#rozkakhana series Jump to Recipe I appreciate a well-done cauliflower dish a lot. This dish is my way of making a rustic charred cauliflower that is tender yet holds its shape. Perfect with big squeezes of a lemon, cauliflower simply stir fried in a wok is a feast on its own. Cauliflower, a vegetable so versatile and abundant in most places in the world, came to India in 1822. Dr. Jemson of England, in-charge of Company Bagh, Saharanpur, U.P. introduced this crop in India. Over some years of testing and cultivation, local strains were of cauliflower were generated in India, better suited to the Indian climate matured earlier in November to December as compared to the imported seeds. By 1929, India had its own variety of cauliflower, the kind I grew up eating. This version of cauliflower is inspired from my mother's fiery kobi bhaja, where she keeps the florets chunky and artfully stirs them in a hot wok with optimum oil. The florets are tossed and seared in a wok until tender, oozing of all the spices and some get a rustic char adding a wonderful crunch. I think I loved this variation of cauliflower the most, although I like it in everything—roasts, stir fries, stews, gravies, pulao and whatnot! Tastiest and freshest in the winter, cauliflower can be also be baked as a whole with some spices and a creamy sauce. So many things to try! I like to add mustard seeds while tempering this dish, and that's something I caught on from a lovely cauliflower preparation I ate at a family friends' luncheon in Toronto. Prabha Sati, a very dear friend and talented cook, along with her sister-in-law, had assembled many dishes on the table. Amidst the delicious rajma chawal, I have not forgotten the mustard tempered cauliflowers—subtle in spices, a beautiful hue of yellow and mighty nuggets topped with cilantro. This is also a dish that I prefer making when I don't want to invest a lot of time in the kitchen yet want to eat something tasty. So, there's no chopping of onions or tomatoes. To add the much needed acidity, I use amchur (dry mango) and lemon. Kasoori Methi adds a beautiful aroma in the end, and the dish gets finished in no time. It goes well as a side with some rice and legumes or even with some buttered bread. Take your green salad a notch up by adding these mustard tempered cauli florets, dig a fork into them and enjoy as a snack or meal! I also like to serve it as a starter at times—the florets are perfect as finger food too! Pro Tip: I picked this tip early from my mother that one should not chop the cauliflower florets too small, unless you're making something where the florets don't need to stand out. For example, cauli-rice or cauliflower stuffed flatbread or as a filler with couscous or quinoa. Keeping the florets big not only makes the dish look nice but also helps the spices coat it well, not to forget the time saved in chopping! Recipe Did you check the pro tip? Ingredients 2 cups of cauliflower florets (1 small cauliflower should suffice) 2 and 1/2 tbsp mustard oil (or any other oil of your choice) 1 and 1/2 tsp mustard seeds 1/4 tsp cumin seeds 1 green chili chopped 1/2-inch ginger minced 1/4 tsp asafoetida 1 tsp turmeric 1 tsp red chili powder 1 tsp coriander powder 1/4 tsp cumin powder 1/2 tsp amchur (dry mango powder) 1 tsp salt, or to taste juice of 1/2 -lemon 1 tsp kasoori methi (dried fenugreek leaves) - optional extra lemon wedges and slit green chilies to serve fresh coriander leaves, chopped Method: Boil water and add to a large vessel. Sprinkle some salt and turmeric in the hot water and then add the cauliflower florets. Keep them soaked for 10 minutes and then wash under running water ensuring the florets are clean. Keep aside. In a bowl, add turmeric, red chili, coriander and cumin powders, and add about 2 tbsp water to make a paste. Keep aside. Heat a wok or kadhai or a big pan and add 2 tbsp oil. If you're using mustard oil, let it smoke. Once the oil is hot, add mustard and cumin seeds. Reduce the heat slightly and add green chilies and ginger. Sauté for a couple of seconds and add the spice paste. Keep stirring for about 30 seconds, and then add asafoetida. Stir and then add the cauliflower florets. Increase the heat and stir continuously for 4-5 minutes, stopping in between for a few seconds. Ensure that the spices don't stick to the bottom - if they do, scrap and toss. Splash some water, cover the wok and cook on medium heat for 3-4 minutes. Open and now add amchur and salt. Increase the heat and keep stirring again, stopping for a few seconds in between. Splash water and cover and cook for another 4 minutes. Open and repeat the process of tossing and covering and cooking until the cauliflower florets are slightly roasted, tender and cooked but not mushy. Ensure the florets hold their shape. Take the wok off the heat. Rub the kasoori methi between your palm and sprinkle over the cauliflower. Squeeze half of the lemon, sprinkle the cilantro and green chilies and serve hot with more lime wedges.

Navratan pulao is a colorful assemblage of nine different ingredients (vegetables, nuts and/or paneer) with rice, tempered with a sweet and spice mix. It's a no-fuss meal needing minimal effort to prepare. I love having it with plain yogurt and some pan roasted papad. Recipe PDF My version of navratan pulao has no onions or garlic. I like to partially cook the rice while tossing the veggies, and then adding the half-cooked rice to the pulao. However, you can fully cook the rice and then add it to the veggies or even use left over rice if you have from a previous meal. Tips on making this pulao vegan? How is this different from any other pulao? Read further in the post! The history of pulao is traceable to Persia where it is called pilav to Greece where it is referred as pilaf . On travelling to India from Persia, we find the term pulao. There are some more variants of pulao: pulav, palav, palau across different geographical regions and cultures. Some even argue that the Spanish paella is also a variation of the Indo-Persian pulao or pilaf. Can I make this dish vegan? Absolutely, yes! You can totally skip paneer and use another vegetable or nut of your choice to combine nine ingredients or you can replace paneer with tofu. The tempering of Navratan pulao involves milk. Use a non-dairy milk to make it vegan! How is Navratan pulao different from a regular pulao? Although the literal translation of 'navratan' is nine gems (nine ingredients, each rendering a different flavour), there is no strict rule that you cannot make it with lesser ingredients. Here are some points that make this pulao from a regular pulao: A regular pulao can be vegetarian or non-vegetarian. Navratan pulao on the other hand is always vegetarian, unless someone is twisting it from its traditionality. Navratan pulao tends to have a more nutty and a slightly sweet taste as compared to regular pulao. The tempering agent in a navratan pulao is saffron milk or sugar, and that renders a sweet fragrance to it. This pulao involves a lot more vegetables and a definite addition of more than one nut, which you will not find in a usual pulao. Recipe Ingredients 1 and 1/2 cups of Basmati raw/cooked rice (or any long grain rice of your choice) Vegetables: 1/4 cup each of about 5 types of diced vegetables like potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, French beans and green peas Nuts: 2 tbsp each of about 3 types of nuts like cashews, almonds and walnuts 1/4 cup of paneer or tofu (or use another vegetable or nut if you don't want to use paneer or tofu) 2 and 1/2 tbsp oil Dry whole spices: 2 bay leaves, 4 green cardamoms, 5 peppercorns, 1 big cinnamon 1 tsp raisins (optional) 1/2 tsp cardamom powder 1/2 tsp cinnamon 1 tsp cumin seeds 1/4 cup of saffron infused milk (use plant-based milk for vegan version, and if you don't have saffron, use a pinch of turmeric) Salt to taste Method Infuse the milk: Warm the milk to be tepid and then add a few strands of saffron or a pinch of turmeric and let it rest. Soak or cook the rice: Wash the rice and soak it in water. If you don't want to partially cook the rice before hand or if you have pre-cooked rice, move to sautéing vegetables. In a pot, bring water to a rolling boil. Drain the water from the rice and add it to the boiling water. Once the rice is about 80% cooked, drain the water and keep the rice aside. Sauté the vegetables: In a pan or wok on medium heat, add 1 tbsp oil and add the potatoes. After about 3 minutes, add the carrots, and then then the beans. Continue sautéing until the vegetables are almost cooked. Take out the potatoes and carrots into a plate, and now add the paneer. Sauté for about 3 minutes and then remove into the plate of tossed vegetables. Add the second tbsp of oil and then add the cauliflower florets. Sauté for the next couple of minutes until golden brown. Now add the peas and sauté a bit more. Add the spices, nuts and rice In the pan simmering with the cauliflower and peas, add the dry whole spices (except the bay leaves) and give everything a good mix. Add the nuts and raisins, and toss for some more time. Add the rice and some salt, and mix. Adjust salt according to your taste. Add the cardamom and cinnamon powders and mix again. Temper with milk and finish In a separate pan, heat 1/2 tbsp oil, and then add the cumin seeds and the bay leaves. As the heat goes up, add the infused milk and some water (enough to cook the rice). Stir it well. Now add this milk onto the pan or wok with the rice and vegetables. Cover the pan or wok and cook for about 10 minutes on a low to medium flame. After 10 minutes, you can continue cooking for some more time if the rice is not soft to eat yet. When you open the pan, the spicy sweet smell will take you into a different world of love! Enjoy!

I hadn't cooked sweet potatoes as much as I do after moving to Canada. It's ironical because I have grown up eating it quite a lot. Sweet potatoes have a home in many things within the Indian cuisine. Popularly called shakarkand in Hindi, it's usually found throughout the year in India —more commonly in the winters— and made into curries and gravies (individually and also part of a mixed vegetables ensemble), sweet delights and savory snacks like chaats. This sweet potato stew is everything good I can wish on a busy day or days when I don't want to cook up a storm! Being a complex carbohydrate, sweet potatoes are amidst my favourite good carbs. They are high in fiber and beta-carotene—especially the dark orange fleshed ones—and such good sources of that mushy sweet flavour we often crave in our food. Recipe PDF One of the foremost used ingredient in Thanksgiving in the western world, sweet potato was cultivated long before the other favourite, white potato. The story of sweet potato also goes back to Peru. Columbus introduced this tuberous vegetable of the then 'New World' to Europe, and by 1740s American colonists had coined the term 'sweet potato' to distinguish this root vegetable from its kin, the white potato. Is this recipe vegan? Drum rolls! Yes, it is! What is the stew made of? The stew in this recipe is made of peanuts. But, wait! Are you allergic to peanuts? You can make it with any other nut of your choice, and it will still taste great! I have made it with cashews, almonds and even walnuts, and each one lends a creamy texture than peanuts. So, if you're in love with those flavors, don't hesitate from replacing peanuts. What if I'm allergic to nuts? You could still make it! Just leave the nuts out of your sauce. The sauce in this recipe uses sesame seeds, and that can make your stew creamy enough. Think tahini! Just increase the quantity by a spoon, and you're all set! You could also add boiled (canned) chickpeas instead of the nuts. The possibilities are endless. Can I make it into a soup? Hell yes! Add more water to turn the stew runny. However, I would say, give this baby a try as a stew. I can say for sure that you wouldn't be disappointed. Eat it just as is, or serve it on top of rice or even pasta, or scoop it with bread. It's so versatile and such a forgiving one for any one trying to cook it for the first time! Recipe Ingredients 1 big or 2 medium sized sweet potatoes cut into cubes 1/4 cup green peas For the sauce: 1 tbsp lightly roasted peanuts, 3-4 lemon grass stalks, 1 inch roughly sliced ginger, 4 pods of garlic, 1 tsp white lightly roasted sesame seeds For the sautéing: 1 tsp extra virgin olive oil, a pinch of cumin seeds, 1 small onion chopped, 2 cloves of garlic diced, 2 green or red chilies slit, 1/4 tsp each of turmeric, paprika or red chili powder, cumin and coriander powder, 1/4 tsp dried or 1 sprig or fresh rosemary, 2 sprigs of thyme 1/2 tsp crushed black pepper Salt to taste 1-2 slices of lemon Fresh parsley or coriander leaves Method Make the sauce: Add all the ingredients mentioned for the sauce along with some water into a blender and make a fine paste. Make the stew: In a pan, heat oil on medium heat, and then add cumin seeds and diced cloves of garlic and the slit chilies. 1. (You can skip the chilies if you don’t like it spicy, but I recommend it as a good balance to the sweetness of the potatoes.) Toss and then add the onions. Once the onions turn pink, add the sweet potatoes and the dry spices: turmeric, paprika, cumin, coriander and saute everything. Add the rosemary and thyme. Sauté and cover for a minute or two on low heat to let the aroma of the herbs sink inside and the sweet potatoes to slightly char. Open and check if the sweet potatoes have turned tender. Remove the herb sprigs. Add the peanut paste and the green peas, and sauté for a few seconds. Cover and cook for 2 minutes. Open and add water to the desired consistency of the stew. Let it come to a boil and then season with salt and pepper. You can mash a few sweet potatoes and make the stew thicker if you like. Let it simmer for about 5-7 minutes and then turn off the heat. Squeeze the lemon slices and add some fresh parsley or coriander. Serve with some hot rice or dinner rolls or rustic toasted bread! Enjoy!!

The other day someone asked me, "Where are you from?" I often find this question daunting for I never have an answer that can fully explain where do I belong. If belonging is associated with birth, then I belong to India. The question further develops, "Which part of India do you come from?" I'm caught amidst a quandary again. I cannot pin a place on the map of India and say, "that's where I come from." We often tie identities with names, place of birth or ethnicity although none of these alone or in a combination can describe someone's identity. What is identity for that matter? To me, it's the state of being, an essence of who we are, what we believe and dream, and what we do as humans. And, all of these elements evolve within us through the places we live, the people we meet and the stories we hear culminating in what we label as identity. My identity is a sublime imprecise summation of everywhere I have lived and travelled so far and the people I have met in this journey of life. This undefined belonging to one part of the world has seeped into my food choices and cooking style and helped me expand my culinary horizon. It's a joy to go beyond the food I grew up eating and cherish and enjoy the food of other cultures around the globe. Nevertheless, there are days when I devotedly devour my mundane yet soothing plate of dal chawal (lentils and rice). Travel is so integral to knowing food beyond our comfort zone, and the next best thing is reading about food of other places and their people. The fact that I often love to recreate the food of places I have never travelled or lived is my penchant to explore food in its vast diversity. As a very beloved little girl, Tara would say, "I'm a citizen of this world." I relate to this emotion at so many levels and the food I cook is a reflection of this sentiment. Recipe PDF This recipe is a celebration of my love for the food of Morocco, a place I have never been able to travel but conscientiously identify with its cuisine. As much as I like to dabble in the complexities of food, I admire its simplicity. The unassuming elements of Moroccan food often draw me to replicate at home, the flavours I have eaten in some of the best Moroccan restaurants. The intriguing play of herbs with spices, olive oil with peppers and carrots and the effortless merger of grains, couscous and legumes enchants me no end. What I typically like about Moroccan salads is that they are a beautiful medley of spices, vegetables, and even meat or legumes sometimes, without flamboyant dressings. Quoting Paula Wolfert's book, Couscous and Other Good Food from Morocco: Moroccan salads are not salads in our sense—mixtures of greens, doused with dressings. More like Italian antipasti, they are dishes of spiced or sweetened, cooked or raw vegetables, served at the beginning of a meal to inspire the appetite and refresh the palate. The glories of these salads are their unexpected contrasts: carrots with cumin and hot paprika; zucchini flavored with wild herbs; orange sections with thin slices of artichoke bottoms; stewed lamb's brains with preserved lemons; or—one of the best—eggplant and tomato cooked down to jam, which is utterly delicious on dense Moroccan bread. What about this salad? This salad is a combination of warm and cool vegetables—some grilled and some raw—with a simple olive oil and lemon dressing along with hints of herbs and spices. I charred cauliflower, broccoli and Brussels sprout in the oven while the asparagus and tempeh seared on a grill pan. The red radish, baby carrots and spinach are raw. Although I have used multiple cauliflower varieties, you can use just the usual white ones. The farmer's market has been bringing some delightful varieties of cauliflower: purple, green (broccoflower) and yellow, and I was tempted to roast them in the oven. Roasted cauliflowers taste so great. I can almost finish an entire plate on my own! If you're wondering whether colored varieties of cauliflower are natural, then you needn't worry at all. Purple cauliflower has the antioxidant anthocyanin that lends its gorgeous colour, similar to purple cabbage. Yellow cauliflower is basically an overripe white cauliflower. When left exposed to the sun for too long without being picked, the usual cauliflower turns yellow. It actually has more phytonutrients! You can replace tempeh with your choice of meat or eggs for this salad. Chicken breast and tofu will be a great choices too. And, if you opt to go all-veggie, you won't be disappointed either. If salad is the only meal I am having, I try to add some of protein to it. Feel free to leave it out. Recipe Ingredients For the vegetables: 1 cup of cauliflower florets 1/2 cup of broccoli florets 3-4 Brussels sprouts 4-5 red radish thinly sliced 5-6 baby carrots or 2 small carrots diagonally cut 6-7 asparagus 10-12 spinach leaves 1/2 cup of tempeh cut in cubes or any other protein of your choice (optional) 1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil 1/2 tsp black pepper salt to taste For the dressing: 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil 1-2 tbsp lemon juice 1/4 tsp apple cider vinegar 1/4 tsp cumin pinch of paprika 1-2 clove of garlic finely minced 2 tbsp finely chopped cilantro and parsley salt to taste Method Preheat oven to 400° F. Place the cauliflower and broccoli florets along with the Brussels sprouts on baking tray. Sprinkle some olive oil, salt and pepper, and rub all the veggies together. Place the tray in the oven and let the veggies roast for at least 30 minutes. Meanwhile, place a grill pan on medium heat and then add the asparagus and tempeh. Drizzle some oil, salt and pepper lightly and let them sizzle for about 10 minutes. Shake the pan intermittently. Note: If you don't have a grill pan, you can alternately use a normal frying pan. I would not advise putting the asparagus and tempeh into the oven along with the other veggies. If you do so, take out the asparagus and tempeh out of the tray after 10 minutes to avoid burning them. If you are using chicken breast or tofu, you can place them along with the veggies. Roast at 350° to 375° F in that case. Prepare the dressing by mixing all the ingredients mentioned in a bowl or a jar. Taste and adjust seasoning as required. Arrange the spinach leaves, carrots and radish on your serving plate and then add the roasted veggies on top. Pour the dressing over the raw and roasted veggies. The smokiness of the roasted and grilled vegetables subtly blends with the lemon and spices in the dressing while the raw vegetables and the greens add the crunch. What's not to love? It's perfect to sit back and munch this salad on any day of the week! If you make this recipe and enjoy it, please leave a comment and I would love to know your thoughts! You can also tag me on Instagram and share pictures of your creations! I'd love to hear from you and see how you enjoy this recipe! Related Posts Brussels Sprouts with Yogurt Dip Sardine Salad

JUMP TO RECIPE I belong to the category of millennial Indians who were oblivious to pasta in their childhood. Contrary to Generation Z who devour this world-favourite source of carbohydrates and ask for more, millennials in India were hardly aware of its existence until the 2000s, the time when pasta made its way to Indian restaurants in the bustling metropolitan cities. I remember the first time I heard about pasta was from my sister, who was then pursuing her masters in Pune —one of the larger cities in India— and she told us that few dishes that were served in some restaurants under the label of continental food on the menu, and pasta happened to be one of them. I was then in Rourkela, a much smaller city in India with my parents. Thanks to my big sister, her moving to Pune was an eyeopener for me and my middle sister to what the western world ate. Over the years when I moved to Bombay and got the opportunity of dining in restaurants that serve this favoured flour dish, I understood what continental food actually means and realized pasta is staple throughout the continent of Europe (and so the cuisine from European 'continent' often labelled as continental food in restaurant menus). With immigration, pasta also travelled to the Americas and led to the growth of the US pasta industry in the nineteenth century. Be it spaetzle, orzo, pierogi, spaghetti, vermicelli, fettuccine, lasagna, penne, macaroni, ravioli, rotini, farfalle — and I have not covered even half the varieties here perhaps — pasta is made, cooked and eaten not just in Italy (where we think it originated), but across the breadth of this planet. Quoting from Tori Avey's research on the history of pasta: The history of pasta is difficult to trace for several reasons. The word itself translates to paste in Italian. This is a reference to the dough, made from a combination of flour and water or eggs, all simple components that have been around for centuries. This makes it hard to differentiate pasta from other ancient dishes made from the same ingredients. Hungry for more pasta history or want to make pasta at home? Checkout this thoroughly beautiful series From Italy to India – Handmade pasta in your kitchen by Tara Deshpandey. Recipe PDF Pasta happens to be my husband, Saurabh's most-loved food. Give it to him in any form (without meat), penne doused in a plain tomato sauce, pesto oozing on a bed of rotini, fettuccine slathered in an Americanized creamy sauce, pan fried pierogis (stuffed dumpling kind of pasta) with caramelized onions or a no-fuss spaghetti aglio eolio, he is a happy man if there's pasta for a meal! Living abroad and resorting to quicker meals than elaborate, his love for pasta is not astounding. He often talks about the pasta meals which were offered prior and after marathons he ran with utmost ardor! Learning through Saurabh's experiences with pasta, which are older than mine and rooted in his life in Europe, and through Italian friends and acquaintances in the cosmopolitan city of Toronto, my understanding of how Indians eat pasta has evolved. The concept of pasta sauces is non-Italian. In Italy the focus of a meal is the pasta itself while the sauce is a condiment, and that is why an Italian will value the variety of pasta for a dish than the sauce. The Indian palette which is usually comfortable with a tenderer texture of pasta than al dente, loves the sauces wrapping the pasta. In wake of this, many restaurants have presented a rather debased version of pasta to the Indian population. Either too saucy or too creamy, the memory of pasta from these restaurants aren't the ones I love to recall. No wonder a big chunk of the boomers and Generation X in India don't prefer pasta in their meal at all! Having said that, I also got the opportunity to enjoy some really good pasta back in India too. Although these food joints aren't the most easily accessible or affordable ones always. It's fascinating how food travels from one part of the world to another through migration, tourism and trade, and customized to suit the taste and flavour bases throughout its journey and at its destination, sometimes compromising its identity in not so pleasant ways. Any tips for making a good pasta? Although I wouldn't call myself an expert, I speak from experience there are few things that are critical to make pasta taste good and truly 'pasta'. The water that you have after draining the pasta is sacrosanct — trust me on this, if you don't know it already. Don't throw it all! Save some of it and add to your pasta when you season with herbs and olive oil. This water is vital to induce all the lovely flavours you crave in a good pasta. I personally prefer pasta to be al dente, and so I stick to the instructions on the package (I haven't yet attained the stage in cooking where I can make my own pasta - someday soon hopefully!). However, if you prefer a softer pasta, boil it about 1 or 2 more minutes than what is advised on the package. I choose vegetables that I thoroughly enjoy when making pasta, like mushrooms, zucchini, asparagus and broccoli. If I have to make it with meat, I prefer shrimps, scallops or chicken. I always prefer cooking pasta in extra virgin olive oil (cold pressed). I don't think any other oil works so well as olive oil in pasta and truly lends an authentic taste to pasta. Season your pasta in olive oil, herb and garlic, and you can never go wrong. It's perfect even without any additional layer of sauce. When you do want to add sauce, a simple tomato, pesto or green sauce like this one is not hard to make at all. I like to keep my pasta as simple as possible, and add more vegetables or some meat to make it fancy without adding tons of cream or spices. What about this pasta recipe? This recipe is my calling towards homemade sauces than the gloopy heavy sauces often sold as pasta sauces. I love the flavour of green herbs with nuts, a natural way of turning a vegetable heavy sauce into a slightly creamier version. Spinach and walnut are a heavenly match just like spinach and garlic, and they are both excellent sources of nutrients. I like a sour note in sauces, so I have used lemon juice as a sauce ingredient in this recipe. I have used a quarter of a large red bell pepper to balance the hot peppercorns. You could skip the bell pepper and/or use less peppercorns if you wish, but I recommend not skipping the lemon juice. You'll be surprised how beautifully it works in the ensemble. The pasta I have used in this recipe penne made from rice. You can use any other variety of your choice. Although, I fell penne holds up the sauce really well in this dish. Rotini could be another good choice. You'd notice in the recipe that I've added quite a bit of vegetables with the pasta, and that's only because of my crazy vegetable-loving heart. The veggies used are all green in this recipe and their texture matches that of penne, making the dish look pretty! If you're planning to skip the vegetables, I would highly recommend spaghetti! The noodle-like pasta taste an absolutely gorgeous with plain sauces, and the spinach walnut sauce is no exception! Recipe Ingredients 300 to 400 grams of your favourite pasta (I prefer penne for this recipe) 1/4 cup zucchini sliced 1/4 cup broccoli florets 1/4 cup asparagus 1 tsp garlic minced 1/2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil 1/2 tsp chili flakes 1 tsp tsp parsley finely chopped salt to taste For the sauce: 2 cups spinach leaves blanched 1/2 cup walnuts lightly toasted 1/2 a red bell pepper chopped 4-5 pods of garlic 1 tbsp parsley chopped 1 tsp oregano leaves (optional) 1/4 tsp peppercorns 1 tsp lemon juice or vinegar 1/2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil Salt to taste Method In a blender all the ingredients mentioned for the sauce and make a thick creamy green paste. Add water generously to a pot, sprinkle salt and bring to boil. Next add pasta and cook as per the instructions on the packet or until al dente. Drain and keep aside about a cup of the pasta water. Next, add about 1/4 of the green sauce to the drained pasta, mix and keep aside. Place a large pan on medium heat, add oil and then add the garlic. Sauté the garlic taking care to not brown it. Add all the veggies, sprinkle salt and sauté till the veggies are cooked. This should take roughly 7 to 10 minutes. Add the pasta, few spoons of the kept aside pasta water, the remaining sauce and cook for about 2 to 3 minutes or until you're happy with the consistency of the sauce. Add the chilli flakes and mix. Switch off heat and garnish with chopped parsley. Serve hot and enjoy a healthy creamy green sauce pasta guilt free! You can top up the pasta with some grated Parmesan cheese if you're not vegan. With or without cheese, this pasta in green sauce is a thoroughly tried and tested recipe and both my husband and I love it to bits! If you make this recipe, drop in your comments about what you felt or tag me on Instagram with your photos of this pasta! I would love to hear from you! Relate Posts Shrimp Scampi

An early morning scene in a typical #Indian home kitchen is an assured pleasure on any day, where multitasking takes precedence over everything. While the breakfast gets tossed on a kadai, cooked in a steamer or rolled on a chakla (round pastry board), the pressure cooker sits languidly on the stove, hurriedly boiling some legumes or lentils for the lunch that would be served with some carbs and greens. As I write this, I can imagine a similar setting in my husband's family home in India, and this recipe comes straight from the kitchen of that home and the woman who is its forerunner, my husband's grandmother, Aama as she is fondly called. Recipe PDF Bounded by Nepal on the east and Tibet in the north, #Kumaon is one half of the picturesque state of #Uttarkhand in India. The stunning landscape of this hilly terrain nurtures seasonal diversity in crops, vegetables and fruits. Amidst all the food that changes on the plate with seasons, lentils continue to be served throughout the year. Tempered with wild mountainous herbs, lentils and curries in the #Kumaoni #cuisine standout distinctly in both aroma and flavour. If you search the internet for Kumaoni cuisine, names like churkani, kapa, chainsoo, gutke, dubke and the popular bal mithai will appear instantaneously in the results unlike chadhanchi, the lesser known of the lot. This protein packed dish that is so simple to make, delicious and filling hardly shows up in the Kumaoni cuisine on the internet. I was introduced to chadhanchi during a phone conversation with our family in Haldwani, a city in the Kumaon region of Uttarakhand. Following usual banter and chitchat, my mother-in-law casually mentioned that Aama (my husband's grandmother) is making chadhanchi. After a quick exchange of thoughts on the recipe, I soaked black chickpeas over the weekend to create this dish in my kitchen. And, I've been in love with this newfound chickpea curry since then. My very talented friend and food blogger, Antara Roy featured this recipe on her YouTube channel, Antara's Zouqh. Check out the video for a quick step by step tutorial of chadhanchi! Mainly grown in India, East Africa, Iran and Mexico, black chickpeas or Bengal gram are known as kala chana in India. It's not to be confused with its kin, chole or Garbanzo beans, which are also known as chickpeas. With their outer coating removed and washed, black chickpeas are ground to make yellow gram flour or besan. Some key points about this recipe Like many other interesting lentil recipes from the hills of India, chadhanchi also uses minimum ingredients. It's a gravy made with a paste of overnight soaked black chickpeas or kala chana instead of the usual onion and tomato sauce. It's slightly thick curry with a few whole chickpeas floating in it. Compared to the chadhanchi that is made at home, I have made few modifications to make it a bit tangy and spicy. Mustard oil is a key ingredient in the cuisine of many pahadi (hilly) regions in India including Garhwal, Kumaon, Himachal and Kashmir. However, Aama's original recipe does not mandate mustard oil. I have used it in this recipe because I thoroughly love the fragrance and taste of mustard oil! To bring a note of sourness, I like to add chopped tomatoes or a teaspoon of amchur (dried mango powder). You can make it without any sour ingredient too. For an extra kick, I add a tempering of mustard oil and dried red chilies on top. You can skip it, but I recommend doing it. Don't be intimidated by the length of the recipe! It's extremely easy and comes together in a jiffy! Recipe Ingredients For the curry: 2 cups black chickpeas (kala chana) washed and soaked overnight or at least for 8-10 hours 1 tbsp mustard oil or any other oil of your choice 1 tsp cumin ½ tsp asafoetida 8-10 cloves of garlic roughly pounded ½ inch ginger roughly pounded 2 green chilies finely chopped 1 large tomato chopped 1 tsp turmeric 1 tsp red chili powder 2 tsp coriander powder ¼ tsp cumin powder A pinch of garam masala Salt to taste Chopped coriander leaves For the additional tadka (optional): ½ tsp mustard oil or any other oil of your choice 1 tsp cumin ¼ tsp asafoetida A pinch of red chili powder 2 dried red chilies Method Divide the chickpeas into two parts or cups. Boil one cup of the soaked chickpeas in a pressure cooker or instant pot with some salt. Strain the chickpeas and keep aside the water from the chickpeas. We will use this water later in the recipe. While one portion of the chickpeas are boiling, make a fine paste of the other cup of chickpeas in a blender by adding a little water as required. Keep aside. Add oil in a wok or kadai on medium heat and then, add cumin, asafoetida, garlic, ginger and green chilies one after another. Sauté till the raw smell of ginger garlic starts to disappear, but take care to not brown the garlic. Add the tomatoes and cook until they become soggy. Add the dry spices: turmeric, red chilli powder and coriander and cumin powder and sauté again. Add splashes of water if the spices and tomato stick to the kadai or wok. Once the tomatoes and spices are mixed well, add the chickpea paste and start mixing everything together. Cook on a medium low flame until the paste changes color, thickens and becomes slightly sticky. Now add the water kept aside from draining the boiled chickpeas into the paste in the kadai or wok, and turn up the heat to medium. Give a gentle mix and then use a wire whisk to mix continuously and break the lumps. Once you are happy with the consistency of the gravy and have ensured that there are no lumps, add the boiled chickpeas into this gravy. Add more water to thin down the consistency of the gravy, mix and then let it simmer covered for about 5-7 minutes. Open and add a pinch of garam masala. Add salt and water (if needed) to adjust seasoning and texture. Remove from heat and garnish with freshly chopped coriander leaves. (Optional) For an extra spicy kick, add a tadka on top. For this, heat oil in a fry pan or tadka pan, add cumin, asafoetida, red chili powder and dried red chilies. Let everything crackle and pour the sizzling tadka on top of the hot gravy. Related posts Punjabi Chole Rajma Dal Makhni

Everyone who knows me would be surprised that my first entry in the desserts section of my blog is not chocolate! Well, it's because until now I had not baked a crumble (and a cobbler, but more on in a future post). A crumble is not just a post-meal dessert. It's versatile enough to be eaten as a scrumptious breakfast or a hearty snack. So you'll find it under my breakfast and snacks section too. If you'd have read my vegetarian shepherd's pie post, you'd understand how much I have been enticed with English baked goodies. My sweet tooth is more prone to western, and especially European desserts than the Indian mithais. Thus, the second thing (first was chocolate cake, duh!) that I learned to bake was a crumble. This rhubarb and strawberry crumble has my heart, and if you read further you'll know more on what I've done differently with this crumble. Recipe PDF Rhubarb is my latest fascination. I had never eaten it until I came to Canada, and my knowledge of the association of rhubarb with spring had been limited to seeing it in pictures (the famous one being Henry Clark of Skagway holding a yardstick to show the size of his large rhubarb in the Clark farm) or reading about it. Until we moved to Whitehorse from Toronto, I never knew rhubarb was so celebrated in Alaska and that it was a gleam of hope for the Klondike gold rush enthusiasts who had little access to fresh produce. The name crumble for the baked fruit desserts originates in England, and a crumble is quite similar to a crisp. A traditional crisp has oats in it while a crumble does not. Over time, both these names have been used interchangeably for baked desserts made with fresh fruit layered with a streusel-like topping, a crumbly mixture of flour, butter and sugar. How is this crumble different from the so many crumbles out there? To be honest, I can't say no one else would have thought of this or if my rhubarb strawberry crumble is one of a kind. What I can say is that I followed my gut and tried to experiment with the typical crumble topping. I did not have rolled oats (usually used in crisps), and I wanted to add something nutty. So, I used flaked almonds. As I love the smell of cardamom in Indian sweets and Indian masala chai, I felt sure that adding it to a non-Indian dessert wouldn't be a failure. I have also used a tiny bit of fennel seeds in the rhubarb strawberry mix as it produces a nice aroma while the fruit (strawberry) and vegetable (rhubarb) bake and melt. Will making a crumble take a lot of time? I don't call myself a baker. I'm still learning to bake, and if I say that it's one of the easiest and fastest things to bake, you've got to believe it! A crumble does not require a cake or cookie like batter. You're simply cutting and rubbing off flour with chunks of cold butter, and then mixing sugar into it. No cooling, no folding! You get the picture. What fruits can I use to make a crumble? All pulpy summery fruits make amazing candidates for a crumble. Rhubarb, strawberries, stone fruits, raspberries, mangoes—the possibilities are endless. I have made a crumble with a single fruit and a combination as well, and every time it comes out delicious. Can I eat a crumble as is or do I need to serve it with something? More than me, my husband is a big crumble fan. And, he loves to have it as is, add to his cereals and even with yogurt. You can also have it with fresh custard or a scoops of ice cream. I made a big batch of the crumble for two people, my husband and I. So, we enjoyed the out-of-the-oven crumble with some egg-less almond milk custard (wait, you want the custard recipe too? coming soon...promise!), and the leftovers with our breakfast cereals the next day. What is that one tip to make a good crumble? There are three. From what I have learnt, I can say that whatever quantity of flour you take to make the crumble topping, take at least half the quantity of butter. Make sure your butter is cold and while you rub it into your flour, do not make tiny bits of all the butter pieces. Let some them remain chunky, and those are the ones that lend a nice texture to your crumble. Recipe Ingredients For the fruit mix: 3-4 long fresh rhubarb stems 1 cup fresh strawberries 1/2 tsp vanilla essence 1/2 to 3/4 cup of Golden sugar 1/2 tsp fennel seeds 2 tsp cornstarch For the crumble mix: 1 and 3/4 cup (about 225 gm) all purpose flour 1/2 cup (100 to 110 gm) unsalted grass fed butter cold 1/2 cup brown sugar 1 pinch of salt 2 tbsp flaked almonds 1/2 tsp cardamom powder Method Setup the oven: Preheat oven to 400ºF and grease an oven safe dish or casserole with butter. Prepare the fruit mix: Chop the rhubarb into 1-inch pieces and dice the strawberries lengthwise. In a large bowl, add all the ingredients mentioned under fruit mix. Toss everything together and then transfer into the prepared dish. Make the crumble mixture: Cube the cold butter and toss it with the flour. Use your clean fingertips to rub the butter cubes into the flour until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs, but make sure to keep some chunks of butter large. Stir in the rest of the ingredients without overworking the flour and butter to ensure the crumble remains crispy. Bake the crumble: Add the crumble mix over the rhubarb strawberry mix by gently sprinkling and throwing motion. Do not press the crumble mix on top of the fruit mix. Note: The idea is to loosely top the fruit filling, like a layer of breadcrumbs over the fruits. Place the dish on a baking tray if your dish is filled too much to the top. This will ensure the drips from the bubbling fruit mix don't spoil your oven. Bake for about 30 to 40 minutes or until the crumble turns golden and the filling is bubbling away. You can serve the hot crumble with cold ice cream or yogurt or let it cool a bit and top it up with warm custard or just spoon it up as it is. I'm in heaven already writing about it. You must make it soon to experience this joy!

Food is an indispensable part of our being, an integral part of our identity. After all, we are what we eat. So, what happens when we move from the place we were born and brought up in, the land that influenced and guided our culinary preferences? No matter how we change or adopt our food habits to something new, we often seek the flavours we grew up eating. We set our hearts to find old ingredients in new markets and earnestly cook food from our memories in our new kitchens. This notion is a recurring truth in the stories of migrating and relocating communities, and one such tale is the story of Sindhis and their food. Hailing from the Sindh province in Pakistan after the partition of India and Pakistan, the Sindhi culture goes back to as old as the Indus Valley Civilization. The beauty of Sindhi cuisine is that it's extremely simple and owing to its birth along the the Indus river, it was naturally dominant in fresh produce cooked with minimum spices. The touch of neighbouring cuisines such as Gujrati, Kutchi and Punjabi and the adoption of Persian and Arabian flavours due to invasions presents a beautiful blend in Sindhi cooking. The Sai Bhaji is one of my personal favourites from the Sindhi cuisine. 'Sai' in Sindhi means green and 'bhaji' means a curry. True to its name, this dish boils down to as simple and holistic a recipe can be. A variety of greens are cooked with lentils and vegetables to create a gravy that is best served with another Sindhi creation, Bugge Chawal or Bugha Chawal, a preparation of rice with caramelized onions and whole spices. You could also eat it with roti or flat bread or even dunk dinner rolls in it to satisfy the cravings for a optimally thick and mushy gravy! Recipe PDF The philosophy of Sai Bhaji Sai Bhaji is made of three key ingredients, greens, vegetables and lentils. Each of these has a role to play in the dish. The greens lend it the color while the over cooked lentils and vegetables make the base of the gravy. The idea is to make a a thorough mix of everything where no ingredient remains indistinguishable to the eye yet you can taste each one as you eat. Key points to cook Sai Bhaji Cooking with minimum spice is often not as simple as it may sound. The fewer the spices, the lesser is your control over the food, the more the tendency of one or two spices taking over the flavour of the entire dish. Sai Bhaji is also one such dish but don't be intimidated by this. It's a forgiving recipe, and there are ways to fix things up if you mess up somewhere! Greens: Typically Sai Bhaji uses some specific kinds of greens namely spinach, sorrel (khatta palak), dill (sua) and fenugreek leaves. If you don't have all of these greens, you can still make it! Spinach is a dominant player amidst them all. If you can't find fresh fenugreek leaves, you can add kasoori methi (dried fenugreek leaves) in the end and it will keep the flavour intact. And, that's exactly what I have done in this recipe. Sorrel lends a nice tangy note to the gravy. I was lucky to find a tiny bunch of sorrel at the farm market here for this recipe. However, if you can't find sorrel in your local store, you can use an additional tomato or add a teaspoon of amchur (dry mango powder). Lentils: Of all the variations of Sai Bhaji I have eaten, I like it best with chana dal (split chickpeas or split Bengal gram). It's staple in the Indian grocery stores, and if you live outside India like me, you'd still be able to spot it easily in the lentils section. If you somehow cannot find chana dal, I suggest using a combination of tur (pegion pea) and yellow moong dal (yellow split gram) or pink masoor dal (red lentils). It's not complicated. If you're confused, just get a can of your favourite lentils and make it! Vegetables Choose vegetables that will loose their shape and turn soggy faster. The typical ones used in Sai Bhaji are potatoes, eggplants and arbi (taro root). I have made this recipe with potato and brinjal. Other vegetables that I have tried and work well are carrots, zucchini, yam and bottle gourd. There's a whole gamut. Pick and choose! Recipe Ingredients 1 bunch spinach with a handful of sorrel washed and finely chopped 1/4 to 1/2 cup dill leaves washed and chopped 2 tbsp kasoori methi (dried fenugreek leaves) or 1/2 cup fresh fenugreek leaves washed and chopped 1/2 cup chana dal (split Bengal gram or split chickpeas) soaked for 30 minutes 1 potato chopped 1 small eggplant chopped 1 large onion chopped 2 small tomatoes chopped 1 tbsp oil 1 tsp cumin 4-5 cloves of garlic pounded 1/2 inch ginger pounded 1/4 tsp heeng (asafoetida) 2 green chilies chopped 1/4 tsp turmeric 1/4 tsp red chili powder (optional) 1 tsp coriander powder Salt to taste Method Place an instant pot or pressure cooker or any pot on medium heat, add oil and once the oil is hot, add cumin, ginger and garlic, asafoetida and green chilies. Give everything a good mix and let the ginger garlic turn slightly golden. Take care to not burn it. Note: If you're using an instant pot, set it on sauté mode for 15 minutes. Add the onions and sauté till translucent. Do not let the onions turn brown. Next add the potatoes and eggplant and toss with the onions. Add the turmeric, red chilli and coriander and sauté for a couple of minutes with splashes of water if anything sticks to the pot or pressure cooker. Add the tomatoes and cook until the tomatoes start becoming soggy. At this stage, add the lentils and mix everything well. Add the greens and mix again, pushing the greens down if your pot is small and the greens seem to come to the top. Let the greens wilt (which will take a few seconds) and then add about 1 cup of water. Sprinkle salt and 1/2 tsp kasoori methi if you're not using fresh fenugreek leaves. Note: Adding water can be tricky in this recipe. Remember the greens will also loose water. So add about 1 cup of water or enough to let everything submerge. If you add more water, do not worry. You can let the dish simmer away later for the extra water to evaporate. Close the lid of the pressure cooker or pot. If using instant pot, close the lid and now set the pot to pressure cook mode. Pressure cook the lentils for 30 minutes in an instant pot or at least 6 whistles in a pressure cooker. If using a normal pot, cook covered for at least 45 minutes or until everything is tender and mushy. After the dish is ready, check seasoning and add more salt if needed. If you're using kasoori methi, add another 1/2 tsp now. Adjust water and let the dish simmer uncovered for about 5 minutes. At this stage, take a potato masher and mash the mixture well to attain a slightly thick consistency. Note: If using an instant pot, you will need to switch back to the sauté mode for 5 minutes. Switch off the heat and serve with rice or flat bread, or simply slurp the curry with a soup spoon!

JUMP TO RECIPE I grew up watching my mother cook. I can recall myself sitting on the floor outside the kitchen where she cooked, closely watching her every action. She would squat on the wooden footrest of a paniki (cutting instrument, called as boti in Bengali), her foot gripped tight on the floor as she sliced and diced vegetables on the cutting edge of the instrument. If I ambled closer, she would gently pull me aside. While the pressure cooker hissed on the gas stove fogging the marbled wall behind, she would quickly look after the rumbling water in the dekchi (flat bottomed cooking pot) announcing that rice was on its way. I would demand her attention sometimes, tugging at the loose end of her saree smelling like summer breeze, and she would make me sit with a plate of grains and a sieve to let them dance through it. She would then take the pressure cooker off the gas stove and often place an eggplant, slathered with robustly smelling mustard oil, atop the open flame. The story of the baigana poda (in Odia) or baingan chokha (in Hindi) has just begun. Mother would toss and turn the eggplant every five minutes, holding the pointy end of the eggplant and then add a oil smeared tomato. The king of vegetables would sear with its companion, the tomato. Both of them eventually yield to the fire that scorches them black. Mother would take them off the heat and let them rest on a steel plate while she chopped an onion, a few green chilies and a spoonful of garlic cloves. She would carefully and yet quickly peel the charred skin off the vegetables, vapour coming off the shriveled vegetables, the kitchen filled in a smoky scent of the char. And, while mother mashed everything, her fingers rubbing onions, chilies, garlic and salt, I would always ask why does she not wash the hot eggplant under water and let it cool? Wouldn't her fingers feel better that way? She would answer patiently, every time to the same question, "We don't want to loose the flavour. Eggplant is a thirsty baby, loves to take in everything when hot!" Mother still makes the baigana poda or the chokha this way, while I have to use the broiler to char the eggplant now. None of the houses that I have lived in Canada had an open flame gas stove, and the chokha-lover in me has tried every possible setting in the oven and broiler to get that rustic looking eggplant, the sunken vegetable with its skin singed, falling off with a slight pull of the fingers. Nothing satisfied me until recently, when I experimented a bit more with the broiler and the eggplant both. Although not smoky, it seemed familiar to the chokha I grew up eating. So, it's time I present it to you — my baingan chokha made in a broiler. The term poda in Odia typically refers to something that's burnt while the term chokha in Hindi means something that's mashed. There's another word in Hindi, bharta which also means mashed. However, the more popular baingan bharta is different from a poda or a chokha. A bharta is generally double cooked. You char the eggplant and then cook it again with onions, tomatoes, spices and sometimes green peas or peanuts. I have seen this more in Punjabi and Maharashtrian households. A chokha or poda is a much simpler affair, rather bland if not for the pungent mustard oil, and more common in Odisha, West bengal, Bihar and parts of Uttar Pradesh. It's a simplistic way of eating a vegetable, almost resembling how our ancestors ate food — vegetables or meat roasted on a fire and then eaten without further cooking. Meat was patted and massaged with spices and salt while vegetables got the reverse treatment. Recipe PDF Hailing from the Solanaceae (night shade) family, the eggplant shares its heritage with tomatoes, potatoes and peppers. Although known as vegetables, eggplants are essentially the fruits of the Solanum melongena plant. Indigenous to South and East Asia, eggplants are believed to have originated in India. Eggplants have been cultivated in India for about 4000 years, and are commonly known as brinjal, the word being derived from the Portuguese word beringela. Arabs introduced brinjals to Europe (known as aubergine in France and later in UK) while Persians took them to Africa where they came to be known as eggplants. Thomas Jefferson introduced eggplants in the United States, and it could have either been through seeds gotten from France or brought by newly arrived slaves from Africa, who actually did the gardening at Monticello. Since it's extremely easy to make and hardly uses any utensils, chokha was a desired wartime food preparation during the Indian Mutiny in 1857, and was served with litti - whole wheat dough ball stuffed with sattu (gram flour) roasted over coal or wood and then smeared with ghee (clarified butten). The phenomenal litti-chokha from the state of Bihar in India forms a complete meal in itself. Food like chokha or poda remind us where our roots are, an elusive mnemonic of simple living. Do not dismiss this delicacy by its jejune appearance, something that makes it even harder to photograph! If you can get past its mien, I can assure you a lifetime of unconditional love. The eggplant literally burns off in heat to please your heart, and how gracefully! Are there any tips for this recipe? This recipe comes together in minutes if you're charring the eggplant on an open flame. There's no cooking involved! Ensure that you char the eggplant well and that's all to it! If you're however using an oven for this, it will take longer. Depending on how your oven works and how well your broiler functions would decide how fast the eggplant cooks. I suggest using large eggplant varieties for this recipe to get maximum flavour. My preferred choice of eggplants is the mid-sized Indian eggplants, but the purple ones and not the green ones. Other varieties that are ideal are the Italian and Globe eggplants. In either case, ensure that the eggplant is firm and fresh. If you're using the smaller purple Indian eggplants, you'll need to use at least 3-4 eggplants for enough quantity. I highly recommend using mustard oil for this recipe as its the flavour of the oil that imparts the distinct character to this dish. However, I understand it could be difficult to have edible mustard oil handy if you live outside India. Use a nice extra virgin olive oil in that case as a substitute. Whatever oil you use, the dish will taste like it. So, choose your favourite smelling oil if you can't get mustard oil or don't like it for some reason. No dry spices are added to a chokha or poda. It's supposed to be eaten with raw onions, garlic and salt, and that's how I make it. You could add a hint of roasted and pounded cumin seeds, although I don't feel the need for it. A charred tomato adds to the tartness and smokiness of the chokha. You can use few spoons of lime juice or amchur (dry mango powder) instead. I advise trying it with tomato first, and play with other souring agents the next time. You can add boiled and mashed potatoes to the chokha as well. This is typical in Bihar. Odia and Bengali preparations are generally without the potatoes. Recipe Ingredients 1 large eggplant or 2 medium ones 1 medium tomato 1 onion roughly chopped 3-4 cloves of garlic chopped and pounded 2 green chilies chopped 1 and 1/2 tsp mustard oil Salt to taste Method Wash the eggplant and tomato. Prick holes on both with a fork and apply 1/2 tsp mustard oil over both. If you're using an open flame gas stove, place a roasting grill on the flame and then place the eggplant and tomato on it. Let them char, turning the vegetables every few minutes to ensure even charring. This should take about 10-15 minutes on medium flame. If you're using an oven, preheat the broiler. Place an aluminum foil on a baking tray and place the vegetables on it. I usually find that a whole eggplant takes a long time to char in an oven, and so, I slit the large eggplant length wise with the thorny end still intact and then place the eggplant on the tray lined with foil. Place the tray in the broiler or as close as possible to the heat source, and let it broil for about 20 minutes or until the vegetables seem done. For best results, let the inner side of the cut eggplant face the broiler, and during the last five minutes, turn to allow the skin side to face the broiler. Switch off heat/oven and place the charred vegetables in a plate. Let it cool slightly or till a point when you can comfortably handle it. Remove the charred skin off, pulling the pulp out. Use your clean hands (I use hands) or a potato masher to mash the pulp and add the onions, garlic, chilies, 1 tsp oil and salt. Mix everything well and then add the remaining oil on top to garnish. Your baigana poda or baingan chokha is ready to be served! Enjoy with with dal and rice or rotis (Indian flatbread). A Lebanese or Turkish flatbread also goes amazingly well with a chokha, just like Baba Ghanoush. If you make this recipe, you can show me your creations by tagging me on Instagram or drop your comments here. I would love to hear from you! Related Posts Dhaba Style Dal Fry

JUMP TO RECIPE I must have been about nine or ten years old when I first ate something called, Shahi Paneer in a gourmet restaurant in Delhi. It was on one of our annual family summer holidays, although the idea of visiting the golden triangle—Delhi, Agra, Jaipur—during a hot arid season is something I haven't been able to fathom till date! My father had a reputed government job that kept him busy throughout the year, and irrespective of how hot the weather was, he would leave no stone upturned to take us out of the city during our longest school vacations. Without diverging more, let me get back to Shahi Paneer. As the server brought the sizzling silky gravy to our table, I promptly asked, "Why is it called shahi (meaning royal)?" While the server and then the manager cajoled me and tried their best to justify the name of the dish, nothing seemed satisfactory to my curious mind that was on tenterhooks reading all the other dishes parked under Mughlai cuisine on the menu. It took me many years to unravel the mystery of Shahi Paneer. Recipe PDF In an interview with Sierra magazine, famous American author and journalist, Michael Pollan says, "At home I serve the kind of food I know the story behind" as he expounds upon the importance of knowing where our food is sourced from when we eat it at our tables. While this conversation explores the slow food movement emphasizing the importance of local buying and supporting polyculture, it sets me on a parallel trail of understanding the history behind the food we eat. This brings me to what acclaimed food and travel writer, Madhur Jaffery writes in her book, Vegetarian India, a thought I instantly connected with, a notion that's more than a reverie for me: Food, as we know does not exist in vacuum. I always like to know the background of the dishes I eat. When you dine in a restaurant that serves North Indian food, you're likely to be presented with a menu offering myriad of paneer dishes. Paneer, inaccurately assumed as the sole resort for specialty dishes for the vegetarian audience, is cooked in different gravies and brought to your plate as Paneer Makhani, Paneer Butter Masala, Paneer Qorma, Peshawari Paneer, Paneer Lababdar, Paneer Pasanda, Paneer Tikka Masala, Kadai Paneer and my husband's favourite, Shahi Paneer. I have perhaps left out more avatars of paneer because the list is extensive in the paneer directory. In an Indian restaurant outside India, you may not always find such a substantial paneer menu. Irrespective of whether you're in India or outside, most of these restaurant paneer gravies taste similar because they're often assumed to be analogous. Considering that the gravy of each of these varieties of paneer are one of the four standard bases—tomato, onion, nuts, dairy—or a combination, the change of spices and cooking technique actually lend each gravy its character which is hard to guess unless the dish has been done well. If you're ever caught in a quandary at a restaurant on how to choose from this variety of paneer, try understanding the name of the dish. While the names of most paneer dishes bear an inkling of what their gravy is made of (butter masala has butter, makhani typically has white butter, tikka masala has marinated and grilled paneer) or where they come from (Peshawari indicates the dish originated in Peshawar, Kolhapuri hints it has Kolhapuri style masala), many christenings leave me surprised. Consider Paneer Pasanda which has long strips of paneer. Pasanda is originally a gravy made of long strips of meat but I've hardly seen a menu at a restaurant explaining it. Paneer Lababdar does not ring a bell on its ingredients too. The word lababdar isn't found in the Hindi dictionary and sources indicate it has Urdu or Arabic origins, and the word is loosely described as having a strong desire for indulgence. Owing to its Urdu and Arabic roots, Paneer Lababdar is believed to hail from the Mughal cuisine known for the grandeur and swank of its badhshahs or emperors. Shahi, a Farsi word used in the Hindi language, means something that belongs to a badshah (emperor) or something that's regal. Both names, Shahi Paneer and Paneer Lababdar strongly draw upon royalty, a quintessential characteristic of the Mughal empire, more prominent during the reign of Shah Jahan who established Shahjahanabad (old Delhi)—the linchpin of Islamic architecture, bazaars, street food and shahi khana (royal food). The iconic Farsi manuscript, Nuskha-i-Shahjahani (Shah Jahan's recipes), also translated to English by the scholar Salma Husain, has detailed recipes from the royal kitchens. Other historical texts like Ain-i-Akbari which details the administration of emperor Akbar and Alwan-e-Nemat, a collection of recipes from emperor Jahangir's rule, also mention Mughlai food. Strangely, none of these artifacts broach Shahi Paneer or Paneer Lababdar which are laid on as gleaned from Mughlai cuisine—a harmonious amalgamation of Afghan, Persian and Hindustani cooking styles. Although commercially prevalent in India and abroad, Mughlai food is grossly distorted everywhere, presented as fat-laden ultra-spiced rich gravies in the wake of being shahi, lazeez and lababdar, all implying royalty in some way. To understand why dishes like Shahi Paneer and its kin are prepared as thick oily gravies in restaurants and conveniently labelled as resplendent, it's important to delve more. When Shah Jahan shifted the capital of the Mughal empire from Agra to Delhi, the water of the Yamuna river was found to be inedible. The emperor's health advisor or hakim recommended cooking meat with more spices to counter the harmful effects of the water and the use of ghee to negate the effect of extra spices. Most, if not all, paneer dishes embraced in the Mughlai food bracket seem to take the idea from original meat dishes. While the sophistication of cooking meat in Mughal kitchens was resonant of nifty techniques that involved multiple and patient layering of selected spices, straining of stock and careful scenting and seasoning, it was nevertheless a time consuming process. When modern kitchens in restaurants embarked upon replicating the flavour base of meaty dishes into vegetables and paneer to cater vegetarian audiences, the notions, 'fat is flavour' and 'masala is king' ruled the roost. Slow cooking methods were modified and often replaced to suit batch-cooking for customers, producing standard pre-made gravies identified by their colour—red, white or yellow—and not by their cooking procedures or ingredients. That's how most people identify gravies in a restaurant: qorma is white, butter masala is yellow, tikka masla is red, lababdar is orange, and more of such blarney. While I understand that it's impossible to slow roast and cook the masala at length in a restaurant as a number of people are kept waiting for food to arrive at their tables, a lack of explanation of a dish (at least on the menu) compromises the very bones of its identity that ultimately gets lost over time. Gravies like Shahi Paneer bearing the insignia of Mughal cuisine, associate royalty with the use of nuts, saffron, yogurt, milk and cream in them. A typical Shahi Paneer recipe would involve cashews, or sometimes almonds. Some would douse it in cream for the texture while some will add milk or yogurt while others will add everything to claim and defend its aristocratic heritage. It's hard to make an unerring declaration on which method is correct because Shahi Paneer seems to be a dish that was most likely created and modified over generations trying to reproduce qormas (braising of meat in ghee, yogurt and spices) and qaliyas (slow cooking meat with spices into which vegetables were added sometimes) in the period when the Mughal dynasty was declining and British colonialism was peaking, and every Indian gravy was docketed with the word, "curry". Many of the elements in the nominal royal gravies have borrowed and adapted foreign ingredients. Cashews arrived in India between 1560-65 with the Portuguese who brought it from Brazil, while Persians introduced almonds. Paneer which is made by splitting milk using a souring agent like lime or vinegar has mingled origins: one line of thought shows clear evidence that the concept of curdling milk and making chena was taught by Portuguese to Indians in the 17th century in Calcutta while the other dates the history of this curdled milk mass to Central Asia. Theories also claim that Afghans and Persians, the predecessors of the Mughals in India, introduced the close cousin of paneer, 'peynir' in the 16th century. Considering that the Mughal era lasted in India between 16th and 19th centuries, 1526-1857, and that the Portuguese, Afghan and Persian influences also pirouette this timeline, they collaboratively have contributed to Shahi Paneer, a dish that touches upon the remnants of Mughal cooking styles in a strive to replicate nostalgia. What about this Shahi Paneer recipe? Although I learned about Shahi Paneer in a restaurant first, I have refined my recipe over the years to yield a more homely feel. Unlike the restaurants, I make my masala pastes fresh and use it the same day, unless I am hosting a party at home and want to save time by making a pre-made gravy base. To yield the silky texture in the gravy, I recommend making two separate but extremely fine pastes, first with onion and tomatoes, and second with cashews and yogurt. I make a paste of onions and tomatoes and then let it cook slowly with the ginger, garlic and whole and dry spices using the bhuno cooking technique that involves slowly building the flavour of the ingredients by frying over low to medium heat. To slow roast a masala, always use a heavy bottom pan that will ensure that your masala doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan. Using milk or yogurt in a recipe involves a bit of skill but I have a trick for you that will go a long way! Always beat the yogurt or curd well before adding into your gravy, and keep the heat of the stove low when you do so. Otherwise, the milk or yogurt will curdle. Once you add milk or yogurt, remember your cooking process will slow down. So, I recommend adding it towards the end when the gravy is almost done. The second trick is to constantly stir the gravy as you add the yogurt or milk in small doses. As I researched Mughlai cuisine more, I realized the use of turmeric was almost negligible in the imperial kitchens except in qaliya. Saffron was more popular, and I borrowed the elements of both qorma and qaliya in this recipe. You're free to opt turmeric over saffron. The gravies in a restaurant have a silk smooth feel to them as they are strained to remove the fibers. You can do it if you wish, although I prefer not to do it. I make a very fine paste of the onion and tomatoes which ensures a beautiful texture in my gravies, and sometimes use a hand blender to further grind any remaining fibers in the gravy towards the end of the cooking process. Trust me, I have made this on several occasions, and friends and guests have requested it to be made multiple times! Although not greasy like a restaurant version, I still find this gravy on the richer side of the culinary pallet. I highly recommend this recipe for a party or for a day when you want to enjoy one profuse dish. Recipe PRINT RECIPE Ingredients 700 gm paneer cut into cubes 2 large onions roughly diced 3 large tomatoes roughly diced 1 tbsp oil 1 tbsp ghee (or use 2 tbsp oil instead) 1/4 tsp caraway seeds or Shah Jeera (use cumin as substitute) 1 cinnamon stick 1-2 bay leaves 1 black cardamom 2 green cardamom 3-4 cloves 1 inch ginger minced 3-4 cloves garlic minced 1 tsp coriander powder 2 tsp red chili powder (Kashmiri preferably) 1/4 tsp turmeric 10-12 cashews 2 tbsp yogurt 1/4 tsp Garam Masala Few strands of saffron Pinch of green cardamom powder Pinch of cinnamon powder 1 tbsp Kasoori Methi Salt to taste Method Make a fine paste of the onions and tomatoes in a blender and keep it aside. (Optional) Heat a heavy bottom pan or wok. Wrap the saffron strands in a piece of aluminium foil and toss it on a fry the pan by pressing with your fingers or a spoon for a couple of seconds. Keep it aside. In the same pan or wok, heat oil and ghee, and add the whole spices, caraway seeds, cinnamon stick, bay leaves, cloves and cardamom. Once everything is fragrant, add the ginger and garlic and sauté on medium heat so as not to burn them but let their raw smell disappear. Add the onion tomato paste and sauté for a couple of minutes on medium heat. Now, lower the heat and begin the bhuno process. Keep frying the masala on low to medium heat, and gradually add turmeric, red chili and coriander. Continue slow cooking the masala. You can close the lid of the pan for about 5 to 10 minutes to let the masala cook completely. Open in between to check the doneness. Meanwhile, make a paste of the cashews and the yogurt in a blender. Beat garam masala with a pinch of salt to this mixture using a hand whisk. You should get a flowing but creamy mixture. (Optional) Open the foil and add the slightly toasted saffron strands to the beaten yogurt and cashew mixture. Check your masala being cooked slowly. After about 20 minutes or so, the oil from the masala should start separating lending it a good hue of red. Add salt and cook for about 10 more minutes. Lower the heat to a minimum and pour the yogurt mixture into the gravy in adding small amounts in each pour and continuously stirring as you do. (Optional) Use a hand blender to further refine the texture of the gravy. Mix well and let it simmer for a few seconds, and then add the paneer. Don't stir the gravy too much after adding the paneer or they will break. Drizzle pinches of cardamom and cinnamon powder on the slowly simmering gravy. Switch off the heat after 5 to 7 minutes. Rub the Kasoori Methi between your palms and add it on top, and cover the pan for a few minutes. Let the gravy settle a bit before serving! You will truly love this fragrant sweet tangy gravy with hints of cardamom and cinnamon on top wafting away in your kitchen! Scoop the pillow soft paneer with any kind of bread or stir up a pot of rice tempered with cumin to make jeera rice on the side! Either way, you're bound to fall in love with this modernized version of a gravy made in the Mughal bawarchi khanas of the royal families. Don't forget to have some salad ready to accompany and make this meal wholesome. Related Recipes Paneer Tikka Paneer Tikka Masala Navratan Pulao Palak Paneer Moroccan Style Salad

JUMP TO RECIPE On a frigid February evening in 2019, two months into my marriage, I stand in the kitchenette of our West End house in Toronto, smearing rice flour batter on roundels of yam and pointed gourd wedges in a bowl. A flurry of snow blows outside and I watch it intermittently from the adjoining window, sliding the vegetables into hot oil in a wok. The greasy pressure cooker, a survivor of my husband's bachelor life, rattles—yellow dal frothing out of it—and falls silent on the scarlet metal coils of the electric stove. A cooking show plays on the Living Foodz channel streaming through my laptop's screen. My favourite chef, Ranveer Brar cooks Nabhe Wali Machli (literally meaning fish of Nabha). He marinates pieces of fish in turmeric and lime and narrates how the bibis (word used to address women respectably in Punjabi) of Nabha, hailing from Kashmir and married into the royal families in Nabha, Punjab, lent the beauty of Kashmiri cooking to the typical Punjabi fish preparation. I peel half an acorn squash, imagining it to be the familiar pumpkin from India, and open the cabinet beside the pegboard. "Where is the bottle of panch phoron?", I wonder. Mother had packed it when we left for Canada. Looking amidst the spice holders yet to be opened and placed in an array, I find a pocket-size box. It had jakhya, a bijou cousin of mustard from the Kumaon hills in India, my husband's hometown. I fondly remember my mother-in-law who handpicked every little thing to ensure my new kitchen wasn't bereft of spices, not to mention all the cutlery and ceramics. Recipe PDF While the marinated fish gets shallow fried in a pan, Chef Brar dices the raw mangoes, and onions and boils the lotus root slices in a kadai. I miss a kadai, I ponder. Would the newly wed Kashmiri brides have also missed something in the kitchens of their homes in Punjab? On a summer afternoon in Nabha, peeling a kairi (green mango) with their henna laden hands, they perhaps would have longed the familiarity of nadru, (lotus root), the prominent player in Kashmiri cuisine. What a potato is for the rest of India, nadru is for Kashmir. I heat a pan and drizzle vegetable oil, wishing it was mustard oil instead, and throw the jakhya seeds into it. They splutter, almost imitating the mustard, and I happily dunk the squash cubes. Something new is discovered in that tiny kitchen in my new home. The classic Kumaoni jakhya seasoned a quintessential Odia dish, buta dali kakharu (bengal gram with pumpkin). My marriage opened yet another dimension of food and helped me innovate. As the Nabhe Wali Machli sizzled on my laptop screen, I stirred the dal with the pumpkin, and thought about food and how it almost always has a story to titillate our minds. How beautifully the Kashmiri bibis added lotus roots to a summer fish curry of Nabha, creating something that would have been loved and welcomed then, but is hardly known today. Nabha - a princely state of the undivided Punjab in pre-partitioned India was ruled by the Phulkian dynasty, descendants of the Sindhu Jats, and along with Patiala and Jind formed the Phulkian states. The present day city of Nabha in Punjab was the capital of this state. Punjabi food that we understand or rather recognize today, the kind that's usually served in the restaurants, has been heavily influenced through several years of conquests, trade, travel and intercultural marriages. While West Punjab (present day Lahore, Rawalpindi, Peshawar and North West Frontier) favoured the meat dominant cuisine of Afghans, Mughals and Turks, East Punjab (present day Punjab in India, Himachal Pradesh and Haryana) became popular for its vegetarian food of saag (greens), curd, milk, ghee and flat breads made of wheat and maize. It wouldn't be a folly to say that the non-vegetarian food in East Punjab mostly thrived in the aristocratic families, like the ménages of the maharajas of Nabha, Patiala, Kapurthala, Jind, Ambala and more. An interesting aspect of Punjabi food is how the food in royal families transformed with intercultural marriages. Brides from the hilly parts of Punjab (present day Himachal Pradesh), Jammu and Kashmir introduced the ingredients, spices and cooking techniques from their native lands into the Punjabi royal kitchens. This was true in the Mughal kitchens as well where the Muslim princes married Hindu Rajput princesses who brought many variations in the flavour palette of the Mughal cuisine. A cross influence of Punjabi food can be found in the cuisine of Himachal Pradesh and Jammu which were once ruled by the Sikh ruler, Ranjit Singh and his successors. Punjab and Kashmir also share intertwined histories of trauma and heroism. While Guru Tegh Bahadur stood up against Aurangzeb over the persecution of Kashmiri pandits and was imprisoned and executed as a consequence in 1675, Sikh Misls (brigades) under Jassa Singh Ahluwalia fought and defeated the Afghan invader Ahmad Shah Abdali in 1761 rescuing thousands of Kashmiri women who were being captured and sent to Afghanistan as war booty. The more I tried to look up the history of Nabhe Wali Machli, I realized that as much as food needs to be passed on and shared, what's perhaps even more important is the appropriate adoption of it, and not just appreciation. You wouldn't find Nabhe Wali Machli in any common lists of Punjabi foods, although it holds a special place in Punjab's history, a dish that represents the cosmopolitanism of Punjab. The use of mustard oil and no ghee also reflects upon the food of the common people in Punjab: the farmers, the workers and the labourers. Their food like the sarson ka saag, an ensemble of mustard greens, is primarily cooked in mustard oil. As the erudite food historian Pushpesh Pant mentions in the Indian television series, Raja, Rasoi aur Anya Kahaniyan that ghee is more of an add-on-top ingredient in the working class's food in Punjab while mustard oil runs the show. However the use of mustard oil in Nabhe Wali Machli seems more of a Kashmiri influence to me as this oil is center stage in Kashmiri food, and the Kasmiri bibis of Nabha appear to have used it abundantly in Punjabi cooking. Although it's plausible that Nabhe Wali Machli could have been first created under the influence of some Maharani of Nabha with a Kashmiri lineage, no concrete artifacts or documents exist. The dish being a summer speciality, evident through the use of mangoes, could also have originated in the Nabha Palace at Mussoorie, Himachal Pradesh where the erstwhile Maharaja of Nabha and his family spent the sweltering months. Situated in the lap of hills and surrounded by oaks and cedars, the palace has been converted into a heritage hotel, the Claridges Nabha Residence. The summer house is known to still cook the Nabha style fish curry. More than a decade ago, The Square at the Novotel hotel in Mumbai used to showcase the food of the royal families of Patiala and Nabha, and the Nabhe Wali Machli was a part of the dinner menu beside Patialashahi Raan and Hara Chana Gosht. However, I'm not sure if it's still served there. So, next time you're at a restaurant serving Punjabi food and you order the usual butter chicken or dal makhni, rooting that it's truly Punjabi, think about this effervescent fish curry from the Punjab of an undivided India. Even if you don't eat fish, perhaps think about the variety of ingredients that accompany the fish, or reflect upon this story. As the famous American environmentalist and writer, Winona LaDuke says, "Food for us comes from our relatives, whether they have wings or fins or roots...Food has a culture. It has a history. It has a story. It has relationships." What about this recipe? I strongly believe in maintaining the character of a dish. For me it isn't so much about the recipe rather finding the key elements in a recipe that truly define a dish's individuality and ensuring that those are maintained no matter how much I alter the recipe. I've followed the same philosophy in this recipe. Traditionally, Nabhe Wali Machli uses raw mangoes to induce a sour note. I have replaced mangoes with a spice mix I specially created for this recipe. I use two parts amchur (dry mango) one part anardana (dry pomegranate) and a quarter part amla (Indian gooseberry) to make a spice blend that substitutes the raw mangoes of the traditional recipe. Using this spice blend ensures that I can enjoy Nabhe Wali Machli at any time of the year! The original recipe uses lime leaves, which I don't find easily in the market here. I have used chopped lemongrass at times, but eventually I liked the flavour of lime zest more. I have made this recipe with kingfish, seer fish, tilapia and halibut. It turns out great with everything. Recipe *This recipe is an adaptation from chef Ranveer Brar's original recipe. Please refer my notes under, "What about this recipe?" to understand the twists I have introduced in the traditional Nabhe Wali Machli.* Ingredients 3-4 pieces of your favourite fish 2-3 slender lotus roots or 1 stout lotus root sliced 1 large or 2 medium onions julienne cut 1 large 2 medium tomatoes diced into quarters 2-3 tbsp mustard oil 1/2 tsp cumin 1 tsp ginger garlic minced 2 tsp amchur (dried mango powder) + 1 tsp anardana (pomegranate seeds) +1/4 tsp amla (dry gooseberry) ground fine 1 tsp coriander 1 tsp red chilli powder 2 tsp turmeric 5-7 coriander stems 2-3 green chilies slit Half a lime for marination Zest of half a lime Salt to taste Pinch of sugar Method Marinate the fish with 1 tsp turmeric, salt and lime juice for 15-20 minutes. Add water into a pot and sprinkle salt when the water boils. To the boiling salty water, add the sliced lotus roots and boil for about 10 minutes. Drain the lotus roots and keep aside. In a pan, heat mustard oil to its smoking point and then gradually add the marinated fish, one at a time. Let each side fry for about 3-4 minutes ensuring that the fish turn golden brownish. Keep them aside. In another pan or wok, heat some more mustard oil to its smoking point, and then add cumin. Let it crackle and then add the onions. Sauté until translucent and then add the ginger and garlic. Add turmeric, red chilli and coriander, and fry the dry spices for a couple of minutes. Continue until the onions turn golden brown. At this stage, add the dry mango, dry pomegranate and dry amla powder, and mix everything well. Add water depending on the amount of gravy you want and salt to taste, and let everything simmer. Next add the lotus roots and the tomatoes and cook until tomatoes start wilting. Take care NOT to let the tomatoes lose their shape as they get cooked. To ensure this, do not cover the pan. Add the lime zest, green chilies, coriander stems, and sprinkle sugar to balance the tanginess of the gravy. Let it simmer uncovered till you're happy with the consistency of the gravy. Turn off the heat and pour the gravy into a serving dish. Now add the leftover oil from the pan in which you fried the fish into the gravy. Place the fried fish on top of the gravy. Nabhe Wali Machli is ready to be poured on top of hot steamed rice and enjoyed! The gravy is so tangy and blasting with high notes of mango that you will feel tempted to eat with your fingers and throw that spoon away! The coriander stems and the lime zest add a beautiful hue of freshness to the dish. If you make this dish using my recipe, let me know how you liked it! Tag me on Instagram or drop in your comments here! I'll be so happy to know you made this. Related Posts Sablefish in Cauliflower and Potato Stew Fish in Yogurt and Mustard Sauce Cod Fish in Green Sauce

JUMP TO RECIPE I often wonder if life is actually destiny, that Murphy's law is perhaps how our world and the universe were created and continue to change—a chance encounter of many seemingly random yet somehow patterned changes. Perhaps, it's an effect of binge watching Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey, a follow-up to the 1980 television series Cosmos: A Personal Voyage presented by the one and only Carl Sagan. Several months prior to his death in 1996, Carl Sagan sat down in his home at 900 Stewart Avenue in Ithaca, New York and recorded a message for future explorers of Mars, a planet that has been under human scrutiny for possible future habitation. An excerpt of his message emphasizes how we have been hunters and gatherers for a significant portion of our history on earth: Maybe we’re on Mars because we have to be, because there’s a deep nomadic impulse built into us by the evolutionary process — we come, after all, from hunter-gatherers, and for 99.9% of our tenure on Earth we’ve been wanderers. While we are still generations away from comprehending the origins of the cosmos, we have somehow been able to parse our human evolutionary journey on this planet to some extent, our story from hunters and gatherers to settlers and space explorers. Throughout our history of wandering, berries have been our staple and seasonal food, and continue to be primary food sources for other primates. Christened as superfoods today, berries have been around long before we came into existence, as if somehow their seeds were just mysteriously laid in the soil so they bore fruit to feed the many animals who succeeded them. Growing up in India where the desi berries (ber, jamun, chirongi, amla, karonda, kokam, shahtoot) rule the norm, blueberry was a relatively recent addition to my diet as well as food fascination. Native to North America, blueberries have been growing wild in the northeastern region of the continent for centuries, long before the first humans inhabited that land. They weren't cultivated successfully until 1912, and while still wild, the Indigenous people ate them raw, and gathered and put them to use in a variety of ways. When Samuel de Champlain arrived in the present-day Quebec in 1615 and explored the area along Lake Huron wondering about the New World, Algonquins were already harvesting wild blueberries, drying them and beating into a pulpy powder to combine with cornmeal, honey and water making a pudding called, sautauthig. Several decades later in 1803, when President Thomas Jefferson tasked Meriwether Lewis and William Clark to explore lands west of the Mississippi River comprising the Louisiana Purchase, they found the Indigenous people smoking wild blueberries for winter use. The native Americans served Lewis and Clarke a meal that had wild blueberries pounded into the meat, which was then smoked and dried. Englishman John Josselyn, an inquisitive good-humoured observer of the 17th century of northern New England, has presented the life of both Indigenous people and colonists in New-Englands Rarities Discovered (1672) and Account of Two Voyages to New-England (1674). He too mentions sautauthig to have been served at the earliest thanksgiving feasts. It's rather shameful that the Jesuit missionary Paul Le Jeune refers Indigenous people as "savages" while recording what they ate. “They eat, besides some small ground fruits, such as raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, nuts which have very little meat, hazelnuts, wild apples sweeter than those of France, but much smaller.” It's not surprising that the same "savage people" were the first to decode the health benefits in blueberries and teach the art of preserving and storing blueberries to be eaten for months and carried over long journeys to the European settlers. With paleo diets and survival provisioning becoming popular, pemmican (Cree word for rendered fat) is resurging. If it wasn't for the Indigenous people, the European immigrants would have possibly not learned how to cultivate blueberries as a viable and commercial crop. Controlled burns to increase yields of blueberries is a technique that involves burning fields every few years to eliminate old shrubs and fertilize the soil, is something the Indigenous people developed, and the Micmac and Passamaquoddy tribes still do this today. The story of blueberry is in many ways the story of the Indigenous people of North America. Strangely while the world raves about blueberries and douses cereals, cakes, pancakes, tarts, pies, muffins, crumbles, crisps, ice-creams, jams, compotes, breads, toasts, salads and smoothies with them, the people who first found blueberries and learned to eat and cook them aren't celebrated for their discovery and for their first steps in making the wild habitable for humans. For the Indigenous people, blueberry is an emotion, a sky coloured fruit that showed them hope and faith that they could survive on a land that was once unknown to the rest of the world. George Munro, a Canadian educator and philanthropist from Nova Scotia, writes, "To a First Nation spirit blueberries are spring summer and fall, May to October, twenty-eight medicines and herbs. "Blueberries" mean high-bush cranberries, bog cranberries, strawberries, heart berries, Cranberry bark, Ginseng, Seneca root, mushrooms, a mothers comfort, a grandfathers teaching, aunties' stories, past, present and future, a connection to Mother Earth." Berry picking and hunting required skills to seek and use natural resources judiciously, which aided Indigenous families and communities in sustainable living for thousands of years. They understood how everything in nature is connected, that we all are related and that our actions affect our environment. It was their way of life to care for each other and care for our planet, the only home we know and have in this vast cosmos till date. Indigenous communities have passed down these values throughout their cultural history. Through oral traditions of storytelling, songs, ceremonies, teachings and rituals they have taught their generations about sharing, mutual care, the universe and our position in it and how the only way to survive is through living and striving together in harmony with nature. These cultural histories reflect in their names of people, places and all elements of creation in nature, as rightly said, "a spirit that is alive in the land." Unfortunately with the advent of colonialization, the encroachers revered in the written word only, preaching and claiming that it's the single most believable and tangible representation of facts, dismissing Indigenous histories and values as folktales, parables and allegories. As mentioned in the research paper, Aboriginal Research: Berry Picking and Hunting in the 21st Century, "While the role of Indigenous oral traditions were to remember authentic realities, the role of research and written text was to propagate the superior intelligence and strength of Europeans (Gilchrist, 1997; Smith, 1999). In the context of imperialism and colonialism, Aboriginal people were and continue to be misrepresented for the purpose of propagating, maintaining and justifying control, domination and genocide (Churchill, 1992). What happened through colonization in the old and the new worlds had a deep impact throughout mankind. It's so deep that racism, social, economic and political disruptions, environmental degradation, exploitation, repression continue to exist in the colonized nations long after the colonizers have gone. Berry picking is fundamentally tied to the Indigenous people's culture and way of life. Back in the day, families would leave their homes in Pine Creek (Manitoba, Canada) and travel for a whole day by horses and wagons for as far as 30 miles to their traditional picking areas. On arriving, they would camp and pick berries for the season. One family would know how to find another family because families would use the same camping site over years. They knew how to find each other without maps or GPS, texts or messages. Their oneness was so strong. Even today, the members of the Pine Creek First Nation (PCFN) continue their tradition of berry picking on their traditional grounds within the Swan Pelican Provincial Park. Although travelling now includes ATVs and the trip is a day activity with people returning home in the evening, the story continues. The parents or elders, who are traditional berry pickers, narrate the events of their past to their children and youth, identifying remnants of camp sites and often during these conversations tears flow and laughter is shared. The traditional blueberry pickers of North America arrived on this land long before Europeans found their world to intrude, destroy and claim. Some purists will argue that the first people came from elsewhere too. Where they came from isn't as important as how they lived once they arrived. And, there's only one way they survived then—through the sense of belonging in the land they chose to settle. When you truly belong and you're really native to somewhere, you use its offerings to live and survive. You don't abuse it, you don't deplete it beyond its capacity to generate. You care about it. The Indigenous communities cared about the lands on which they made their home, the mountains and the rivers, the trees and their leaves, fruits and flowers, the animals, birds and all the other creatures who belonged to this land as much as they did. They recognized the interconnectivity of life on Earth and its relation to the universe. Simple, isn't it? Like Carl Sagan said, “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” We are made of the same matter. So, what does it mean to be indigenous? Perhaps, Michelle Holliday says it best in the Age of Thrivability: Later, there alone picking blueberries and of course eating a few along the way, I realized that – if we’re intentional about it – food can help us sense the unity of life and our relationship with everything on Earth, including each other. We are all made from the same Earth, as our bodies create themselves moment by moment using the food we eat.  We are what we eat, very literally. And in that way, we are all indigenous in the largest sense: we’re indigenous to the Earth.  Some of us remember this; many of us have forgotten.  And it’s in remembering that our world can be healed and made whole. What about this blueberry cake? This is one of my most favourite cakes to bake and the recipe is so easy! I love blueberries and so this cake is loaded with them (I think I went a little overboard!) You can opt to user lesser berries, but think about it. Do you really not want lots of berries in every slice?! It is a healthier cake as it uses honey. I add some powdered sugar for dusting in the end. You can also choose to use sugar in the batter if you like. I would recommend fine granulated sugar in that case. You can use brown sugar but remember that the colour of the cake will change then. The flavour of this cake comes out really well olive oil. You can make it with butter if you like, but I would recommend olive oil. If using butter, melt the butter and let it cool to room temperature before using in the cake. I like a mild sour fragrant note in fruit or berry cakes, and that is why I love to add the zest of lemon and orange in this cake. You can reduce the zest according to your taste. I have made this cake using both plain flour and oats flour, and I like the result of both. For a healthier option, I often choose oats flour than plain flour. This cake lasts for almost a week (if I and my husband manage to eat it diligently). I sometimes cut up slices and store in the fridge if the weather is too warm, and heat it mildly before eating. So, I find it sensible to make a bigger cake and a Bundt tin is appropriate for that. You can reduce the proportions if you have a smaller cake tin or don't want to make a big cake. I love this recipe because of its multi-utility nature. You can replace blueberries with any other berries, opt sugar for honey and butter for oil, and it works every time! Recipe Ingredients 3 eggs 3/4 cup honey zest of 2 lemons and 1 orange (or 3 lemons) 1 tsp vanilla extract 1 tsp cinnamon 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil (or plain olive oil if you don't like extra bit of flavour) 1/2 cup buttermilk (To prepare, add 1 tbsp lemon juice to 1/2 cup milk) 1 and 2/3 cup plain flour or oats flour 1 tsp baking powder 1 cup (plus extra if you like I do) blueberries (or any other berry of your choice) 1/3 cup powdered sugar Method Preheat an oven to 350 F. Grease and flour a Bundt tin. Beat the eggs with honey and then add zest, vanilla, cinnamon and oil, and whisk well. Add the flour and buttermilk alternately to create a smooth well-combined batter. Gently fold in the blueberries. Pour the batter into the prepared tin and bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean. Let the cake cool in the tine for at least 15 minutes before turning onto a rack. Cool the cake completely on the rack and then dust powdered sugar on top before slicing. Enjoy with a good cup of tea or a hot cuppa! It's perfect either way! If you made this recipe and had fun, please drop in your comments here or tag me on Instagram with your creations! Related Posts Rhubarb and Strawberry Crumble