As I was reading the opposing narratives of Secret Daughter, one of a North American woman, Somer, and her infertility struggles, and the other of a poverty-stricken family, the Merchant’s, in rural India, I found myself thinking of Indian food. And only Indian food.
First-time author Shilpi Somaya Gowda continued to encourage my thoughts of various chutneys, inconspicuous spices, and roti with her vivid descriptions of Indian food, its preparation, its devourment, and its contrast to the bland mashed potatos that Somer’s Indian husband was tasked with making for the holidays. As he continued to dash tobasco sauce onto everything on his plate, I continued feeling a lack of connection with the characters in the book — but I guess its hard to form connections with every character in every book you read like the one I have with Mary Boulton, a character that still has me in quest for the best rabbit stew out there.
Despite the thin character development and the unsophisticated writing of the Secret Daughter I did enjoy the way she described families in this book really enjoying their food — taking pleasure in the simplest of combinations. The Merchant’s often had to eat the same dish night after night, but still it was a point of pride that she could muster up the same dish every night without them getting tired of it. At last I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to find my copy of Vikram Vij’sElegant and Inspired Indian Cuisine and start making some Indian food!
It wasn’t much later when it dawned on me that since the move to Toronto my spice rack is a little bit empty and I don’t have the ingredients I need to attempt any of these recipes. So I sat there unsatisfied with the Secret Daughter and unsatisfied with my craving for Indian food.
Luckily a friend invited me to Lahore Tikka House where I had kabobs and tandoori naan (which made me nostalgic for the naan’s I would eat right after they came out of the tandoor in Iran, but that’s a story for another post). Vij’s Lamb Popsicles continued to haunt me.
Turning to comfort until I can go to an Indian grocery store or forget about the Lamb Popsicles (which I don’t think is going to happen), I decided to make some granola! Since it’s become my favourite breakfast I’m going through my jar of granola very quickly. After attempting my first home-made granola a friend sent me a link to this chewy clumpy granola recipe and so tonight I decided to give this clump of comfort a try — with very minor modifications.
Ingredients
2 cups organic old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup shredded unsweetened coconut
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg (need I even say why I turned a pinch of nutmeg into a teaspoon?)
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon canola oil
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
2/3 cup coarsely chopped pecans
2/3 cup cranberries
Old-fashioned oats are so much better than quick oats, which are more processed and mushier in texture. I don’t think I’ll ever go back to quick oats. Anyways, to make the granola, preheat oven to 325 degrees F.
In a large bowl, toss oats with coconut, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk together the oil, honey, and brown sugar until blended. Pour the wet mixture in with the dry, using your hands to combine the two until everything is well coated.
Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper and pour the mixture over top. Spread it out evenly. Kickpleat does a great job throughout her recipe in reminding us to not break up the mixture too much (clumping is a good thing after all!). And so I am going to do the same here.
Bake for 10 minutes and then use a spatula to gently flip the granola over. Sprinkle with pecans, and bake for another 10 minutes. Add cranberries and bake for another 5 minutes.
You must let the pan cool completely. Once it has, use your hands to break up the granola and remember: do not break up the clumps too much.
My apartment smells sweet and I know I will be dreaming of the granola that awaits me for breakfast (at least momentarily I shall forget my thoughts of Vij’s amazing recipes).
Maybe maybe they’ll stay true
My seeds will cross and then take root
And leave you to an empty room
Lonely lonely that is you
Okay! Okay! So I couldn’t ignore the rhubarb anymore and knew what had to be done. Strawberry rhubarb pie! And so I got chopping and thought about Smitten Kitchen‘s superstitions about pies. Maybe it is true that pies can smell fear; if you’re certain your pie will be a mess, maybe it will become a non-fluffy crust, water-filled pie. But what about the filling? Can the rhubarb rebel in defiance of being ignored for so long on my counter? Can the lonely rhubarb make this pie a mess?
Photo Credit: Flickr: Chopped Rhubarb by FotoosVanRobin
I continue chopping the rhubarb and hulling the strawberries — thinking good thoughts. No, the pie will turn out well. I try and remember to keep all crust making ingredients cold. Ice cold. Smitten Kitchen says that despite 1/4 cup of corn starch in the filling, that the pie still turned out watery. So I set aside the rhubarb and strawberry mixture with sugar and wait for the sugar to get as much of their juice out as possible. I can then drain and place the fruit and sugar concoction with the rest of the filling ingredients inside the crust.
Crust: 3 cups all purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup chilled solid vegetable shortening, cut into pieces
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces
10 tablespoons (about) ice water
Filling:
3 1/2 cups 1/2-inch-thick slices trimmed rhubarb (1 1/2 pounds untrimmed)
1 16-ounce container strawberries, hulled, halved (about 3 1/2 cups)
1/2 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 large egg yolk beaten to blend with 1 teaspoon water (for glaze)
The oven is pre-heated, the pie dish is ready and in the oven, and now I wait. It’s a good thing that my hindsvik crates arrived last week and now I have an empty apartment with an assortment of wooden crates to use as shelving and a Louis Ghost Chair to sit on, contemplating the fate of this pie. I am excited about the unexpected turn decorating my apartment has taken. This mixture of modern and vintage furniture goes well with pies and unlikely ice cream flavours. And I got thinking: even if the rhubarb rebels, I won’t be left to an empty room. I’ll be surrounded by all the history these crates carry on them. The smell of wood. The non-perfect texture of these crates, telling stories of their travels across Canada. And the Ghost Chair? Well, that one can hardly be seen, but oh boy, it does make me think about spices like nutmeg and the warm, nutty feeling they bring to the dishes they are added to, even if they can’t be seen.
Photo Credit: Hindsvik.com
And so I sit on the Ghost Chair and admire how this strawberry rhubarb pie looks so beautifully red on my new crates. Yes, the pie turned out well! I guess the rhubarb forgave me after all.
The thing I have enjoyed most about these debates can be explained through the making of the custard for my nutmeg ice cream. Have you ever noticed how you can stir and stir and stir your egg yolk, sugar, and milk combo until you can stir no more and without any advance notice all of a sudden it will get firm? I mean in a matter of seconds you start seeing a trail left behind your whisk in the custard. Your mixture will get firm and if you wait too long before recognizing this transformation it will be too late. The eggs will cook. And well… that’s just not cool.
Photo Credit: Flickr: Tom Higgins' Cooking Up The Custard to Make Ice Cream
I wanted the characters in Nikolski to continue their adventures. After finishing the book I was left yearning for more and in Day 1 of debates some of the panelists said that they found the book thin, confirming my thoughts. But just like when the custard forms, because it’s had some time to think, or because it’s had 10 minutes of constant stirring, or because all the elements finally mixed and mingled and declared the custard as ready, I started to see more in the book. In fact, I started re-reading the book.
Okay, truthfully, for me the transformation happened because I was so impressed by Michel Vezina’s defense of the book. Vezina talked of the complex interconnection of families that are split all across the world, about humanity, and about garbage. I started seeing things in the book that I hadn’t before.
Now as I stir my ice cream mixture, I have no idea how the debate will go and which book will be left standing. But if it ends up being Nikolski I would be happy. I like the book more with each stir and just like my custard has thickened, this book is no longer thin.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to convince you that nutmeg is the best spice there is, or to hopefully get you to use more nutmeg, or to introduce you to how nutmeg is created, or to explore different recipes that use nutmeg.
No (although maybe there is a recipe here and secretly am hoping more nutmeg will be used).
And I’m not thinking this post is about being nutmeg addicted, or how to figure out if you are one. The Internet, Nutmeg Groups, Blogs, and Cooking Sections of bookstore are full of such information.
Instead I’m hoping that after reading this post, you will give nutmeg the attention it deserves. This post is about the human construct to downplay nutmeg, making it a mere ¼ teaspoon addition to any concoction. In human creations nutmeg is often cinnamon’s sidekick. Surely, this indispensable ingredient of the kitchen will soon rebel against this lack of attention. No?
And have you ever noticed that nutmeg and mace, both spices created from the same fruit, sisters in fact, are rarely used together? Mace consists of the vein-like threads that cover the dried fruit, while nutmeg is the kernel inside the seed. Dear friends, if a fruit creates not one amazing spice, but two, is it not deserving of more recognition?
So with winter, possibilities of snow, and the need for that cozy feeling: go to nutmeg. Make a batch of nutmeg cookies, or add nutmeg to steamed milk or soy milk. You’ll make nutmeg happy, but you will also indulge in something delicious and warm.
As for me: I always have a batch of nutmeg ice cream in the freezer. It complements pies, specially pumpkin pie or apple pie. And it pairs well with winter creations such as Pear Tarte Tatin.
Ingredients
½ cup sugar
2 large egg yolks
2 tbsp all-purpose unbleached white flour
1½ cup whole milk
1½ cup whipping cream
1 tsp ground nutmeg
Instructions
In a medium mixing bowl, beat the sugar and egg yolks until thickened and pale yellow. Beat in the flour and set aside.
Bring milk to a simmer and slowly pour over the eggs and sugar mixture, mixing together until mixture dissolves in milk.
Pour the entire mixture back into the pan and place over low heat. Stir constantly with a whisk until the custard thickens slightly. You know it has thickened when you can place a spoon into your mixture and when you take the spoon out, a thin layer of the mixture has covered the back of your spoon. Additionally, when you see hints of a trail behind your whisk as you are stirring, you know that your mixture has thickened.
It’s very important not to let the mixture boil or the eggs will scramble, and that’s just not cool.
Remove from the heat and pour the hot custard through a strainer into a large, clean bowl. Allow the custard to cool slightly, then stir in the nutmeg and cream.
I like grating my own nutmeg, but pre-grounded nutmeg will do too.
Cover and refrigerate overnight. Also, placing your ice-cream maker’s bowl in the freezer overnight.
The next day: stir the chilled custard and pour into your ice cream machine.
When finished (approximately 25 minutes) the ice cream will be soft but ready to eat. For firmer ice cream, transfer to a freezer-safe container and freeze for at least 2 hours.
Yields: 1 Quart
Time to make: 1 hour, but over 2 days
Hi. My name is Mojgan, pronounced moj-gawn, like moj is gone, and I write this blog.
I’m from Vancouver, British Columbia, but I grew up in Iran, and live in Toronto, Ontario. Somewhere the Iranian in me dashes saffron into everything and exercises snobbery when it comes to the length and individuality of cooked rice grains. I like roasting hazelnuts just so their smell can fill my kitchen with coziness. I defend nutmeg and hope that it will one day reclaim its indispensable spot in the kitchen. I like lemons, cheese, chocolate, ice cream, and pears. At times you might even see me wear a pear on my head, or maybe a bird’s nest. Oh, and did I say that I love lemons?
I post pages here on things that inspire my food choices: fashion, books, music, and my job. You can also find me on Twitter:
Something lemon is organized with tags and categories divided between book, food, fashion, music, and career so that hopefully you can find what you are looking for quickly.
About the name something lemon
I was at work and had the biggest craving for lemon tarts. With mouth watering and my taste buds feeling the tanginess of lemons already, all I could think about was how I could get some lemons. Needless to say, productivity was low that day.
During my drive home, I stopped at my local grocery store and decided to buy lemons to make a lemon tart. But the lemons looked so good — shiny and the nicest shade of yellow I have ever seen. So naturally I bought a bag of lemons and decided to make 10 things with lemons.
All I ate that week consisted of lemony goodness: lemon tart, lemon meringue pie, lemon blueberry cakes, lemon poppy seed muffins, lemon ice cream, lemon curd, lemon cheesecake, lemon loaf, lemon cupcakes, and lastly, lemonade to finish the lemons.
The week ended with me being sick and having to go through a sugar detox. And let’s not mention that I smelled like butter! But my lemon love has remained and I try to consume something lemon often. Something lemon represents how my job, fashion choices, the books I read, and the music I listen to all inspire my food choices, and how I go about, however obsessively, in meeting my cravings.
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Despite the thin character development and the unsophisticated writing of the Secret Daughter I did enjoy the way she described families in this book really enjoying their food — taking pleasure in the simplest of combinations. The Merchant’s often had to eat the same dish night after night, but still it was a point of pride that she could muster up the same dish every night without them getting tired of it. At last I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to find my copy of Vikram Vij’s Elegant and Inspired Indian Cuisine and start making some Indian food!
