Desicritics Category: Culture: Food And Drink

Durian Dessert Doesn't Have A Good Reputation

Dr Bhaskar Dasgupta — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 02:49:50 EDT

I was taken to a lovely little KL shop which sells different kinds of durian. It is absolutely a brilliant fruit. I loved this quote:

Anthony Bourdain, while a lover of durian, relates his encounter with the fruit as thus: "It's taste can only be described as...indescribable, something you will either love or despise. ...Your breath will smell as if you'd been French-kissing your dead grandmother."

How about this one?

"... it's odour is best described as pig-shit, turpentine and onions, garnished with a gym sock."

So anyway, gym sock or not, my host took me to the shop. You can see from the banner on the top where you can see the different kinds of durian fruit. We ordered two types.

Our shopkeeper suddenly went into an impassioned argument with one of the customers about the quality of one of the fruit.

so we took the opportunity to nip over to the table to sit down and I noticed this bonsai next to the table. It was a startling contrast to the entire ambience. While a bonsai plant has an evocative image of smallness, tiny bits, very delicate movements and all that, to be next to a stinky, spiky fruit stall was amusing.

Then the shopkeeper came about with our durians and opened it up.

Here's a video showing how to open a durian. (The video is not mine), but the chap was wearing a thick glove (obviously to protect his hand from the sharp spikes and thorns) on his left hand and operating a curiously shaped knife in the other.

And here we go, we have the opened fruit. Can you see the green baskets on the left? Those are the waste baskets, you just eat and spit.

And here is yours truly, stuffing his face with this lovely pulpy fruit.

We were not able to finish it, so the shopkeeper packed it up and gave it to us. The packages seriously stunk up the car and when I got back to the hotel, the door man bent down to open the car to let me out. And he RECOILED so hard. It was so funny. Here's another clip on how smelly it is.

I don't give a toss, it is brilliant, I just love durian, the south east Asian king of fruits.

Full slide show here.

Technorati Tags: Food and Cuisine,Humour,Malaysia

A Lunch at Claridges - Gordon Ramsay's Chef's Table

Dr Bhaskar Dasgupta — Sun, 3 Aug 2008 01:00:23 EDT

Received an invite for lunch in the city, so figured that it will take about 30 minutes to get there, 1.5 hours for lunch, 30 minutes to get back and we are done with it. Little did I know what was in store for me.

I have been to Claridges before on many occasions but I was puzzled by a term on the invite. It said, "chef's table". Hmm, very curious indeed. So off I toddled over to the hotel and asked the concierge, where on earth is this thing called as a Chef's Table? He pointed me to the Gordon Ramsay restaurant. Gordon Ramsay, for those who live on another planet, is a famous foul-mouthed and very good chef who is supposed to be the bees knees of cuisine and gastronomic delights. Here's another bio of this great man.

Anyway, I went in and met my very gracious hosts and colleagues, had a few drinks at the bar and then were led into the restaurant. We did not stop there but were guided into the kitchen itself. In a tiny corner off the dessert section, was an alcove, with sufficient seating for about 5 people comfortably.

And then the gastronomic journey began. One by one, the various chefs would bring their creations to the table, and wine would be served to complement the palate for that particular dish.

We were taken for a trip around the kitchen. It is no less than a factory, with the most delicious olfactory sensations. You start with the basics, then go up to the broth (huge vat of the most interesting and piquant bits bubbling away), then to the fish, then to the meat and over the other side, is the dessert place.

Its tiny, cramped, hellishly hot, and it is all coordinated - one person cooks the vegetables and other the fish and another the sauce and they start shouting out the time left for the main meat/fish and then everything comes together in a master stroke of timing and epicurean pleasure.

They invited us to cook one dish, the sea bass one. An amazing amount of coordination is required. I think we all messed it up but still it tasted delicious. We had to unfortunately leave before the cheese came around but till then, it was brilliant. I should have taken the afternoon off!!!! Our host took some photo's of the event which are here.

Here's the menu:

Chilled beetroot soup,

Smoked Childwick cheese, cured coppa ham

Salad of Cromer crab and carrot a la greeque,

ginger and carrot dressing

Mosaic of Label Anglaise chicken, foie gras,

leeks and toasted brioche

Pan fried stonebass, green olive, crusted potatoes, provencale vegetables, basil viege

Assiette of Cumbrian veal; confit shoulder, roasted rack, poached and roasted loin, pomme purée,

roasted vegetables, grain mustard lyonnaise

Selection of British and French cheese

Vanilla cheese cake with strawberries

Honey crème brûlée with hazelnut sablé, raspberry sorbet

Coffee, infusions and chocolates

And here's the wine list:

Marsanne, Ibarra Young Vineyard, Qupé Winery,

Santa Barbara Count, 2005

Grüner Veltliner, Grande Reserve,

Anton Bauer, 2006

Chardonnay, “Art Series”, Leeuwin Estate,

Margaret River, 2005

Solengo, Tenuta Argiano, 2003

Château La Tour Blanche, 1995

All in all, a great afternoon indeed. I do not think I have ever had such a huge taste explosion in one day ever. That was a shame, so many new flavours and tastes, it all was jammed in one day, I wish it could have been spread out so that I could have enjoyed it longer.

Technorati Tags: London, Food and Cuisine

The Purity Of An Idli

Deepti Lamba — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 14:06:09 EDT

Idlis have special meaning for me. My grandfather was the one who taught me how to eat idlis the wrong way. He'd put sambhar and coconut chutney on top of the piping hot idlis, smash it all up and eat like rice. Even now thats how I like to eat my idlis- smashed, sticky and ever so divine.

I can eat idlis at all times - breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack time, post snack time- just about any time. Idli is the ultimate comfort food for me. Idlis somehow even in their bland taste remind me of innocence. How wrong can one go with idlis?

Its all in the batter, the further its made away from South India the more diluted its taste becomes. At least in Delhi, despite visiting the best South Indian joints. I could never get the kind of Idlis that we get down South.

The melting softness and the tangy sambhar can only be enjoyed here. If you have the urge to eat idlis the best place to enjoy them is at a nameless little shop in a small lane in Commercial Street. Ask any Bangalorean and they will take you there.

They serve idlis during evenings and they are positively swoon worthy.

Looking back, the best idlis I remembered eating when I was young were made by my dad's friend's wife. I was less than five years old and barely reached the kitchen sink. I remember Aunty showing me how idlis were made. I was in awe. My mom never made idlis.

Her delicate fingers indented the idlis with ghee. I remember her patiently answering my questions. And when she sneaked me an idli ahead of everyone waiting in the living room, I was in heaven.

It was hot, soft and soulful. I was in love with the idli and awed by the idli maker. Its funny how I barely remember what she looked like, except that she was slim, delicate, and in my nostalgic mind - pure like the idli she made.

Related Article : Dal Makhani: The National Cuisine By Shantanu Dutta

Dal Makhani : The National Cuisine

Shantanu Dutta — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 01:57:26 EDT

During a visit to Manipur some years ago, I remember checking into a hotel in Imphal and beginning the thought of relishing one of my earliest trips to the North East. I have always enjoyed traveling and imbibing the culture of the places I visit and if there is one piece of my job that I do enjoy, it is the opportunity to travel around in places that one usually does not go to. One of the many ways in which I pick up the local culture is in the matter of food. I have no attachment to any one kind of food and I am forever open to trying out local food and preparations. So with a lot of anticipation, I opened the hotel menu card to order.

What I found was very unfortunate. The entire repertoire of the hotel consisted of items like Dal Makhani, Shahi Paneer and Alu Matar, dishes of the kind that I normally get to see in any of the local Dhabas in my area. It was an acute sense of disappointment that I discovered that in all of the hotels of Imphal(more or less), Manipuri cuisine was not available and to get a taste of it, one had to identify the fairly seedy street food establishments in the heart of town where the ambiance was not too endearing, too say the least.

Imphal of course is not the only place where this cultural invasion has taken place. In fact it could be said that Punjabi food of the Dal Fry or Dal Makhani variety is to food what Bollywood movies is to cinema in India. They seem to be every where and have over shadowed every thing like some giant Banyan tree. Now whether such a phenomenon is good or bad could be up for debate of course – arguably in many ways Bollywood films have unified the country in ways that official policies could never have done; but then of course not every one agrees and there are places in the country where Hindi films are taboo because they are perceived to be stamping out local culture and identity. But whereas so far I have not heard of food being on any separatists’ agenda yet, I would argue perhaps that food is as much a bench mark of one’s identity as cinema and language.

The associations between food and people groups is so deep that it is actually the stuff of fable. The association between a Bengali and his fish, the Punjabi and his tandoori chicken and the South Indian and his idli and dosa are folk lore. And so it is a matter of some worry when one finds a slow and subtle domination of a particular type of food that is not indigenous to a region, and the creeping surrender of local food habits. Jokes alluding to the Tandoori Chicken or butter chicken as the “National Bird” are basically acknowledging the slow institutionalization of a phenomenon that has gradually begun. Of course there are aspects that are involved here, including the attribution to changing dietary habits to incipient food shortages in the country and I am not touching on these things. I am only making a fervent plea to preserve and propagate local foods and delicacies and preserve them as an integral and important elements of our culture. Let them not get subsumed by any one form of food as it seems to be happening- that is all I ask.

The Coffee Shop with a Twist

Javits — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 00:31:59 EDT

I love coffee. And you guessed it I love coffee shops. Houston boasts, if perhaps I don’t know any better, one of the most coffee-shop congregated ‘happy’ areas; caught somewhere between, behind and beside Westheimer road and Montrose road. I don’t know I guess it’s the whole atmosphere. You know writers, fellow artisans, geeks and normal people like coffee shops.

I’m usually a traditional Starbucks kind of a person, but they are getting expensive these days. And the music sucks at Starbucks, most of the time, depends though on who the store manager is, and what kind of genre she or he likes. There are so many restrictions; you don't get juice blends, humus or mango chutney. And then one is sort of forced to get into this never ending loop of double espresso shots with chai, yes you read that right. Or else it’s the green tea latte, or simply some ice cold passion tea.

My roommate invited me to join him and his friend to go to this particular Café called Café Agora. I had been there before, but never on a Wednesday night. The place is crowded, anytime of the day when it’s open. If I had to go there, I wouldn’t go for all the imported ale at the bar, not for the European-like effect they try to arouse, not to cozy up on the lounge upstairs, not because the people behind the counter are extra courteous than their Starbucks counterparts – or pause till you drop the tip in the tip jar, not to watch what I call football, or get into a chatty mood with all the nice people who hang out there, well maybe the last one. But the main attraction, yeah you guessed it again, Coffee, duh! They carry lots of coffee blends for 2 bucks, and refill for 50 cents; not bad. So, the unsuspecting me tags along to go.

We arrive at the place. More friends are to join us soon. I am handed my empty mug, and there’s ‘double bean’, ‘Texas Pecan’ but I go for the Hazelnut. Three cubes of brown sugar. I’m off to the chairs, trying to slowly grasp all the images, the ‘classic’ photographs and Egyptian hieroglyphs and ankh, my art class finally coming into some use, yet again. Hip art, magazines, American and Indian gypsies. “Oh its intoxicating, I love it, I love this place, I love the music”, my friend who’s about to leave Houston for good in 20 days exclaims, realizing how much he has missed in all those days - actually studying in Houston. Friends arrive. The place is packed. I’m trying to get the women sitting next to me, to move to a different angle, so we might have more space. She’s not willing to budge. She’s talking something about dancing. I’m thinking she must be crazy. My roommate apologizes to her and says, “That’s alright, we can manage”.

What's the big deal with all this sudden surge of population in the cafe? “It’s going to be special”, one of the friends tell me. I don't realize what he’s talking about until the music starts to change into this really contemporary Arabic music and out pop the belly dancers. Belly dancers at a Coffee shop, really?

The £5.50 Chinese Monkey-Picked Tea

Dr Bhaskar Dasgupta — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 03:11:39 EDT

I went to a swanky restaurant in London the other day and after a great cocktail, some very good Argentinean red wine and English rose (yes, I kid you not, it was very nice), an excellent thick rare 700 gram steak, sat back and thought about having a good port and a nice cheese platter, when my eyes fell on this item on the dessert menu.

Monkey Picked Tea: Monkey picked tea is the rarest tea available. According to legend, monkeys were once trained to harvest tea from otherwise inaccessible cliffs but today the term monkey picked refers to the tea's rarity and the hard work put into its production.

It was for £5.50 if I am not wrong, and being the sucker for new and innovative things that I am, I went for it. First of all, my boss took the piss out of me unmercifully by saying, you have simply ordered PG tips, and the restaurant is taking you for a ride. Mainly because of the Monkey bit which advertises the bloody PG Tips. You can buy all kinds of PG Tips monkey stuff here. But more on the end result later.

I took a photo and then came back to look it up. The basic story is simple and I quote:

This rare Chinese tea is carefully picked by specially trained monkeys in a remote mountain region of China. Legend has it that monkeys were first used to collect tea ten centuries ago, because upon seeing it's master trying to reach some tea growing wild on a mountain face, the monkey climbed up the steep face and collected the tea growing there and brought it down to his master. This wild tea was considered so delicious that other people began to train monkeys to collect this rare wild tea. Nowadays the practice of monkeys picking tea has all but died out, except in one small remote village where they still continue this remarkable tradition.

This video seems to be showing a monkey which the zoo commentator claims to be a tea picking monkey. All I can hope is that I hope the bloody monkey washed his hands after picking its nose but before picking the tea leaves.

Here's an example of the pack. And here's an interesting discussion on this tea.

But I was a bit suspicious because nobody actually mentions the type of tea leaves, all this monkey picking business is good and fine, but what is the actual name of the tea plant? I then found it. Can you purchase this? Well, here it is. I quote the product description:

These finest grade tightly hand-rolled leaves are bursting with flavor and have a lingering fruity aftertaste. This is perhaps the most fabled tea in China, prized for its complexity. This lot was grown in Fujian Province. Legends relate the story of how the tea is named after Kuanyin, the goddess (or bodhisattva) of compassion. This tea is greener than other Tieguanyins, in the style which is popular throughout China.

The often-used term "Monkey Picked" comes from another legend: Local monks convinced monkeys to climb the tall, wild tea trees and bring them the new leaves from above. This tea is one of the few that holds up well to up to three infusions, and produces a rich golden liquor with a spicy aroma and semisweet aftertaste. We recommend this tea as a high quality everyday tea. It goes well with most foods and is good with cakes, scones and the like.

But I am afraid the tea was absolutely horrible, it was musty, dusty and tasted like the tea was made by actually dipping the original old monkey in hot water rather than tea leaves. It was golden all right, but no, I am going to give this a miss.

And this left my boss and rest of the gang rolling around on the floor looking at my face and expression. Still suffering from that incident, every time I ask for a tea or coffee in the office, somebody shouts PG Tips or makes those monkey noises. Sighs, life sucks.

Technorati Tags: Humour, Agriculture, History, Personal

Restaurant Review: Via Milano, Bangalore

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 15:18:54 EDT

What makes a restaurant a success? Food alone does not cut it but the ambiance and service are of equal relevance. While the food in Via Milano, a Bangalore-based Italian restaurant run by Italian expats was reasonably good, it had an impersonal feel to it and the service sucked.

The Salmon was subtle and tasty. The spaghetti and shrimp were good but there was no accompanying bread basket with the main course. We had to remind the waiter to serve it and by then we were already midway through our meal.

The waiters were completely spaced out. We had to be on the lookout to catch their eye to get even basic needs met. What bugged me was the socialist mentality of waiters hovering over the 'gora' tables while 'naturally' ignoring the desis. One table had three waiters grouped around it. How hard was the decision making?

Once we had finished dinner, our plates were taken in a rather haphazard manner; a few taken by one waiter and another returning to look under napkins in case the side plates were left behind. I was weirded out.

Our coffee orders were mixed up and far from feeling at home at their pristine white 50s-style lounge, I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Which by the way took another fifteen minutes since they forgot to return our bill till we reminded them that we had been waiting for a long time for the card and check.

Instead of Via Milano, I recommend Fiorano in Koramangala where the service is far better. Another place is Magnolia which despite being crowded on weekends offers impeccable service and awesome Thai food.

Easy Warm Summer Vegetable Salad

smallsquirrel — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 00:15:17 EDT

Summer is my favorite time of year to cook. There are plenty of great vegetables available, and it's so easy to throw together a nice and easy salad.

This colorful salad is great served warm when it is first made, but it gains flavor as you let the leftovers (if there are any!) sit and marinate in the fridge. You can easily double the recipe, and it is guaranteed to spruce up any picnic!

I do not have a lot of exact measurements because I never learned to cook using them, so please don't get mad at the approximations.

This recipe takes about 20 minutes to make.

What you'll need:

-1 large red pepper
-8-10 baby red potatoes. you can use baby white ones too in a pinch.
-approx 1/2-3/4 lb of fresh string beans
-a lemon
-extra virgin olive oil
-spring onions
-salt
-black pepper
-a light vinegar (either rice wine or white wine. don't use balsamic as it is too dark and will discolor the potatoes)
-your favorite herb (I prefer basil for this, but you could use oregano or whatever you fancy!)

Set a medium sized pot of water to boil. Add the whole potatoes to the boiling water. When they are fork tender, take them out, cut them in half and place them in a large bowl. Do not over cook them!

While the potatoes cook, roast the red pepper. You can do this in your broiler, if you have one, or take a fork and hold it over the burner on your stove. It will take about 7-9 minutes to properly char the pepper. It should be well burnt on the outside. When it is done, slice in half and place inside a clean paper bag and close it. Or put inside a bowl and cover it. After about 5 minutes take the pepper off and the burnt skin will come off easily. Scrape out the seeds, cut into strips and set aside.

In a large bowl put about 3 tablespoons of vinegar, the zest of about 1/2 the lemon (be sure not to get the pith!!!), some salt, black pepper, and about one tablespoon of chopped fresh or dried herbs. Also squeeze some of the lemon juice into the bowl. Then while whisking, add about a 1/2 cup of olive oil. Taste it. If it is missing something, add it! It should be tangy/lemony and herby. It has to be strong enough to light up the veggies, so don't be shy! Pour contents over warm potatoes and toss.

Clean the string beans and chop them in half. Put them in the boiling water you just took the potatoes out of. Do not over cook them. I usually leave them in for about 4 minutes tops! They should be bright green and crunchy. Drain and add to the potatoes.

Clean and slice one green onion and add to the bowl. Add roasted pepper strips, toss and you are done!

The Pleasures of India Gate

DeeptiA — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 01:11:50 EDT

Imagine a place where there is a kilometer-long lane of cars parked on both sides of the road, where a large number of Delhi's families come there with just family members, or with extended family to spend a fun-filled evening. There is ice cream, cold drinks, and many kinds of small snacks available.

And the place is slightly colder than the heat of the city. And of course, there are the wide, green lawns, and a beautifully lighted India Gate at one end, and the lighting of the North Block / South Block at the other end.

When we arrived at this place, parking was an issue; there were so many people who had already reached there. Eventually we found a parking spot closer to the Boat Club side, and then walked over to the India Gate side. The sight that we saw brought a lot of smiles. There were kids playing football (with other kids or with an indulgent elder/parent). There were extended families playing either cards or antakshari (a songalathon) with sheets spread on the greenery.

And then there were the families with extended eating plans - bed sheets, tiffin carriers, casseroles, big jars full of either water or some sort of liquid, topped with ice cream from the large number of ice cream vendors selling their wares. In the partial darkness of the night, one could also see something lighted suddenly going up in the air and coming down again. Getting closer, one could clearly see that these were actually kids' toys.

We did not do most of these things, but just indulged in walking casually from one end to the other end (tip: I think that the lighting of the India Gate is turned off at 10 PM). We had some chanas and some stale bhelpuris.

While watching all these families enjoying themselves, I also thought about the people who were all doing the selling, whether that be the ice cream sellers, the people selling the snacks, or the people selling the toys; and the policemen over there who were here to help others. These people, watching entire families enjoying themselves, must be feeling something - or maybe they have spent so much time that they no longer feel different (but I doubt that). Realistically, do we ever think about the people who provide the services that we enjoy ?

Kitchenomics

Suresh Naig — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 07:14:46 EDT

The other day, when my wife left for her mother’s for a week end, leaving the house and the dog under my care, I learned some useful lessons on domestic economics.

As a Jack-of-all-trades, I wanted to test my culinary skills at her spotless kitchen. I started preparing “Pongal”, a South Indian dish, made from rice & pulses, dashed with pepper, jeera and liberal quantities of Ghee and cashew nuts, topped with curry leaves for that inevitable aroma.

Searching for each ingredient was a painful task, and I marvelled at my wife's skill in preparing a lip smacking breakfast, yet not tampering the aesthetics of the kitchen.

After my breakfast, the kitchen looked pathetic, since I had ransacked all the cup-boards for the ingredients, having opened every container, other than the one which had it. While searching for pepper, I found every other ingredient leaving the containers in disarray, and it was an action-replay, when I looked for Jeera.

Though my wife was only a phone call away, I dreaded calling her up for tips. She had strict protocols in the kitchen and would never allow me to tamper with her “six sigma” rules in her domain.

After trial and errors, by lunch time I had that “Pongal” break-fast ready. It was time for the dressing the “Pongal” with golden fried cashews. Searching for the cashew drove me nuts.

She had kept them in a polythene cover, buried inside “Rava”, which was kept in a transparent pet container. From outside I could see only the “Rava” not the nuts inside.

My wife has sound basics in economics. She stores away the costly ingredients, concealed and camouflaged, so that I do not exhaust a month’s provision in one day.

She knows about my impulsive nature, the proof of which is my mounting credit card bills. Her “Kitchenomics” is my saviour.

Each year end, she would reluctantly part with her savings from the monthly provisions budget, of course with enormous persuasion. On my part, I swipe away her fuss with my credit card, to maintain the perpetuity of the inevitable cycle.

Yes, I forgot to tell you about the “Pongal”. My dog refused to even smell it.