She’s late but she is finally here. After months of drawing comfort from hefty parkas, hyggeligt cafes and unrestrained mugs of hot chocolate, Mother Nature graces us with her warm caress. The harbingers of spring:… More
I’m drawn wildly to the scarlet hued blood oranges that have been gracing the hallowed aisles of the grocery this winter. Stowing them away endlessly and stacking the refrigerator to the brim; the result of an odd fear that soon they will be replaced by a bounty of summer fruits. Much like a moth is drawn to the flame, I’m too drawn to this rouge radiance; a flame too, just a tad different.
But, selfishly stocking them (read hiding them) without justifying their presence is much too foolish. My mind bubbles with ideas and concoctions, day or night(read deep into midnight). The very reason the past month or so have sped by in a flash. Fortunately, these citrus cousins blend as well with savory dishes as they do with sweet courses. My kitchen witnesses peels strewn around the counter and a deep hued juice gently trickling down edges of the cutting board fairly often and I find myself enticed every single time.
To list the sweet creations that my kitchen and my very trusted knife have witnessed-
–Blood Orange Galette: sliced blood oranges rest on blood orange marmalade and a walnut enriched pâte brisée(the recipe made its way into the blog as well)
–Blood Orange Sourdough Boule: The deep crimson from the oranges softened into a pale orange but the citrus aroma lingered all the way, right down to the last crumb! We devoured the slices with jam spilling on the sides and lots of herbal tea.
–Blood Orange and Raspberry Brownies(Vegan): Another homage to the magic that is the orange and chocolate. Admittedly, the pair transpires into a beautiful symphony but what I failed to recognize initially was the friendly cheer that the raspberries lent. Together, it was all an elegant soiree of flavours.
– Blood Orange Upside Down Cake(Eggfree): This one was too hard to ignore. The cake is flooded with orange juice and makes for a citrus-lover’s dream but it’s the mandala-like pattern of candied oranges that steal the show.
–Blood Orange Pavlova(Vegan) – Aquafaba. The result of every vegan and vegetarian’s ardent prayers. After my fiasco with the vegan macaron, I was possessed by a silly vexation towards this innocent ingredient. But all anger melted when I trotted out a magnificent pavlova the other night. It was slathered generously with a Praline and Mascarpone Cream(adapted from Ottolenghi’s ‘Sweet’), deluged with the darkest, deepest hued blood oranges and finally drizzled with a honey and pistachio syrup.( I yearn to share the recipe soon on the blog)
Rice and dal(lentils) mingling oh so gently with each other but emerging into a fiery romance of flavors when emboldened with a coarse crumb of roasted spices. The barrage of vegetables ensues a flawless texture. Oodles of melted ghee lends it a dash of oomph. Forgive me for this dramatization but this blessed dish has inadvertently transpired into an emotion and a delicious one at that. I humbly present to you, Karnataka’s pride and joy, the Bisibelebath.
The affair began years ago. Amid 3 inch candles, an ornate cake, a ceiling masked by balloons & a slightly untuned rendition of ‘Happy Birthday to you’ , my maternal aunt and her kin unfailingly ensured that their guests returned home content and happy. Cake hardly disappoints but this sweet treat was always trivial in comparison to the pièce de résistance of the said series of evenings aka, The Bisibelebath. Melted Ghee was poured over a sizzling plate housing the above dish and spicy potato chips tossed in chilli powder (that we bangaloreans fondly call ‘khara chips’) were nestled on the side.
I’m spooling the tape back to childhood. Do indulge me while I unfold a tiny snippet from the past. Sukh Sagar, the famed eatery’s italic lightbox glimmered under the city’s night sky. Serving meals to patrons parked outside the restaurant while they reclined in the comfort of their cars was quite à la mode in 90’s Bangalore. The 5 of us(the parents, the 2 brothers and me), huddled in our car outside the restaurant while the food was brought and stationed on the bumper. The tray wobbled precariously as it hosted glasses of water and other snacks. For the next hour or so, the brothers and me devoured 4-inch discs of dough studded with bell peppers, onions and smothered with a tomato sauce and topped with visible strands of cheese. This was our first pizza and it has tethered itself unrelentingly to fond childhood memories much like the way mozzarella cements itself unyieldingly to a pizza base.
We’ve come a long way since then. Simplicity has transpired into a labyrinthine experience and I say this bearing no complaints. The thin-crust, the thick crust, the cheese-burst, the white sauce, the red sauce, the neopolitan, the Italian version, the Chicago version, there’s also the Indian version that I bake by splashing the base with a spicy Paneer Tikka Masala. Suffice to say, the options have no end.
Rewinding to languid Bangalore afternoons, when I was younger in a younger city. The sun washing the sand splashed grounds of college. Amid the frenzied flutter that the final years of college demanded, the one constant was my stainless steel lunch dabba. Plain toor dal, rice, salt, jaggery and unmeasured quantities of ghee tied together into an epitome of comfort. Tovve anna in Kannada or Dal rice in English. On rare occasions, it would be spiked with raw chilles, coriander and perhaps a splatter of mustard and hing tadka. Those few minutes of lunch break dwindled before I knew it, mostly plagued by a string of worrisome thoughts about the remaining day. But devouring this meal was my present moment, my moment of unfettered, happy calm. I’m as drawn to the simplicity of this dish as I am to the uncomplicated memories that follow in its trail. Long story short, I love tovve-anna and have never shied away from celebrating Dal and its many avatars.
“Dear Mother Nature,
I’m entirely seduced by this shimmering blanket swathing the earth. Barren trees revealing gnarled branches, tangled and peppered with snow, they soar unbounded into grey clouds. Frozen icicles precariously cemented to ledges make for enough drama on mundane days and snow dusted church rooftops make for visions that for years, I’ve only vicariously lived through books. Playful mists of breath, tiny impressions of pigeon feet on unblemished snow, ripples of water vanishing into rock …..may the enthusiasm never temper, may the joy never recede,may the beauty never fade.
However, there are times when I find myself pining for a slip of sunshine, just a sliver. Wishful thinking, I know. Fortunately, that coerces me to navigate into other avenues. Therefore, at the moment, I will resort to the warm rhapsody of the blood orange. Blood Oranges are peeled are laid on a a sourdough galette base, slathered with blood orange marmalade, baked warm and devoured fresh. This is our slip of sweet sunshine this cold, winter morning. Our golden gild.
My affiliation to desserts hardly comes as a surprise. Early on, it may have to do with possessing a sweet tooth or perhaps being amid sugar devotees. However, with my culinary learnings, I’ve learnt also, that the desire to bake or create desserts bears no relation with my love for consuming sugar. Meaning, even on days when I’m sugar-starving(by choice), I find myself hankering for the rumbling sound of my stand mixer as it punches and mangles a robust babka dough, the perfume emanating from a slit vanilla bean pod and the disarrayed crackle top of an 8×8″ brownie. After a 10 day vacation traipsing around Croatia this summer, our home bound flight back seemed devoid of melancholy only because my restless mind conspired to bake a crostata with figs and sweet port-simmered onions. Although, I did christen it with a quirkier name, “It’s been 10 days since I’ve baked. I miss the oven” crostata. Jet lag was forced to take a back seat.
When asked about my favorite place in Toronto, I answered with a straight face & without a second thought , “Kensington Market!”. The thought that immediately followed this proclamation, was hardly nonchalant in character. It was one of surprise laced by curiosity. The answer, I had assumed, would be a tad different; Perhaps the speckless boardwalk paralleling the serene waters of Lake Ontario, maybe the hygge-ligt coffee shop that offers safe haven in the boisterous winter months, even possibly the grey-stoned castle, Casa Loma. Despite these choices, I had chosen one of the most crowded, loudest markets on the fringes of Spadina Avenue as my favorite spot in the city.
Why? I write this as an answer to you and and to myself.