India Like This Only

“The customer is not happy with the chai.” A slightly disheartened Break room attendant told me as she walked away from the Conference room where she was setting up the lunch. The client hosting the meeting had organized an Indian lunch and obviously, Chai was on the menu. This young lady has a great work ethic, always trying to find solutions for her guest’s problems. But this time she was stumped. “I have no idea what to do, Chef. Can you help me?” This was a tough one. I was there as the Indian Chef Consultant, implementing the new Indian station menu for the company’s employee dining program. All questions related to Indian offerings there end up across my desk. Being Indian, I understand how much this person must be yearning for his afternoon chai fix. Here’s what he’s probably thinking. I just gorged on Naan, Basmati Rice and Butter Chicken for lunch, and am this close to slipping into a food coma. A good chai is what I need to keep unintended loud snores from happening during

Ask any Indian what their top five most favorite comfort foods are, and I am pretty sure Khichdi makes most lists. What is it about that rich, onctuous creamy consistency that just warms the insides, and brightens up the foggiest rainiest days? When I feel a little under the weather, with  runny nose, sniffles, itchy throat, fever (you know… all the F*%ING COVID symptoms) my craving for this comfort dish pretty much quadruples. Give me a Khichdi made from rice and moong daal, with a generous splotch of Mango Achaar on the side, and an obscenely gigantic dollop of Amul Butter, running rivulets all over my bowl, and my day instantly gets a whole lot better. Needless to say, lot’s of Khichdi was made in my kitchen over the last couple years. Lot's more down days than good ones, wouldn't you agree? Khichdi has been around India for longer than anyone can remember. Khichdi is hugely popular in the north of India. In several cultures, Khichdi is considered to be the first solid food

Cooks love what they do because, let’s face it. Cooking is sexy! It’s a dance. It’s choreography. It's a theater. It’s why we like to bang things around with our feet and our hips, it’s why we slam the pans on the counter extra hard, and it’s why we smack meat on a scorching hot grill, causing the flames to leap up angrily. We say it’s because that’s the only way to get the coveted deep grill marks, but honestly, it’s the theatrics. Some latent hidden primal instinct is awoken that appeals to the thrill seeker that lies otherwise dormant within us. When it comes to Indian cooking, very few techniques scream theater as much as a Tadka. It’s mesmerizing to observe a seasoned cook go about the process. First, a round bottomed pan with a sturdy handle is placed on the flame, and filled with oil or ghee. All the spices and aromatics are carefully lined up in advance, because scrambling for ingredients is for rookies. The palm of the hand is hovered dangerously close over the shimmerin

There are some things in a kitchen you just have to accept are going to happen. The milk will always boil in the split second you turn your eyes away. Honey will always take its own sweet time to exit the bottle no matter how hard you smack its bottom. And the bananas eventually will ripen too much. If left unattended and uneaten, they will turn soft and start to develop blotchy black discolorations. When that happens, you make Banana Sabudana Kheer. Two childhood happy memories influenced this dish. As a child, mom would feed me mashed up overripe bananas in a bowl, mixed with a spoonful of sugar and a little milk for my after school treat. The other comfort food memory for me was Sabudana Kheer; the sweetened milk dessert made from Tapioca pearls, also known as Sago. Mom used to call it “Shortcut Kheer” because it was so quick and easy to execute. There was something delightfully playful about chomping on the gelatinous round pearl-like granules while slurping down thick sweetened mi