Bottle masala

Our church started holding a monthly potluck and January's theme was "roots", or food from your ethnic heritage. Rich and I chose to cook something from my Indian heritage and I set about trying to choose a good dish. And that's where I ran into some difficulty. I am Indian, but my family isn't Hindu. They're Catholic, have Portuguese last names, and eat meat. So a typical vegetarian Indian dish wouldn't really count.

After some Googling, I found plenty of Goan dishes. Some sounded familiar (sorpotel), but I was certain my relatives didn't use so much coconut and their sorpotel didn't involve dried pig blood. Plus, my family isn't from Goa. They're from the suburbs just north of Mumbai. I gave up on Goan recipes and decided to pick a recipe that was sure to represent my heritage: a recipe for Chicken Moile from one of my aunts. I Googled "chicken moile" and found that it's from the little community of Portuguese Catholics living just north of Bombay, known as "East Indians" (apparently the name refers to the British East India Company, as they live within walking distance of the west coast of India). This opened up the door to plenty of websites describing East Indian history, culture, and food.

As great as it was to learn so much about my heritage, there was a problem. The second ingredient in my aunt's recipe is "bottle masala". I had heard of this stuff—my relatives would bring it back from India whenever they travelled there. Surely, if my relatives couldn't find it in the Indian grocery stores of Chicago, I wouldn't find any in Madison. Then I forgot to bring some home while visiting my family for Christmas. So my only choice was to make some.

Perhaps this would be a good point to explain that bottle masala is a mixture (masala) of twenty-something spices that are individually roasted and pound into a powder, then packed into beer bottles and sealed. Bottle masala gets made once a year, when a group of women gets together to roast a big batch of chillies and spices and then pounds them with a giant mortar and pestle. The process usually takes more than a day. My plan was to scale a recipe down to one bottle worth and to make it in a spice grinder.

More internet research revealed that bottle masala recipes are family secrets. Apparently,

• the first rule of Bottle Masala is: you don't talk about Bottle Masala.
• The second rule of Bottle Masala is: you don't talk about Bottle Masala (Just use it quietly).
• The third rule about Bottle Masala is: you don't ask questions about Bottle Masala.

I wasn't about to let some pesky rules get in the way of my search, so I scrounged up all the recipes I could find online (about 5) and stuck them into a spreadsheet to compare the proportions of spices. After a bit of research to find the English name for some of the ingredients, I cut down the recipe to make a single bottle and set about buying the couple of spices I was missing.

Then the day arrived. We spent hours measuring out miniscule quantities of spices, roasting them on the stove, grinding them in small batches, and coughing because of all the red chili powder in the air. When we finished, we celebrated by using our first tablespoon in that night's dinner: chicken moile. We had no idea if our bottle masala was even close to authentic, but the chicken was delicious. I've since asked my dad to compare our version to the authentic stuff from India, and he says it smells different.

I won't share the bottle masala recipe yet, as I'm hoping to refine it to make it more authentic. But I will share my aunt's chicken moile recipe. You'll need to find your own bottle masala to make it (I still have some of ours in the pantry that I'm happy to share—the sooner I run out, the sooner I make a new batch).

Chicken Moile
recipe courtesy of Elizabeth Gonsalves, known to family as Aunty Buddy
1. • 2 lbs chicken (we cut up a whole chicken)
   • 1 tbsp bottle masala
   • 2 tablespoons canola oil
   • 2 large potatoes, each cut into 4 pieces
   • ¼ tsp garam masala (you can find this at the grocery store or make it in a spice grinder)
   • ½ tsp salt
   • 1 tbsp vinegar
   • 4 onions, cut into rings
   • 2 green chilies
   • 8 flakes garlic (we used one clove of garlic)
   • ½-inch piece of ginger
2. 1. Sauté onions, green chilies, garlic and ginger in canola oil until golden.
   2. Add chicken and masalas and cook for 15 minutes.
   3. Add potatoes, salt, and vinegar and cook until the potatoes and chicken are done.

Samosa-thon 2009

It all started with Jess going to her cousin's baby shower.  She was told she had to have a baby shower, too.  So, in all of the preparation for that, we were told we'd have to get samosas for the party.  

In our 3½ years in Madison, we haven't found an Indian restaurant that we've been crazy about, so we weren't sure where to get samosas for this party.  It came to us that the solution to this problem would be to try all of the samosa in Madison, and find the one we liked the best.  Thus far, we've hit 6 different restaurants, but this is more a tale of the first 5 that we tried in one day.

The contenders:

• Swagat
• Maharaja
• India Darbar
• Taj
• Taste of India

Since we were picking these up and then going to eat them all at once later, we decided to nibble a little piece of all of them before moving on to the next place, to see how their crust was when they were fresh.  I only remember that Maharaja's crust seemed spicy, and India Darbar's was salty.  

When we got home, we unwrapped all of the samosas and sauces and started our test.  The first thing we noticed were the sauces.  As you can see in the pictures, each place gave the red onion chutney, and the (somewhat mysterious, but seemingly tasting like cilantro) green chutney.  India Darbar's green was somewhat scary in its neon-ish fashion.  The rest were much darker.  All but Taste of India supplied a tamarind sauce.  Which is a shame, since that is both of our favorite.  -1 for ToI.

Swagat started the tasting.  There was a nice flavor, and individual vegetables were distinguishable.  The onion chutney was very flavorful and delightful, while the tamarind sauce was sweet, with what appeared to be seeds of some sort floating around.

Maharaja was next.  The onions were not as tasty, but edible.  The tamarind was good, but not outstanding.  The filling had more spice, and vegetables were distinguishable, and the flavor was good.  

One bite into India Darbar's offering and I knew this one was not going to win.  There was an off-putting taste that I couldn't identify, but Jess knew what it was right away: Ginger.  Not that I don't like ginger, but it was just too over powering.  The potato was apparent, but it was pretty mushy.  The onion wasn't very appealing, and the tamarind was not as good as the first two.

Taj's offering didn't impress us either.  The onion here was much more finely chopped, almost puréed, and wasn't very pleasing to the palette.  I don't remember much about the tamarind, so I'm guessing it was about average.  The filling was definitely dyed yellow, and somewhat mushy.  I seem to remember seeing mushed peas along the outside of the filling, as well.  But the vegetable pakora was pretty good (ordering mishap; he thought I said pakora, I wanted samosas, he threw in the pakoras since I was probably the only person doing any kind of take out on a Sunday afternoon).

Taste of India was also dyed yellow, but had a consistency almost of mashed potatoes.  The flavorings were not great, and, again, the lack of tamarind really hurts here.  They are the most generous with their chutney sizes (the containers were larger than the rest), but they weren't all that great.  Now that I think of it, I wonder if the lack of tamarind was an oversight.  We've eaten here a few times, and I seem to remember the usual 3 chutney rack being brought out with the poppadums before.  No matter, as the samosa itself disappointed.

We quickly concluded that Swagat's samosas were the best of the day.  Jess ended up finishing both pieces from here, while giving me her remaining bites of ToI, Taj, and India Darbar.

Two days later, we went downtown for dinner at Maharani, since we were nearby and could sample a 6th samosa.  The offering here was pleasant – the crust was my favorite, as it was darker and bubblier than the other places.  The filling seemed as good as Swagat, and the chutneys were pleasant as well.  Most of this is to be expected, though, as both places are owned by the same people.

So, my ratings thus far are as follows: Maharani, followed by Swagat, then Maharaja, Taj, India Darbar, and Taste of India.  At this point, I know of one other restaurant west of the capital (Flavor of India) that we have yet to try.  If there are others that I've missed, feel free to let me know.

Turkey Carcass Soup

I like cooking for Thanksgiving. I love to eat homemade cranberry sauce and warm rolls with butter. I could probably eat a whole plate of Lynn's twice-baked potatoes. But I'm not a big fan of turkey, and I really don't get excited about leftover turkey (I'll mention that Thanksgiving leftovers don't go to waste at our house, though, since Rich more than makes up for my lack of zeal in these areas).

Though I'd roasted a few turkeys before, I'd never saved the bones for soup. After roasting beef bones and making Phở this spring, I've felt prepared to make my own stock. So this Thanksgiving, we saved all the miscellaneous bony parts and a few days later I made this soup. It turned out great and has caused me to look a lot more favorably on the Thanksgiving leftovers situation.

This recipe is adapted from Cook's Illustrated's Turkey Noodle Soup. It makes about 3 quarts, enough for 8 to 10 servings.

Turkey Carcass Soup
1. • 1 turkey carcass (they called for a 12-14 pound turkey, but we had a 20-pounder), cut into 4 or 5 rough pieces to fit into pot
   • 1 large onion, peeled and halved
   • 1 large carrot, peeled and chopped coarse
   • 1 large rib celery, about 4 ounces, chopped coarse (we didn't have it, so I left it out)
   • 3 medium cloves garlic, unpeeled and smashed
   • 2 cups dry white wine
   • 1 bay leaf
   • 5 sprigs fresh parsley leaves (we didn't have it, so I left it out)
   • 3 sprigs fresh thyme
   • 2-3 cups medium-sized pasta (we used spaghetti broken into thirds and it though it was kind of messy to eat, it reminded me of the canned chicken noodle soup I ate growing up and the comfort was well worth the mess)
2. 1. Bring turkey carcass, onion, carrot, celery, garlic, wine, bay leaf, and 4 1/2 quarts water to boil in 12-quart stockpot over medium-high heat, skimming fat or foam that rises to surface. Reduce heat to low and simmer, uncovered, 2 hours, continuing to skim surface as necessary. Add parsley and thyme; continue to simmer until stock is rich and flavorful, about 2 hours longer, continuing to skim surface as necessary.
   2. Strain stock through large-mesh strainer into large bowl or container; remove meat from strained solids, shred into bite-sized pieces, and set aside; coarsely chop vegetables and discard remaining solids.
   3. Add pasta and reserved shredded turkey meat from stock; simmer until pasta is al dente, 10 to 12 minutes. Adjust seasonings with salt and pepper; serve.

Heartbeat

The bump in my belly has a heartbeat!

What does this bread look like?

For a couple days, I've been wondering what the shape of this bread reminds me of. Today, it hit me: it looks like Wisconsin!

Pregnancy

My sentiments exactly. Thanks, Nate and Kellie.

Perfect Peach Cobbler

We had 6 peaches sitting on our kitchen table. On Monday evening, they were just ripe, but on Tuesday morning they were quite soft. I generally prefer to eat fruit fresh—especially peaches—but I knew they wouldn’t get eaten otherwise. Pie crust is a hassle, especially on a humid summer day, so I decided to go with cobbler. It turned out wonderfully. It’s best if you serve it all at once, as the cobbles get soggy if you let it sit overnight.
The recipe is adapted from Cook’s Illustrated’s Fresh Peach Cobbler.

Fresh Peach Cobbler
1. Peaches
   • 6–7 ripe medium-sized peaches
   • ¼ cup granulated sugar
   • 1 teaspoon cornstarch
   • 1 tablespoon lemon juice
   Cobbles
   • 1 cup all-purpose flour
   • ¾ teaspoon baking powder
   • ¼ teaspoon baking soda
   • ¼ teaspoon salt
   • 5 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into ¼-inch cubes
   • 5 tablespoons whole milk
   • 1 teaspoon granulated sugar
2. 1. Adjust an oven rack to the lower-middle position and preheat the oven to 425°.
   2. Halve and pit each peach. Cut out any stringy flesh from the pit area. Cut each half into four wedges. Toss all the wedges with the ¼ cup of sugar and let them sit for 30 minutes, tossing them a few times. Drain them in a colander set over a bowl.
   3. Measure out ¼ cup of the drained juice and discard the rest. Whisk together the ¼ cup of peach juice, the teaspoon of cornstarch and the tablespoon of lemon juice. Toss the peach juice mixture with the peaches and transfer to a 8-inch square or 9-inch circular glass baking dish. Bake until the juices bubble around the edges of the dish, about 10 minutes.
   4. While peaches are baking (if you start sooner, the dough won’t rise properly in the oven), combine the cup of flour, the ¾ teaspoon of baking powder, the ¼ teaspoon of baking soda, and the ¼ teaspoon of salt. Scatter the butter over the top and use forks, a whisk, or a pastry blender to cut the butter into the flour mixture until it looks like coarse crumbs. Add the 5 tablespoons of whole milk and toss with a rubber spatula just until it forms a cohesive ball. (Don’t overmix it or the cobbles will be tough!) Split the dough into 6 mounds.
   5. Arrange the dough mounds over the peaches, spacing them about ½ inch apart. Sprinkle the 1 teaspoon sugar over the dough mounds.
   6. Bake until the cobbles are golden and the peaches are bubbling, 16 to 18 minutes. Cool on a wire rack until warm, about 20 minutes, before serving.

What's wrong with what we eat

Mark Bittman explains what's wrong with what we eat (20 minutes long):

Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup

My mom doesn’t like tomato sauce. She likes tomatoes just fine, but she doesn’t put red sauce on her pasta or serve tomato soup with her grilled cheese. So I wasn’t introduced to grilled cheese with tomato soup until high school. I love it. This week, we decided to see if we would make it from scratch, and it was great.

The grilled cheese is really simple. You’ll need some good bread (we used Madison Sourdough’s White) and some good cheese (I’d recommend cheddar. Organic Valley’s Raw Milk Cheddar was a little too sharp—I think I’ll try the mild next time). Slice the cheese. Melt the cheese onto bread using your favorite method. I can’t seem to be able to fry a cheese sandwich without making it overly greasy or burnt, so I decided I would microwave them. (Yes, I realize it makes no sense to go through the trouble of making tomato soup from scratch and then microwave the grilled cheese, but after several failed attempts, I just wanted it to turn out well.) In 20 seconds, I had a couple open-faced cheese sandwiches, the chewy texture of the bread was maintained, and I increased the total soup-dipping surface area. Not bad!

Here’s the recipe for the soup. It’s much more complicated than combining Campbell’s and water, but it’s definitely worth it. Adapted from Cook's Illustrated's Ultimate Cream of Tomato Soup.

Tomato Soup
1. • 2 28-ounce cans of tomatoes, packed in juice (not puree)
   • 1½ tablespoons dark brown sugar
   • 4 tablespoons unsalted butter
   • 4 large shallots
   • 1 tablespoon double-concentrated tomato paste, which usually comes in a tube (you can also just use a tablespoon of canned tomato paste)
   • a pinch of ground allspice
   • 2 tablespoons flour
   • 1¾ cups chicken stock (recommended are boxes by Swanson, Better than Bouillon, and Imagine brands)
   • ½ cup heavy cream (we get ours from a local farm)
2. 1. Heat the oven to 450°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil.
   2. Drain the tomatoes, saving 3 cups of the liquid. Use your finger to remove any clumps of seeds. Arrange the tomatoes in a single layer on the foil-lined baking sheet and sprinkle with the 1½ tablespoons of dark brown sugar. Bake until all the liquid has evaporated and the tomatoes begin to color, about 30 minutes.
   3. Meanwhile, peel and mince the shallots. Wait until the tomatoes have about 10 minutes of cooking time left before you proceed. Place a nonreactive (that means not aluminum or cast iron) saucepan over medium heat and add the butter. When the butter foams, add the shallots, the tablespoon of tomato paste, and the pinch of allspice. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 7 to 10 minutes, or until the shallots are softened.
   4. Add the flour and stir for about 30 seconds, until thoroughly combined. Whisking constantly, gradually add the 1¾ cups of chicken stock. Stir in the reserved tomato liquid. Peel the roasted tomatoes off the foil and add them. Cover and increase the heat to medium. When boiling, reduce the heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes.
   5. Strain the mixture and rinse out the saucepan. Add solids to blender and top with a cup of the liquid. Puree until smooth and add to the remaining liquid.
   6. At this point, if you are eating all the soup at once, mix in the cream and serve. For leftovers, keep the soup and cream separate until serving. After reheating the soup, stir in the cream.

What happened to spring?!

May starts in 3 days and this is what it looks like outside.