One of my most vivid memories from studying abroad in India was this small restaurant just a few blocks from our hostel in Bangalore. It wasn’t much more than a small poured-concrete box with a few old tables and a collection of mismatched worn wooden chairs. But the decor wasn’t the first thing one noticed rather it was the pervasive aroma. The scent would envelop you like a blanket in a sweet and spicy complexity that would calm any sort of misgiving you might have regarding any adherence to health codes. With a generous smile you are invited to take your pick of seats and are quickly brought two things: a giant banana leaf and a small cup of water. In front of you there is neither plate nor silverware, just the thin banana leaf and water. With the water your task is to wash the leaf without tearing it or your lap will become your new plate. Before you’ve nearly had enough time to prepare, a server comes around with a round bowl full of rice and places it upside down in the center of your freshly washed leaf. The server then scoops five vibrantly different curries onto your leaf in a half moon around the rice. As if this wasn’t enough, a small bowl of unsweetened yogurt is placed at the top of the leaf rounding out a beautiful collage of color, texture and spice. Each portion of the moon is distinct, ranging from the southern staple of spicy dal to a spinach and chickpea curry; each is as aromatic and delicious as the next. You eat with your hands, scooping rice and curry together intermittently using the sourness of the yogurt to cut the spice. Before you realize it, you begin to see green reappear under your food. This can be remedied with the slightest gesture for those with insatiable appetites. The server is always at the ready to refill your leaf. For the mere mortal, a simple half moon will do.
I loved Indian food before I had ever been there. But the Indian food I loved here in the States was not the same as the Indian food I encountered in Bangalore. The richness and complexity Indian cooks were able to create from the simple combination of rice, lentils, coconut, coriander, and chilies, was novel to me and beautiful in its simplicity. Traveling around the country gave me the ability to sample the diversity in these simple combinations. I noticed a liberal widespread use of stewing wherever I went and it was this running theme that inspired me to experiment in the kitchen. The idea had been foreign to me: the longer you cook something the better and more complex it could taste. In my experience, the longer I cooked something, the more burnt my vegetables were, the drier my meats became and the soggier my pastas got. Granted, until that point the extent of my culinary aptitude was derived from a short tutorial my mom gave me before I left for college two years previous and the “Family Favorites” cook book she gave me the subsequent Christmas. Or worse, the brief instructions found on the back of frozen dinner box. After a wonderful experience abroad, I returned home with grand culinary plans, but at best, mediocre hands.
The beauty of Indian cooking is you simply cut, dice, spice, and simmer. The learning curve is forgiving and the probability of utter failure is small. You learn pretty quickly what works and what doesn’t. We were paired perfectly; a novice culinary student and a food suited for beginners. Even now, when gluten and dairy are the devil, the intriguing culinary traditions of India stand by me. And the skill of stewing has only become more instrumental to my dietary survival as the foundations of most stews are naturally gluten and dairy free. With a few minor adjustments, (no more na’an!) I stand by those culinary traditions in turn. They bring me back to where my passion for cooking first started and are a reminder that simplicity in cooking doesn’t mean a sacrifice in flavor.
Yesterday I swung by the grocery store on my way home thinking that the beautifully overcast day might lend itself perfectly to a slow cooked meal. I wanted nothing more than to warm my apartment with the aroma of stewing spices and the boiling of my kettle. I wanted to sink into my couch and let the world outside pass by while being blanketed in the weaving of herbs and spice, and slowly sip a fresh glass of spiced chai. I wandered the grocery store struggling to figure out just what to layer and how to spice. Often I walk into the store with merely the direction I want the meal to take, not a list of foods I need to get. Sean finds this type of shopping to be infuriating and I am sure it has more to do with the backwardness of grocery store layouts than anything else. I was struck first by how delicious the rainbow chard looked. Rainbow chard in Indian food? Sure. I knew from our previous experience with the chard from the Farmers’ Market that the peppery overtone and natural salinity of the beet plant would lend itself perfectly to slow stewing. From there I simply layered the framework with other fresh vegetables.
I eagerly stepped out the automatic doors into the chilly and overcast early September air ready to settle into an evening of slow cooking and a blanket of warm spices. I diced cauliflower, chopped two onions, garlic, and a green bell pepper. I sautéed this all and added the coconut milk with a healthy smattering of spice and popped the top on to simmer for a couple of hours. Next, I sliced the chard, red onion, and mushrooms, which I then added to the skillet. Once in the skillet, I spiced the veggies and left it covered to simmer with a bit of vegetable stock.
The result, despite the wait, was well worth it. Simple, just let it cook.
