Herb, Cheese & Garlic-Baked Cauliflower

There is nothing primal about baking a cauliflower with cheese and herbs and garlic. But it makes a pretty good dinner.

So here is a quick recipe from my kitchen, something that was literally created with some leftover ingredients lying in the fridge. Like the fresh parsley from Maria’s Piri-Piri Chicken and all that cheese from LMN’s birthday party.

I got a beautiful head of cauliflower from the Farmer’s Market for just two dollars. And instead of making my rather favourite Chingri-Phulkopi, I baked it with whatever was at home!

Ingredients for Herb, Cheese & Garlic-Baked Cauliflower are:

1 medium size head of cauliflower, trim leaves and outer stems
Half to one cup grated cheese (I used a mix of grated Parmesan, Mozzarella and Cheddar)
Handful of fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped + one more tablespoon chopped leaves + few stems for decoration
5-6 fat cloves of garlic, peel on (Use more, I regret not throwing in a whole pod!)
Juice of half a lime/lemon
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Freshly cracked black pepper
Salt

Pre-heat oven to 350°F.

Place the beautiful-looking head of cauliflower on a pie dish (or use a baking sheet).

Crack black pepper directly on the cauliflower. Season with salt.

Tuck in stems of parsley in the space between the flowerets.

Now heap the grated cheese and chopped fresh parsley on the cauliflower.  Throw in the unpeeled cloves of garlic too.

Drizzle olive oil covering the cauliflower and garlic cloves.

Bake for an hour.

In a glass jar or bottle add the remaining fresh parsley and pound with a wooden pestle. Add the EVOO and lemon juice. Mix and keep.

When the cauliflower is ready, drizzle the EVOO and parsley dressing all over, covering the cauliflower and the baked garlic.

Cut chunks of the baked cauliflower and serve. Taste the roasted, creamy, sweet garlic with each bite of the baked cauliflower. Enjoy with a baguette and a glass of good white.

They Call it Cauliflower!

When I had moved to Bangalore, I was, of course Kannada illiterate. But very soon I realized that I could get away by suffixing just one single syllable to a lot of English words and “speak” to locals who did not understand English and Hindi. Or Bangla.

Like if I had to direct the auto rickshaw wala to take a left turn, all I had to do was just say “left-aa”. Lingering a little longer on the “a”.

Soon I was prolifically saying right-aa, left-aa, tired-aa, and even food-aa. I was thrilled by the versatility of this one syllable which helped a “North Indian” like me transform a single word of English into a sentence – sometimes an innocuous statement, the rest of the times as a question.

The lady who helped me keep my apartment clean was an elderly matriarch called Muniamma. Muniamma wore glasses, as thick as the bottom of a soda water bottle. She wore printed cotton saris draped in the nauvari style. And she was on time every day.

Muniamma and I never talked. She spoke no Hindi or English and I no Tamil or Kannada, the two languages she spoke. Though we smiled a lot at each other. And when I say a lot, I mean even when the time she broke my favorite coffee mug which said – The World’s Best Daughter. Which I shameless must admit was a gift to myself, just as a reminder that I had to become one.

In between cleaning the apartment and flashing toothless smiles, Muniamma would also run some errands for me, especially the times I was having 16-hour days at work.

So this day, I was going over my vegetable and grocery list with Muniamma with our smiles, hand gestures, nods and the typical of bobbing of the head, which could be interpreted as yes, no, can’t say.

I reached number six on my list which was phoolgobhi/ phulkopi/ cauliflower.

I mouthed “phool” and “gobhi” opening my jaws wide and raising my hands to shape a cauliflower. Muniamma looked puzzled. I quickly drew a big cone with leaves sprouting out. Muniamma peeked, lifted her glasses to look at me and giggled. I realized I had humiliated my way to bad drawing. So I leapt towards a blooming flower in the balcony, hoping she’d get some connection somewhere. Anywhere.

After being stuck on number six for a few exasperating minutes, Muniamma rolled the hundred rupee currency note in her hand, opened the front door and knocked on Mrs Uthappa’s door. Mrs U lived across my apartment and she took it upon herself to rescue me in my crisis situations from time to time. I quickly briefed Mrs U on the communication whirlpool Muniamma and I were stuck in and said – I am trying to tell Muniamma to bring me a C-A-U-L-I-F-L-O-W-E-R.

My utterance of the world “cauliflower”  seemed to have hit Muniamma with a flash of brilliance. She took a few steps forward, slapped her right hand on her wrinkled forehead and repeated the word - C-A-U-L-I-F-L-O-W-E-R, and added the not-to-miss “aa” after it, making it sound like a question.

I could only stare back and join the jubilant Mrs Uthappa and the wickedly intelligent Munianna in a heartfelt laughter.

Each time I look at a beautiful head of cauliflower or make my alu gobhi or phulkopir alu chorchori, I am reminded of a beaming Muniamma and my life in the silicone city of India.

And I still do not know the Kannada word for Cauliflower. Do you?

Two Simple Macher Jhol Just Like Mommy Makes It!

A Jhol has many avatars in a Bong’s kitchen – mangshor jhol, murgir jhol, macher jhol, dimer jhol…

If you haven’t got the drift yet, you can make a Jhol by pretty much adding any vegetable or fish and meat in a runny curry and call it Jhol!
I am particularly fond of these two Macher Jhol I am going to share with you today. They will stump you with the simplicity and ease with which they are made. You will also reckon that both these versions are pretty similar, ingredient-wise. Except for the key difference – the main spice that distinguishes a jeerer (cumin) jhol from a shorse batar (mustard paste) jhol.

Both these jhol should be served with steaming hot rice and a hearty squirt of lemon juice.

The jeerer jhol is light on the tummy. In olden days, it was  often given to “patients” recovering from a fever or some such diagnosed disease. Though I have used Rohu (fresh water carp), it isn’t surprising to see a jeeyol mach (or shingi mach) thrown in in this kind of Jhol. Essentially as this kind of fish is easy to digest and good for health.

The shorshe jhol is for more celebrative days. The pungent taste of mustard gets rightly balanced by the vegetables and the tartness of tomatoes.

(The photos in this post are from two days, two recipes. One with ground cumin and the other with yellow mustard seeds.)

Ingredients for Macher Jhol are:

4-6 Pieces of shallow-fried fresh water carp (preferably Rohu)
Seasonal vegetables like cauliflower, beans, eggplant, sugar peas (whole), raw/ green banana and potato diced or cut lengthwise
2 medium size ripe tomatoes
Few green chilies
Handful of fresh coriander, finely chopped
2 tablespoons cumin powder or paste of the same quantity of freshly ground yellow mustard seeds
1 teaspoon turmeric powder
1 teaspoon red chili powder
Mustard oil
Salt

The way to fry the fish is to rub salt and turmeric on it and shallow fry in hot mustard oil. Keep aside.

In the same oil, sauté the vegetables, the same kinds together.
Keep them aside.

Make a runny mixture with the cumin powder (or mustard powder), turmeric, red chili powder, slit green chilies, salt and coarsely chopped tomatoes, adding about two cups of water.

In the same pan/wok that you fried the fish and vegetables, add this mixture and bring to a quick boil.

Now add the hardy vegetables first followed by the ones which do not take much time to cook.

Once the vegetables have cooked (but not mushy), add the pieces of fried fish. Give it one good boil, check the salt and turn the heat off. Garnish with freshly chopped coriander.
Serve hot with plain rice and lemon wedges. Its okay to re-heat the macher jhol but be careful that the delicate pieces of fish don’t disintegrate.

That’s your jeere or shorsher Macher Jhol. Hearty, healthy and very wholesome.
You can drop out the fish pieces and make a vegetarian jhol too with this recipe.

Rough Around the Edges Kopi’r Porotha

My constant cravings make me forget I am a Bengali who cannot make perfect rotis or parathas. But a little aspiration never hurt anyone.

But thank you Miss Cauliflower for being the Miss Congeniality of this recipe, and letting me make almost-perfect parathas with you!

Unlike the traditional Gobhi ka Paratha, my parathas have everything thrown in raw and kneaded with the flour. But these parathas have to be made instantly as the salt will start the moisture release in the dough and will make it soggy. Which from my experience will make it impossible for even an expert to handle the dough.

Ingredients for Kopi’r Porotha (Bengali for Gobhi ka Paratha) are:

2 + half cups atta/ wheat flour
1 cup grated cauliflower
1 inch knob of ginger grated
5-6 green chilies, very finely chopped
Handful of coriander leaves, very finely chopped
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
Half teaspoon ajwain/ carom seeds
Half teaspoon red chili powder
Salt
Canola oil

In a large bowl, mix together cauliflower, ginger, chilies, coriander, cumin and ajwain seeds, red chili, two cups flour and salt. Drizzle about a tablespoon of oil and knead well, adding water little by little.

Make golf ball-size portions of the dough. With a rolling pin, roll out parathas/flat breads. You will need to dust your dough with dry flour while you are rolling out the parathas.

Heat a tava/skillet and roast the paratha for a couple of minutes on each side. Spread a little oil on each side and toast till the paratha gets browned at the edges.

Though a little rough around the edges, these parathas are bursting with natural flavors. I especially like the taste of ginger, green chilies and ajwain in it, which makes it very earthy, very rustic.

I like my Kopi’r Porotha with a little sweet, mango pickle/chutney and a hot cup of chai.

But the possibilities of eating this paratha with the condiment of your choice is endless…just like its flavors!

Achy Breaky Heart And Samosas Over Chai

We live and we die. And in between that living and dying, we also LOVE. I had my first share of a painful heartbreak as a six-year-old. I “fell in love” with my father’s friend – a pediatrician who I visited since I was a baby. He chose a gorgeous doctor from London over me and moved on. Now, how could I compete with that? All I could do then was sob silently. When done crying, I would urge my Mother to play You Are My Sunshine on her record player. Over and over again, till Doris Day lulled me to sleep.

I lived to love and get my heart crushed…again! I found shoulders in friends to cry on till I finally met the man to hold hands forever, that same someone who diligently “edits” my blog posts and samples my cooking. Everyday.

A heartbreak story unfolded today too. Not mine, but a friend’s, who has been battling the break-up blues on her own. She finally managed to take some time off her work and meet me. I suggested my place for privacy sake only, and not go to any coffee shop, in case she decided to be all teary-eyed and sniffy-nosed.

I wanted to make her something soothing, like a soup. But a quick check at the daytime high and I decided against it. Purely from experience I knew, that breakups are also a time for a little indulgence. One look at the potatoes and the leftover cauliflower made me make up my mind on Bengali Samosas for J.

J arrived a little before time, trying to hide behind large Jackie O sunglasses. I had never met The Boyfriend, sorry, ex boyfriend, who apparently was a jerk to have dumped J for another. Yes, its the same story of that Bermuda Triangle (of Love)!

While playing a good host, a therapist, a healer, and friend, I was also left to cautiously deep fry the samosas I had already done the stuffing for and kept aside.

After five scrumptious samosas or shingara as we say in Bengali and a cup of chai (with extra sugar to mend the broken heart), J seemed more bearable of her own heartache. I knew food medication worked, but to see the results so soon in front of my eyes was another thing.

Licking the left corner of her mouth of any last trace of the tamarind chutney she was so happily dipping her samosas in, J took her Blackberry out. I thought she was going to make that one last call to the The Ex and tell him how happy she was enjoying the afternoon sun and miniature samosas. But I was wrong!

She looked at me with a better-than-ever look in her eyes and said, “Pree, give me the recipe for these samosas, I will save it on my phone.” Who was I to deny my girl friend a road to recovery en route the culinary course.

Move over Doris Day, Samosas are here to stay!

Ingredients for Bengali Samosa / Shingara are:

For the filling:
4-5 potatoes, boiled and skin removed
One cup cauliflower flowerets
Quarter cup green peas
1 inch ginger grated or minced
Few green chilies chopped fine
Handful of coriander leaves, chopped
Few cashew nuts, chopped
Handful of raisins, chopped
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
2-3 teaspoons bhaja moshla (dry roasted cumin-coriander seeds coarsely ground)
Pinch of turmeric powder
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Salt

For the pastry:
One and half cup all purpose flour
Half teaspoon nigella seeds
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Pinch of baking powder
Pinch of salt
Enough oil for deep frying

Blanch the cauliflower and peas and drain all water. Cut or break the boiled potatoes in uneven shapes and sizes. In a wok or pan, heat one tablespoon vegetable oil and add the cumin seeds. Sauté for a few seconds and add the cashews, raisins and green chilies. Fry till the nuts and raisins turn golden brown.
Now add the boiled potatoes. Keep frying till everything mixes well. Add the blanched cauliflower and peas along with the grated ginger. At this time, add all the spices like the dry roasted ground cumin-coriander mix, turmeric and salt. Fry all the ingredients till traces of moisture go.
Now add the chopped coriander and give it a nice mix. Be gentle with the mixing as all the vegetables are already cooked. Let the filling for the samosa come to a room temperature.
Knead flour, nigella seeds, one tablespoon oil, baking powder and salt with some water. Make a dough and keep aside for 30 minutes, covered.
Divide the dough into small, ping-pong ball-size portions.
Dust flour on your kitchen counter and start rolling small discs of dough (puris) and cut from into halves.
Now fill the potato-cauliflower filling into triangle-shaped pastries and smear the ends with water on your fingertips. Seal the ends pressing gently with your fingertips. Make samosas and keep on a baking dish/ non stick surface.
Heat enough oil for deep frying in a wok. Start adding 2-3 samosas at a time and fry them till golden brown. Drain out excess oil on paper towels. Serve piping hot with chutney or tomato ketchup.