The new 'khau'…

Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting

Holidaying solo in Europe this winter, my youngest says she doesn’t know what to eat. She has never really had to fend for herself, wonder where the next meal is coming from, so planning the day and the meals on her own is MEH! Or CEEBS! grade. (All those who don’t have teenage kids will need to refer to an urban dictionary.)

Moreover, she is vegetarian and lately very keen to eat only organic and free-range products, which marginalises her considerably. The bone chilling cold and snowfall she is experiencing continuously, for the first time in her young life, doesn’t help much.

I rattle off a list of things she can eat, should wear and a battery of questions… Are you eating a good breakfast? Are you drinking hot chocolate? Do you keep a snack in your backpack? Have a lot of chocolates - sweets give you energy to fight the cold… Try the very English places that serve the best of Devonshire teas- have some scones and jam with cream… we are not used to such deadly cold, beta… you’ll fall sick…. wear the thermal socks..

Years ago, an uncle who is a doctor had advised me that it is easier to take care of excess weight problems in kids than to combat the problems of malnutrition and low body weight. So my kids got sugary milk – a practice that is detracted and upheld equally today. But I still can’t decide which side to take.

A childhood without sweets is so unimaginable. And as a parent, there is nothing more heart warming and fulfilling than when the child asks for something sweet and you make it for them. Why, just the other day we were looking at old photos and I dug out a photo of my first born prancing around as a two year old, with a half eaten laddu in hand. I distinctly remember her at that age, the frock she was wearing and even the laddu I had made 24 years ago! 

For me, all childhood treats are essentially sweet. Biscuits made by Huntley and Palmer's from England that mother remembered used to be the ultimate exotic idea of a treat for us as kids, although we had never even seen one. Yes, our childhood was full of sweets, homemade, shop bought, mostly Indian, and very Marathi - such as gul dane (a piece of jaggery and a handful of raw peanuts) in a little bowl, khadisaakhar (sugar crystals) and phutaney (roasted garbanzo), chikki, churma laddu. These indigenous treats were the stuff we played house or “bhatukli”, in miniature brass or steel kitchen sets.

Then there were the usual “khau” or “tuck” of homemade vadis, ladus and shankarpalis that were routinely made to fill the empty dabbas for it gave the house the “homely” touch, or in Aai’s parlance, “घर म्हणून खाऊ नेहमी असावा !”

Occasionally, we would get some shop bought mithai- my favourite being the unrolled pedha dough that Baba used to bring from a famous halwai near his office in another city, just before starting for home on his weekend homecoming. The pedhas were not rolled as Baba used to pick them up when they were still too fresh to be rolled. We loved the dough as much for its great quality, as for the fact that unfettered (and unwatched) by the portion size, we could break off chunks of the dough to our hearts content.

Some sweets were exotically removed from our day-to-day lives. The large UFO like sweet khaja puffs from the Utter Pradesh stalls in the All India Industrial Exhibition were an annual treat.  Or the pootharekulu, bundles of parchment thin rice papers with a sugar and ghee stuffing. Not immune to the thrill of the forbidden, we kids were fascinated by these vendors with a large gooey mass of fluorescent and sticky pink candy (not the candy floss) at the end of a pole. They would attract kids with a funny twanging sound they produced by strumming a string stretched along the pole.  In exchange for a few paise, they would patiently string out little watches, rings, bracelets or bangles for out of the fluorescent neon candy.

Some others were clearly foreign, hence, few and far between. I still have some inside foil wraps of Cadbury’s milk bars, which we so carefully and painstakingly peeled, smoothed and slipped between pages of books.

My kids had a much wider choice of treats apart from the usual lollies, chokies and cookies. Growing up in the Middle East, they also had another dimension of Arabic sweets to relish. Omani halwa of several types, basboosa, kunafeh, bacalava… Later, Australia introduced them to the Anzac cookies, pavlovas, TimTams and Lamingtons.

Looking back, I am so glad my love of cooking has been so strongly supported by an absolute foodie family. They share my excitement at trying out new dishes, participate in my guessing games to identify the ingredients and the recipes when we go out to eat, willingly subject themselves as guinea pigs for my culinary experiments. However, now that they have grown up and have so many reasons for not wanting to eat sweets, which I share, too, my sweetmeat making has been reduced significantly.

But our mutual interest and involvement in food remains unchanged. We talk about new techniques in cooking, watch cookery shows together, share and pin photos and recipes that capture our attention and analyse and evaluate them, talk about history of cuisines, their sociological implications and cultural evolution, the science of food, nutrition, the art of presenting food….this involvement and sharing is very rewarding!

It is fun! 

It’s the new khau!

So when Apurva once said, “I want cake”, I had no heart to say no, although I hadn’t baked one in ages! Luckily the pantry yielded all the ingredients, the Internet two suitable recipes that I mixed and matched and lo behold, we had a good cake. Amruta pitched in and made a lovely cream cheese frosting and decorated the cake. Apurva took photos, patiently waiting for the right angle … and the result was very, well- sweet!

For the cake

Sieve the following ingredients twice and keep aside. 

1½ cups self raising flour
A small pinch of soda bicarb
½ tsp salt
½ tsp cinnamon powder
½ tsp nutmeg powder

Other ingredients

¾ cups brown sugar
¼ cup golden syrup
2 cups grated carrots
¾ cup oil
3 eggs
½ tsp vanilla extract
¼ cup chopped walnuts

For the icing

250g cream cheese, softened 
120g butter, softened 
1 tsp vanilla essence 
1 ½ cups icing sugar (sifted)

For the decoration

A handful of walnut halves, a few pistachios 
2 tbsp sugar
1 tsp butter

Method

In a large mixing bowl, break the eggs and add the brown sugar, golden syrup, vanilla extract and oil. Mix well using a balloon whisk. Add the grated carrot. Slowly fold in the sifted flour and mix the batter gently with a wooden spoon. Add ¼ cup chopped walnuts, dusted in a little flour to prevent nuts from sinking to the bottom. 

Grease and line a 9 inch cake tin with baking sheet. Pour the batter into the tin and bake in the middle of the oven for about one hour at 170C. Check if the cake has been doing the skewer test in the centre of the cake. If you think it needs to be baked a little more, put it back again for about 10 minutes. Remove and allow the cake to cool on a wire rack.

Slice the cake into half and layer the lower half generously with the cream cheese frosting. Replace the upper half and frost on the top and on the sides. Decorate the top of the cake with the caramelised walnut halves and pistachios.

Mix the cream cheese and butter using an electric whisk. Add the vanilla essence and slowly add the icing sugar while continuing to whisk the mixture. Store the icing mixture in the fridge till the cake is ready.


In a pan, melt the butter and sugar. Throw in the walnuts and pistachios as the sugar starts to melt. Take care not to burn the caramel. Coat the nuts with the caramel and remove on baking paper and quickly separate the nuts with a fork. Allow to cool.

Beauty and the Bounty

Bountiful Bhogi Bhaji (Lekurvali Bhaji)

“Lekurvali” is a Marathi adjective for a woman with children, an affectionate and generous matron who gives munificently.

Is it surprising then, that the term “lekurvali bhaji” conjures up an image of an Abundantia, the ancient Roman divine personification of plenty and prosperity!

And who else but Rubens could have painted this matriarch, sitting in the golden rays of the sun beaming benevolently down at the scene, surrounded by her cherubic little children and holding a cornucopia brimming over with a profusion of fruit and vegetables?

Rubens as many will know, was the 17^th century artist known for painting women with fuller figures. In this day and age when so much is being said about making attempts to improve the body image of young girls, there should be a renaissance of artists and media persons such as Reubens, who can project the bodies and minds of women as real people and not statues or stick insects. Women who are not afraid to eat or cook even unusual vegetables with weird sounding names like sem ki phalli, suran, tuvar lilva and kantola…  and women who will be able to inspire their children to eat vegetables and perhaps teach them to cook.

And perchance to concoct a dish as hearty, nourishing and satisfying as this lekurvali bhaji made on Bhogi, which is the first day of Sankranti – the harvest festival.

 

(Lekurvali) Bhogi Bhaji Lady bountiful

2 large potatoes, cut into large cubes (don’t bother peeling them if they are clean)

1 large eggplant, cut into chunks (make sure they all have at a skin side)

1 cups surti papdi , stringed and cut (I used the frozen variety)

1 cup sweet potato, peeled and cubed

½ cup toovar lilva (frozen)

½ cup peas (frozen)

¾ cup cup snap peas, stringed and cut

¾ cup carrot, cubed

½ cup oil

1 tsp mustard seeds

¼ tsp hing

½ tsp turmeric

Salt to taste

For the masala

2 tbsp freshly grated coconut

¼ cup finely chopped methi leaves

2 tbsp roasted and crushed peanut

2 tbsp roasted and ground sesame seeds

1 tsp toasted poppy seeds

1 tbsp goda masala or Oondhiya masala

1 tbsp coriander powder

1 tsp cumin powder

1 tbsp ginger paste

1 tsp green chilli paste(or more)

1 tsp chilli powder (or more)

1 tbsp jaggery

1 tbsp lemon juice

Garnish

2 tbsp chopped coriander (dhania)

Heat oil in a heavy bottomed pan/pot. Add the mustard seeds to crackle, the turmeric powder and hing. Layer all the vegetables in the order of their cooking time, with the potatoes going down first, then the carrots, eggplant, sweet potato, val papdi, snap peas and  top the layers with the peas and tuvar seeds. Cover it with a tight lid (or cover with thali with some water in it- like a water bath) and let it cook for about 10 minutes. Then mix all the vegetables, and let them cook for a few minutes.

Add all the masala ingredients (pastes and powders), salt to taste and jaggery. You might want to add a little water at this stage.  Cover the pan/pot again and let the bhaji cook until all the vegetables look done when tested individually. Add the lemon juice and garnish with chopped coriander.

Serve hot with sesame seed crusted bajra bhakri and some ghee. 

Open Sesame!

Gul Poli (black sesame and jaggery stuffed pastry)

Pilao, pilao! Dheel! Dheel! Dheel! Arreyreyrey! Khinch…khinnnch! Kaaat!! Yayyy!

Every rooftop terrace resounded with the jubilant or protesting cries, whistles, party horns and drum rolls from friendly rivals flying and contesting kites in a “pench”. Everything was fair in this war, from hurling friendly insults, the squabbling over ownership of kites, the pedestrian rights of the terraces to running after the wayward defeated kites with poles in hand to claim the bounty.

The crisp and azure winter sky of my childhood came to life with hundreds of paper kites of myriad colours and designs soaring and plummeting, their tails saucily dancing after them. From dawn to dusk on the two days of Makar Sankranti, people of all ages gathered on their rooftops terraces known as chandnis or gacchis. Flying and fighting kites in the feisty winds of the winter solstice, their spirits rose and fell and rose again with the fates of the kites in duel.

The kite flying or “patang pilana” would actually start much earlier, with kids and younger folk doing a recce of the local kite stalls, staring in wonderment and longing at the lovely kites in so many shapes and sizes and the huge pastel coloured bobbins of “manja” cutting edge lines and the much larger snow white spools of the “sadha” cotton twine hanging in the front of the shops, waiting to be unravelled and measured out by the hand breadths or lacchas. Every shopkeeper had their own formula that was supposedly the wickedest, for an aggressive or potent manja played a key role in the success of the kites flying. It had to be of a good strength, suitable ply, sharpness and stiffness, but light in weight.

The kids eyed the kites they coveted, boasting to one another how they would be getting the bigger fighter kites and manjas on the days of the festival and hurried back to their pads, hugging to their chests the smaller kites and the shorter fan shaped lacchas of manja held preciously in their hands.

One Sankranti season Dada, my brother and his friends had even made their own manja, stringing cotton thread between two poles and walking up and down rubbing the length of thread with a deadly gooey paste of rice, colour and finely crushed glass! I was the hanger-on and was allowed to crew on this daring mission only because I was sworn to secrecy.

Back on the terrace, some kids were leaders and others like me, were followers and caddies. Sport of most sorts not being my forte, I was happy to faithfully tag along Dada. He was an ace sportsman, cricketer and kite flier and I was his Sancho Panza, releasing or launching the kite and then running hurriedly to take my position carrying the charak or the spool.

In between these tasks, I had to play the water carrier for the thirsty lot. I also had this critical task, which I fulfilled bursting with self-importance, of making forays downstairs to raid and smuggle some of the til gul laddus or gul polis, candied sesame seed halwa, revadis and chikkis for the warriors.

Once our nefarious activity was detected and stopped, the gang was happy to feast on some of the less sinful and more freely available plenties like the skinned sugar cane pieces, bers (jujubes) hari boot (green garbanzo beans), gengulu (Palmyra sprouts), red - not orange- carrots and pieces of “gulacha face”- the froth from jaggery boiling captured in its foamy lightness along with peanuts, roast gram dal and small pieces of copra.

Out in the sun the whole day, then moving to the shade when it stung, jumping up to squint at an interesting prize-fight, grazing, teasing, laughing and shouting ourselves hoarse, who would’ve imagined that our lives would enter another hemisphere, geographical and chronological in a southbound journey!

Gul poli

The gul-poli as this paratha is called is a traditional Marathi dish that is prepared during the Sankranti/ Lohri festival. This dish is particularly made during this season as traditionally the purpose was to eat heat-inducing foods during winter and also these ingredients are freshly harvested during this season. The accompanying dollops of ghee supposedly warm up the body. 

This year I made gul poli with black sesame seeds, for a change. Black sesame seeds are a bit more savoury and have lent this poli a nice bottom note of savouriness. The colour is courtesy the black sesame!

Ingredients

For the stuffing:

1 ½ cup grated soft kolhapuri gur

¾ cup black sesame seeds

¼ cup white sesame seeds
½ cup desiccated coconut (make sure it is not rancid)
½ cup roasted and powdered peanuts
1 tbsp poppy seeds (khus khus),
7-8 green cardamoms
A large pinch of nutmeg powder
1 tbsp ghee

For the dough:

1 cup wholewheat flour (atta)

1 cup plain flour

1 tbsp oil for shortening 

A pinch of salt
water for kneading

Method:

In a kadhai or pan toast the black sesame seeds very lightly (they become bitter if you toast them too much). Add poppy seeds to puff up slightly. Add the desiccated coconut towards the end of the toasting of the sesame seeds as coconut burns easily. Turn the heat off. Cool the roasted mixture and grind or pound all the ingredients for the stuffing except the gur. Mix the ground mixture with the grated gur and a tablespoon of ghee until it acquires an oily, moist crumbly texture that can be rolled into loose balls. 

Knead the flours, salt and oil into a smooth medium soft chapati like dough and let it rest covered for about 15 minutes. 

Make equal portions of the dough and the til-gur mixture and roll them into balls. Roll out the dough balls into small puris, with thin edges and thicker centres and place a loose ball of the til-gur mixture on it.  Fold the puri around it like a modak or a momo. Make sure to trim the excess dough peaks and then gently roll the stuffed dough ball in your hands making sure the filling has reached all over the inside of the ball. Then pat it gently into a roundel on a floured surface and sprinkle some sesame seeds on it  and roll out into a medium sized paratha, as thin as possible.

If you can see that the filling has not reached the sides during the rolling, trim the edges of the roti into a perfect round with a fluted pastry cutter. Dust the excess flour and then cook the polis on a medium hot griddle. Dot it with some oil and turn over to cook the other side and oil this side as well. 

Take care to use a spatula to turn them over as the roti can get very deceptively hot because of the gur.

Serve warm with cold ghee or cold with melted ghee.

These polis are served during the main meal during the festive season and not as a dessert, like so many Marathi sweets like shrikhand-puri, kheer-puri and puranpoli. The gul-polis stay well for a week or so (if one can stay away from them) and make a great snack, too! 

Tip

If you find rolling the crumbly stuffing in the dough difficult, add two tablespoons of besan, lightly roasted in a tablespoon of ghee (like a besan roux). This will help bind the mixture and tastes good, too! You could also try adding a tablespoon of khoya!