Pluot Chutney

Update: I discovered to my delight that this chutney (and I assume any fruit-based chutney) makes a killer peanut butter and chutney sandwich–I mean that in a good way.

I impulsively bought some pluots at Costco the other day. I thought they were plums but PJ read the box (unlike me, he reads and even obeys directions!) and informed me that they are a plum and apricot hybrid (a fruit breeder’s labradoodle I guess!) They were dead-on ripe which meant no way could we eat them before they went bad, so I decided it was time to venture into another chutney experiment.

I adapted my recipe from this Kiwi Chutney Recipe because I had everything it called for–except kiwi–and my ripe pluots were similar in sweetness from a ripe kiwi. I did a fair bit of guestimating on ingredients (Why did I use 7 pluots? Because I had 7 pluots!) and added some spices, because I can.

Pluot Chutney

7 very ripe pluots
2 very ripe bananas
2 medium onions
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1 cup raisins
1 cup brown sugar
a thumb sized hunk of ginger, minced
3-5 cinnamon sticks
3-4 cracked green cardamom pods
1 tablespoon salt
1 cup vinegar (I used rice vinegar)

Peel and chop the fruits, onion, ginger. Put all ingredients in a heavy non-reactive* pot and boil gently until it becomes soft and thick (took two hours for this batch), stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon.

You can certainly preserve it, but there isn’t enough AC in an average American supermarket to convince me to boil jars on my stove in August. However, homecooking.about.com assures me that the acid content will give it several weeks in the fridge. I mean, really, chutneys DID originate in India.

*Non-reactive=not made from iron, copper or brass; otherwise, the acid content may damage the pot and a metallic flavor may be leached into the chutney.

ghee and tea: a happy accident

Ever since learning that Gibi-aunty makes ghee from cream, I was curious to know if it would be superior to the ghee that I am trying to make from cheap butter. So I gave it an amateur whirl last night, without much help from Ma Google. Apparently this is not how the chefs-with-blogs do it, so it was hard to find any information. When I googled separating + cream, I mostly got farming hits for cream separators.

A majority of the farmers-with-blogs indicated that you have to somehow centrifuge cream in a blender or butter-maker to get butter, but Michelle had reported that Gibi just does it on the stove, by slow boiling it until it separates into milk solids and fat. I really wanted to try it the “Indian Ma” way to see if the extra time and expense was worth it.

So late last night, after making some idlee batter to set out in the 90 degree night, I slow-boiled about a half gallon of heavy whipping cream, in a heavy pan, for two hours–stirring every ten minutes or so–while watching MY grown-up shows on TV. After all that time, I had brown cream but it wasn’t looking any closer to separating. It was 1:00 AM and I was actually getting tired of MY grown-up shows, so I left the browned cream on the stove; knowing that boiling had removed the water and enzymes that cause souring, so that it would have a long shelf life.

This morning it had not yet separated so I decided to call it a failed experiment in ghee making. So as not to waste all that beautiful cream, I had PJ put it in the blender, to whip up a topping for our thosai. While he did that, I randomly threw some spices into the coffee grinder: broken cinnamon sticks; a few cardamom seeds; a dash of coriander; a dash of ginger powder. PJ then added my spices, some vanilla and sugar to the blender.

Then we discovered that the cooked cream was not going to whip. So instead of a whipped topping, we decided it would be masala chai(spicy tea), and PJ added some strong tea to the mix.

We got busy elsewhere and when we returned to the blender, lo and behold, half of the contents was gorgeous golden ghee! I should have paid closer attention to those farmer bloggers. I’ll have to ask Michelle to see if Gibi somehow whips her boiled cream, or the separation she gets is a result of using non-pasteurized cream? (It occurs to me that this would be a great way to make sure non-pasteurized cream is safe for consumption.)

So we poured off the now sweetly spiced ghee and made the remaining milk mix into masala chai. The ghee was wonderful on our thosai, and is a more clear, pure form of ghee than I get from butter. It was like a happy accident when creating a work of art with one goal in mind, and getting a much better result than intended! The next time I make it I am going to let the cream sit out to get slightly sour for about 12 hours, as suggested on many butter-making sites.

Coconut Chutney

This post almost began and ended with: Just go to an Indian deli and buy it. And I will do that to compare notes, but I want to be able to make staples like this too. This is an amalgamation of a few coconut chutney recipes that I found online.

Oh, and cracking the coconut was a fun thing to do. Once. Getting the coconut out of the shell–not so much fun. Hopefully we satisfied JL’s curiosity (and may have to repeat for KN) but I will mostly be buying my coconut pre-grated.

Coconut Chutney

1 cup grated coconut
coconut milk (enough to achieve desired consistency)

1 tablespoon ghee
2 tsp urid dal
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp hing
1 tsp tamarind paste (can substitute lime, lemon or tomato to taste)

Heat ghee to sizzle hot. Roast mustard seed, urad dal and hing in ghee until the seeds are done popping and urad dal turns brown. Allow spiced ghee to cool in a mortar, then grind with pestle until smooth. Mix with tamarind. Set aside.

In blender, mix coconut and with enough coconut milk to achieve a thick consistency, folding in spiced ghee.

Serve as a cooling chutney with idlies and a spicy curry.

cracking the coconut

I made idlis again today but hadn’t yet made the coconut chutney because frankly I was intimidated by the round hairy brown thing in my fridge. And the coconut too (sorry, couldn’t resist.)

On the first day that the coconut took up residence in our home, JL tried hatching it. I found her watching TV while sitting in her kiddy lawn chair–with the coconut sitting directly underneath the chair. But it just sat there and did nothing (we have a pet bunny like that too.)

So today, when I made idlis, we were also having some ceasar salad, and I tried a little of the dressing with my idlis. It was a tad sourish, the way coconut chutney made with tamarind would be (or in our case, lime). I decided it was time to conquer the coconut and enlisted my two side-kicks.

I also went to Ma Google and asked her how to crack a coconut. Delia Online gives step by step directions which look the most safe and manageable to me, so I went with hers and not the lady who holds a meat cleaver in one hand and a coconut in the other. Sceeery.

JL was thrilled to be given permission to break something with a hammer. We decided to use a rubber mallet instead, which I figured was more likely to hit its target and not one of her toes. So the hammer in this picture of the assembled tools is not what we went with in the end; however, it would have worked fine in steady grown up hands.

click to enlarge:

First PJ poked its eyes out with a Phillips screwdriver so we could drain the milk.

We were surprised that the milk is clear!

JL’s big moment (SHALOM COCONUT!):

Despite fierce effort, she finally had to ask her dad for his help. I took this picture just as the coconut had cracked and skittered. Yes, it does appear to be dead.

And so I now have a cracked coconut to grate, and make into chutney. Wish me luck!

Ramen Noodles and Shiitake Mushrooms

Yesterday at Costco, I collided with a gigantic bag of dried shiitake mushrooms (weighing one whole pound!) and had to have it. I just knew we would use it, and it didn’t matter how long it would take because they would probably outlast me. Or at least the cats.

PJ had the brilliant idea of mixing them with our favorite instant food, Ramen noodles. Break up a few ’shrooms into smaller pieces, discarding any stems, and cover with plenty of water (they suck it up fast) and heat in the microwave for 3 minutes, then add the noodles and more water, microwave for 2-3 minutes more. Season and ghee it to taste, and let sit for a minute or two, and you have a delicious gourmet–possibly even medicinal–lunch for under 50 cents. 7/13/06: one of the (ahem) medicinal effects of Shiitake mushrooms is that they are very fibrous. I learned the hard way to go easy on them.

Thosai (and Idlies): The Hard Way

(click on the pictures to enlarge, for more gruesome detailed viewing)

So I was perusing my book Indian Breads, Rice and Curries when I stumbled across a Thosai (pronounced Dosa for one, Dosai for two or more) recipe; lacy-looking sour dough pancakes made from chick peas and rice. Obviously the book has a professional chef and a food photographer. As you will see, my results were not pretty. Suffice it to say, this hard-way recipe does not fit my philosophy of simple cooking for the easily distracted but–as so many disasters do–it makes for an entertaining blog post. If you aren’t into vicarious cooking nightmares, just go ahead and check out my more successful experiment with Idlies and Thosai: The Easy Way.

To make Thosai the hard way: you soak the urid dhal and rice for five hours, then smooth it out in a blender. This did not go well at all, but by that time, I was in too far to back out. I almost burned out the motor on our crappy little blender and while trying to keep it churning in the blender, cracked a wooden spoon and sent quite a bit of batter flying. Consequently, I wasn’t able to blend it to a smooth enough consistency. This created frying problems and resulted in some very dense, slightly crunchy Thosai.

Frying the Thosai sounds as easy as riding a bike from this restaurant review:

I watched as the cook adeptly whipped out one after another thosai. He starts off by taking some of the fermented liquid dough and spreads it on the hot plate. To ensure that his Paper Thosai is spread evenly thin, he expertly scrapes some dough across the hot plate so that it is thinned out evenly. Then, he flicks some liquid margarine which gives it that extra kick! When it starts to brown, he expertly but tenderly detaches the film of thosai from the hot plate and rolls it up… walla!

Yeah right. I wasn’t planning on making Paper Thosai, which sounded a bit beyond me; but I did think it would be a simple matter of pouring pancake batter and flipping. For this to happen, I needed a mentor more up to the task than Mother Google. Like an Indian ma or chef.

Here is what my first several Thosai looked like:

I blamed the victim for awhile: the cast iron skillet. A cast iron skillet is natural teflon if properly seasoned. I had seasoned my skillet, but I decided I hadn’t done it properly. PJ–who had now been dragged into my experiments–suggested the crepe pan. But we quickly ascertained that Thosai speak Hindi (and several other Indian languages I am sure). Hindi (or is it Mandarin?) may be the New French, but it is NOT French.

So I moved onto a teflon griddle–and continued to scrape Thosa goobers off the pan.

Ever so slowly I began to get the proper temperature of the griddle, so that the Thosai could sit long enough to cook all the way through, which no doubt would have been more efficiently accomplished by the cast iron skillet. I figured out eventually that not until one of these Thosai was completely cooked, was it safe to go after it with a spatula. Which meant the pan had to be heated just so each Thosa remained golden brown underneath for 3-4 minutes at perhaps 1/8 inch thick.

I began to see a pattern. As a Thosa cooks, it bubbles, then the bubbles pop, then the surface goes from “glossy” to “matte” and little cracks form, creating sort of a moonscape (not hardly lacy like the pictures in my book). This happens very. slowly. when your batter is not blended properly.

Note the refuse of failed Thosai, surrounding the griddle:

Finally, finally, I had about six of these to wrap around our Tandoori Seitan.

They were good! But not nearly what I expected.

Thosai: The Hard Way

1 cup white gram (husked urid dhal, aka split chick peas)
2 cups converted (parboiled, not instant) rice
1/2 cup short grain rice
2 (plus) cups water
1/4 teaspoon salt

Rinse and then soak the gram and rices for five hours. Then drain, add 2 cups water and salt and run it through a HIGH QUALITY blender until completely smooth. Extra water may be needed to keep it from gumming up the blender blades.

Allow to sit for 17 hours, fermenting. It will acquire a sourish taste and smell. Make sure it is more thin than American pancake batter. Apply ghee (or oil, but ghee is what will take you to nirvana) to a medium hot griddle. It takes a couple fo experimental Thosai to ascertain if you have the proper temp. Pour about 1/4 cup of the batter onto the griddle; the thinner the better; small holes are good. A “moonscape” pattern will emerge, while underneath should remain light brown. If you wait until the entire surface appears to be dry, with a “matte” finish, there is no need to flip. Lightly regrease the pan between Thosai.

Serve Thosai rolled with just about anything, including but not limited to: butter, syrup, jam, fruit, whipped cream, cottage cheese, cream cheese, yogurt , or use as a wrap for a curry recipe.

Tandoori Seitan

So easy and so yummy, I thought I was in an Indian restaurant (still do with the lingering aromas on day #2). But no! I made it! I modified this recipe from the spice jar; subbing seitan for chicken; also decreasing the sour/acidic ingredients because, as I am learning, seitan is more absorbant of marinade than chicken.

1 pound chicken-flavor seitan
3 (plus) tbsp Tandoori Spice mix
6 tbsp plain yogurt or soy sour cream
6 tbsp oil or ghee
4 tbsp white wine or rice vinegar or lemon juice (or combination thereof)

Cut the seitan into small pieces. Mix the remaining ingredients and pour over the seitan. Marinate for an hour or so. Stir fry on a very hot cast iron or thick skillet until edges are charred (will be smoky!). (I just learned, during a web search, that Tandoori is not just a flavor: it is a cooking style which–without a clay oven–we can only strive to imitate. A cast iron skillet is an adequate substitute, since they tolerate such high heats.) Sautee some onions and green peppers to compliment the tandoori if desired. Serve with raita (yogurt sauce) on rice, potatoes or thosai. (See next 2 posts for my thosai trials!)