You might remember my excited experiments with pizza in the past. Recently I discovered how easy it is to get fresh yeast in Delhi and since then my pizza making has gone to a whole new level. For starters, please ditch the false lore that states pizzas require sauce and cheese. They don't. No, really. Second, also toss out the idea that they need to be round. Ever since my pizza revolution, as I like to call it, I've been making them all the time in my rectangular baking pans and putting all sorts of things on them. I've done potatoes+cheese+onions, random pasta sauce+cheese, potatoes+sausage+cheese, random veggies+cheese and my most recent favourite, blanched spinach, potatoes, onions and eggs. That's right, no sauce, no cheese. Of course all these things get eaten so fast I rarely get pictures, so here's one I took this morning of reheated lunch, terribly lit in the direct sunlight from my kitchen window and gently speckled by the shadow of the mesh.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Sunday, June 9, 2013
A very long time ago, when my extended family still lived in Malleshwaram, one weekend on a visit we ended up being fed pie at The Only Place. It was peach pie. I fell in love. No, really. But somehow, I don't think I've ever eaten much peach pie since, even when I lived in phorens and whatnot. I did however acquire an addictive love of stone fruit, peaches, nectarines, apricots, cherries and my bestest favourites, donut peaches, which I ate by the bushel in Spain. So I was thrilled when I moved to Delhi and realised how much this fruit was around in May and June, and planned faithfully to gorge each year. But it never happened. This year I finally went and bought kilos of peaches and ate em with great delight, and then, when I had my first ever monthly dinner party last night and six peaches getting too ripe to handle, I figured it made the most sense to bake a peach pie.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Bhindi/okra has always been one of my great loves. But it's slimy and gross and I would only eat it carbonated, as my father likes to say. This is true. Growing up spoilt there was always one bowl of it that had been cooked BLACK that as just for me. And I was VERY possessive of my burnt bhindi. As time went by though, learnt about deep friend bhindi, bhindi made north Indian style with shitloads of onions (my mother, to give her credit did try and introduce this to us, but she added tomatoes but I refused to eat them in those days), stuffed bhindi and so on. But my most favouritest bhindi is the one I have adapted from the Goddess's katrika (eggplant) recipe, one that caused minor heart attacks when I was home last and demanded it at every meal (I am famous for refusing to touch Indian food that's been contaminated by katrika).