Brotherhood of Samosa

Irani Samosa

Brothers don’t necessarily have to be only saviours and zealous and jealous protectors to their sisters. They are of use in more ways, fun ways at that. For instance, brothers can be partners in crimes such as buying lollies and other goodies mother has forbidden with scant and scarce pocket money, shooting holes in the neighbour’s washing while aiming for fruit from their trees with an air rifle, stealing alu bondas for us girl cousins from the caterers of a wedding reception. We made perfect alibis for each other, at least the unspoken pact said so.

Since boys had better access to certain utilities and facilities, such as transport (read bicycles) and extended or practically no curfew time, they were very handy for running errands. They were also useful for ordering goodies from the college canteen in the coed college we went to.  Brothers came in handy especially for buying stuff from the ubiquitous Irani restaurants (known as Irani hotels!) in Hyderabad. Girls did not enter the Irani restaurants, as they still followed the ‘zanana’ system in those days. Our knowledge of these restaurants then was vicariously obtained from sneak peaks (over the scores of bicycles parked in the front and avoiding the rude stares of people thronging the inevitable pan shops) while passing by and through the description of the ambience by our brothers and uncles.

My brother was often sent to buy the incredible sweet and savoury stuff indigenous to Irani hotels. I have once mentioned how he was sent to buy our first chewing gum from Café Casino or Café Galaxy or some such grandiose place.   Bun- maska was an excruciatingly sweet and soft roll with a sugar and butter (they say it was margarine) spread. The wide mouthed large glass jars had stacks of the fat sweet and slightly salty Osmania Biskit and Chand Biskit a crecent shaped nan-khatai like sweet cookie.  Afghan crim roll was a puff pastry cornet filled with pink and white butter cream. Equally awesome were the rows and rows of most perfectly uniformly hand iced little canapés. They were called pastries- a term I had to carefully dissociate with this only meaning I had learnt of the word as and when I knew better. It was a marvel how those patissiers never missed a swirl, nor messed a blob!

The famous Irani chai – thick, milky, too sweet - was not so difficult to lay our hands on. Long nights of drama rehearsals and college events practice sessions gave us our fill of the ambrosial liquid. Legend has it that the secret trick was to boil poppy pods with the tea leaves. No wonder the broth was so addictive.

But more addictive were the little samosas, vegetarian ones for us, thank you. The delicious, crisp onion samosas could never be bought, leave alone be eaten, in singles or pairs. One needed to buy at least four or five per person, and then again, we would gobble our share up quickly and dig into the communal paper packet very guilelessly as if we weren’t counting.

I had only heard of Irani restaurants in Mumbai and Pune selling this little sinful snack and had promptly put it onto the list of things I would miss when I left India and my maternal home.  However, I was pleasantly surprised to find them as ‘samboosa’ everywhere in the Middle East. This time the samosa was more accessible in the Malabari chai shanties. There were no restrictions and we ate them with abandon. But one could never have one’s fill of the samosas.

Years later and across several continents, the samosa still bears the standard in our nostalgia parade, yet the triangles remained as unattainable and as mysterious as the Bermuda one.

And so, when my brother mentioned them so very longingly the other day, I had to research, investigate and source the ingredients to make the Irani Samosas for him on his special day, Bhaubeej, or our Indian Brothers’ Day!

Ingredients

2 cups chopped onion

2 cups thin poha (absorbs the moisture from the onions and makes the samosa crisp)

3 tbsp chopped dill or suva (non-negotiable!)

1 tsp coriander powder

1 tsp cumin powder

1 tsp chilli powder (or more) you can add finely chopped green chilli also

½ tsp garam masala powder

Salt to taste

1 tbsp plain flour mixed with a little water to make a paste

Oil to fry

Samosa pastry sheets about 50 strips (defrosted if frozen)

Method

Mix the chopped onion, poha, all the spice powders and salt well. Set aside for a few minutes while you prepare the paste and separate the sheets.

Take one strip and place a tsp of the mixture on it at one end of the strip and fold one corner in dog-earing action. Make sure the triangular flap covers the filling. Then holding the folded side carefully, flip over the pointed edge to form another triangle. Repeat this till you reach the end of the strip. Within two turns, the stuffing should get sealed and remaining folds should just go on reinforcing the triangle shape. As you reach the end of the strip, apply some of the paste like a glue and stick the loose end to the triangle. Place the folded samosa with its last fold down so it holds better. Make all the samosas and then deep fry them in medium hot oil.

Serve hot with tea.

Irani samosas don’t need any chutney or dip.

  

Heart cooled in homecoming...

Jowar Roti (Jwarichi Bhakri)

Just returned from a trip to Osmanabad in the Marathwada region with mother. The 6-hour road trip each way was a delight, but only after we made our torturous way in and out of insidiously ever expanding outskirts of greater Hyderabad.

High-rise futuristic buildings, multi-lane, dual carriage expressways and fly-overs of the High-Tech city of Cyberabad give way to a single road winding its way through black or red soil bordering fields - a rich patchwork tapestry in verdant, russet and golden colours. My grandmother used to liken it to irkal fabrics; the rich sienna or rusty red soil bordering the geometrically patterned green and yellow body of woven silk!

The weather couldn’t have been more clement. It was cloudy just like I like it. Not overcast and ominous, but gentle – as if playfully and affectionately shielding the sun-baked fields from the glare of the sun. The alternating wet stretches of the grey graded road, the fragrance of the wet soil, and a rainbow rim on the horizon are the signs of the sun conceding to the clouds. Red roadside rainwater puddles and streams remind me of what we kids used to call “chaha chi nadi” or rivulets or ponds of boiled chai latte!

The lush, tall feathery sheaves of the kharif crop of jowar swing gently in the moist breeze, gossiping lazily with the tuvar dal in the neighbouring rows. Were they gossiping about the foreigners in their midst-the snooty sunflower and soya bean plants that show off their upmarket cash crop status?

Our eyes are soothed by the emerald swathes. Our hearts are cooled in homecoming.

It’s lunchtime and Mother and I hark back to the foods that we ate in such environs. Of course, it has to be jowar roti brought to the fields by the farmer’s wife in a basket wrapped in a soft muslin cloth. Accompaniments are not fancy, but most exotic - raw onions smashed with the fist (mukka onion) or tender spring onion, green chillies plucked from the plants growing within the ranks of the crops and a clump or rock of salt! In winter, when the farmers light a bonfire of the dried hay from harvested crops, they just chuck in some brinjals, sweet potatoes and potatoes to roast in the skin, peel and enjoy them with bhakri.

And that reminds me of the hurda parties we used to have in the fields in early January, when sheaves of tender jowar are thrown into a bonfire of cow dung cakes, roasted and then de-husked while rubbing the sheaves vigorously between the palms. The roasted milky grain is relished with hot garlicky peanut, sesame or copra chutney!

Reminiscing about our rustic roots, I tell mother how I recreate this romance in Melbourne.

Here goes…

Jowar Roti (Jwarichi Bhakri)

Jowar or sorgum is a staple grain for millions of Indians and Jowar rotis go by various names such as bhakri (Marathi/Gujarati), Jollad Rotti (Kannada) Jonna Rotti (Telugu)…

It’s unique quality is that it can be as light as or as filling as you want it to be. And it tastes equally good cold as it does when it falls straight from the tava into your plate!

Jowar is gluten free, so it’s a good option for those with celiac disease or gluten allergy. But that makes it tricky to make bhakri because it can’t be rolled with a belan and needs to be patted with hands. Moreover, the bhakri is very hard to make if the flour is very old and then needs hot water to mix the dough.

But I have come up with a good solution to get around this problem! Don't be scared by the seemingly complicated method- the roti is made just like a phulka. Read on….

Ingredients

• 2 cups jowar flour
• 1 cup wheat flour (atta)
• ½ spoon salt
• Warm water to knead
• Cool water in a bowl to coat the bhakri

Method

Mix the flours and keep some aside for dusting. Add salt and add warm water to the rest of the flour mixture and knead it for a few minutes into a semi-soft smooth dough.

Divide the mixture into large lemon sized balls. Roll out one roti at a time with a rolling pin, dusting the roti and the board generously with the flour. Take care to roll it thin on the sides and slightly thick in the centre. Lift the roti, dust the excess flour and flip it face down on to a medium hot tava. Brush the top of this roti with the cool water using a pastry brush (I use my hands) taking care not to make it too wet, but ensuring that the entire face of the roti is moistened.

As the lower side gets cooked, the roti will leave the sides of the tava and it’s time to gently prise it free and lift it with a spatula and flip it over. After this side is cooked for a minute or so (or until light brown spots can be seen when you lift the roti), remove the tava from the heat and place the roti on the flame moving it to make sure the roti puffs up (like phulkas). Once this side is done, quickly flip it again to roast the bhakri on the other side. The puffed up bhakri is like a pita bread or phulka – a good bhakri will have pocket formed within the two layers, the bottom layer slightly thicker than the top one.

Serve with white butter or ghee with greens, bharwan baingan, usal or pithla (jhunka).