verandah.

Thondekaye Sukha (Ivy Gourd and Coconut Stir-fry)

Get:
600 grams of fresh or frozen thondekaye (ivy gourd)
Ball of dried tamarind the size of a small lime
Boiling water
1 medium onion, diced
1 cup grated coconut, fresh or frozen (defrosted)
2 tsp grated or powdered jaggery
Salt
Small handful fresh coriander, chopped (optional)

For the Spice Mix
1/4 tsp coconut oil
2 tbsp coriander seeds
1/2 tbsp cumin seeds
1/4 tsp fenugreek seeds
4-5 black peppercorns
4 dried red chillies, broken into pieces
Generous pinch asofoetida
1/2 tsp urad dhal
10-12 dried curry leaves

For Tempering:
2 tbsp coconut oil
1/2 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 tsp urad dhal
1/4 tsp turmeric powder
6-8 fresh or dried curry leaves
2 small garlic cloves, slightly crushed

Make:
Break up the tamarind and soak in 1/2 cup of boiling water in a medium sized bowl. Mash with a fork and leave to soak until the water is cool enough to touch. Then, with clean hands, squish the tamarind in the water until the water thickens. Strain the water into another bowl. The tamarind flesh can be discarded or stored in the fridge and used again within a few days.

Slice the thondekaye lengthwise into quarters or sixths, depending on how thick they are. Frozen thondekaye usually comes pre sliced. Immerse in salted boiling water and bring to the boil again. Simmer on low-medium heat until the insides are tender but the skin still has a bite. This will take 5-7 mins for frozen thondekaye, and longer for fresh.

In a large non-stick pan, warm 1/4 tsp coconut oil. Add all the spice mix ingredients except the curry leaves. Roast on low heat until fragrant and until the red chillies become brittle between the fingers. Transfer the mixture to your mortar and pestle or spice grinder. In the same pan, roast the dried curry leaves for a minute or so and add to the other spices. Grind to a fine or slightly coarse powder.

In the same large pan, heat 2 tbsp coconut oil. Lower the heat to medium and add the mustard seeds. Take care not to burn them! When they have popped, add urad dhal, turmeric, curry leaves and garlic. Stir-fry for a minute or so on low-medium heat until the dhal has gained a little colour. Add the spice mixture and stir-fry for about 2 mins. Then, add the diced onion and saute until translucent. Add the coconut and toss to mix. Pour in the tamarind water and sprinkle in the jaggery and 2 tsp salt. Mix well and cook for a further minute. Drain the thondekaye and add to the pan. Stir-fry for another 5 minutes. Taste and add more salt if neccessary. If the thondekaye is still a little undercooked, cover and cook, stirring intermittently, for a further 5-10 mins. The thondekaye should be tender and yielding but not mushy.

Sprinkle with coriander, if desired, and serve with chapatis or mixed into rice with a little more coconut oil.

Notes:

Jaggery is unrefined Indian sugar and can be found at Indian grocery stores along with frozen thondekaye, coconut, the spices, urad dhal and dried tamarind. Jaggery has a unique flavour but if you can’t get it, soft brown sugar should work.

You can of course use powdered spices instead of whole, but believe me when I say that when you start powdering your own spices, you will never want to go back to pre-powdered ones.

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