Cupcake Envy

Laura asked me to make some chocolatey-choco-chocolate cupcakes for her husband Frank's birthday today. Happy birthday Frank! And thankyou Laura for the order!

I think they turned out pretty well, don't you?



I think these were my most perfect batch yet: each cupcake came out pretty much the same size, and rose beautifully. I've had issues with some of them falling flat, while others came out mysteriously slanted. I've now realised that is due to my trusty cupcake tin getting dinged on the move from NY to LA. Damn you UPS!


I've actually never made a chocolate buttercream frosting before, and while I ended up using a simple butter-powdered sugar-melted chocolate recipe from trusty ol' Cooks Illustrated (thanks Kuv! Yup, I'm still using your login!! hahahahahaaaa!), my next adventure in chocolate frosting is probably going to involve some sour cream. Having poured over Chowhound message boards looking for the perfect recipe, and finding posting after posting about the depth of flavour sour cream adds, I'm intrigued. I can't imagine what that tang would do to the old tastebud, especially since it's already freaking out over the insanely-good chocolate I use (Mum & Dad & Crish -- don't worry, I'm totally making these for you when you come).

The LA Times wrote last week about how the cupcake craze is still in full effect here in LA.

Dammit.

Why? Well, because that means the pure joy of turning out cupcakes, that sweet slightly kitschy product of what I imagine as a gingham-apron'ed mum back in the 50s... has become somewhat of a sweat-inducing business. I look at mine, I feel happy, even a swell of pride. Then I see a photo of Sprinkles' smooth beauties -- we drove past the shop on Saturday and there was STILL a line of folks down the block, each of them just waiting to spend THREE DOLLARS for a cupcake. But, even though they look astonishingly like boobs, I can't help but like the look of them better than the look of mine. And then, and then... gasp... today, I brought a batch to the yoga studio where I was running the desk, and a woman looked at them and said, "oh look how homemade those look."

From Cashmere Papers

I shake my frosting-splattered fist at you Sprinkles!

But, as my friend Karen likes to remind me, I need to stop comparing. Just end it. Right. Now.

(Deep breath)


-x-
aarti

Aarti Cooks: The Perfect Eggs!

Once you begin to ponder the egg, it's hard to stop wondering at this happy little creation.


So pleasing to the eye: the sensual round, generous bottom, the delicate taper to a cute, nubby nose. A tiny rugby ball, it reminds me of a woman's belly in those last days before birth, so swollen, so ready to explode a new life into the world! The purity of the white ones, the warmth of the brown ones, the quaint speckles here and there reminding you that every egg, like every snowflake, like every baby in the womb, is unique.


Say it... "egg". Notice how your tongue curls in such a way as to mimic the way an egg would nestle tenderly against your palm, against the side of a carefully constructed nest, against the warm feathery belly of its mother or father. Fragile enough to smash, but strong enough to withstand a gentle squeeze that relieves even my worst anxiety.

And don't get me started on its mystery. Had we not interrupted its intended purpose, how does that egg birth a chick? What's it like for that little baby bird inside its sanctuary? Is it quiet? Is it loud? Is it dark? Is it constantly changing? I can't say it better than this chick (pun, sadly, intended):

Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg until it is broken.

-M.F.K. Fisher

Cute, huh?

And isn't the egg flexible? Once you can get over the macabre notion that we've ended a life in order to sustain our own (hang on... yup, I'm over it), the egg functions as breakfast, lunch and dinner. It's the glue that holds pastries and pasta together, the agent responsible for fluffy pancakes, muffins and cupcakes, the custard that batters french toast and deep-fried Twinkies.

Yeah, I said it. Deep-fried Twinkies.

Attention: tangent approaching. Here it comes: Isn't it funny how fried is only one letter away from friend? Think about it.

:)

Ok, back to the egg. A cheap, easy source of protein, you can eat eggs hard-boiled, soft-boiled (yum!), coddled, scrambled, over-easy, sunny-side up, poached, baked, as an omelet, a frittata... it goes on and on.

And yet, how easy it is to screw it up! I'm not sure what's worse: an over-cooked or an undercooked-egg.

By far, the most daunting option for me is the poached egg. I learned how to make them in cooking school, and it involved large pots of water, a chopstick to swirl the water at just the right pace, and a perfectly executed drop. Being a less-than-delicate cook, I messed these up a lot, and decided then and there never to make 'em again.

But, a couple of weeks ago, I HAD to make one (for a super-secret project that I'll describe as soon as I'm allowed to!), and as luck would have it, I stumbled upon a great technique that I knew I had to share with you! Eggs benedict, here you come!

It also reminded me that I had figured out a way to make the perfect sunny-side up eggs too. No more will your yolks be splattered across your pan as you flip 'em over (unless you like them that way)! No! Now you too can have picture perfect yellow circles greeting your noggin every morning!

And so, let us begin with the poaching technique since that's the one I'm most excited about.






Ok, first, grab a small skillet, fill it with water, bung a lid on it and bring the water to a boil.






Meanwhile, break you egg into a small bowl. I like this little rice bowl.

Then, when the water is boiling, add a tablespoon of white wine vinegar -- this coagulates the egg white quickly.

It doesn't add much flavour, but if you think it does, you can always dunk the cooked egg into a bowl of clean water before you eat it. Also add a sprinkle of salt. This not only flavours your egg, but brings the water temperature up a bit so that egg cooks even quicker.


Now listen up all your perfectionist Polly's. This extra step is a pain, but I like it because the egg turns out neater. I forgot to take a photo, but it's pretty simple. Ladle some of that boiling vinegary-water into your little bowl that has the egg in it. Swirl it a little and wait 20 seconds.



Then gently pour it back into the skillet. Turn the heat off, put the lid on, and let it sit for about 4 minutes for a runny yolk.







I like to drain it on a piece of bread, but you don't have to.
I also cut off the tissue-y excess, so that it would look nice in the photo, but ordinarily, I wouldn't bother. Don't want to waste any of that yumminess!
You can throw that piece of watery bread into the toaster now if you like.




Sprinkle with pepper and serve! Ain't she a beaut?!



Ok, now onto the fried, I mean, friend version, sunny-side up.


Grab your nonstick skillet again.
Warm it over low heat for about 3 minutes so its good and warm.
Break your eggs into a little bowl.
Once the pan is warm, add a pad of butter.
It should sizzle sassily as soon as it hits the pan.
Move the butter around the pan too, so it's evenly distributed. If it turns into brown butter, that's ok too. Oh, it's more than ok, who am I kidding?




Once the butter has melted, pour your eggs in.
If your stove sits on a slanting floor as mine does, your yolks will fall to the bottom of the pan like a pair of old boobs.
Season with salt and freshly ground pepper. And garam masala, if you're Brendan.




Ok, now this is a weird step, for those in search of PERFECT eggs. If you don't care that much, then you can skip it.
Grab a piece of paper towel and line the inside of the lid to your skillet, taping down the ends on the outside of the lid.
I know, it's weird, but the paper towel absorbs all the moisture that's going to accumulate in your pan, which would otherwise fall back onto your eggs resulting in... soggy eggs.
No. Thankyou.

Now, take your altered skillet lid and throw it on top of your eggs, as soon as you've poured them into your pan. Set your timer for 3 minutes (for medium eggs).

Serve, decorating with a slice of tomato to indicate your mood that day, and make your husband take absurd photos with said eggs.


Enjoy your new-found egg-cellency. (Sorry, I had to do it).


-x-
aarti

Aarti Paarti Ep. 15: Smoky Squash

Zzzzzzzzz.

Far be it from me to criticize one of God's creations, but good Lord! The zucchini is boring! Don't you agree? So bland in flavour, so blah in texture... and yet, so cheap, so ubiquitous, and honestly, really quite pretty.

Squash has hit the farmers market in my neck of the woods, and I was completely taken by all the pretty kinds you can find: the cheery, squat patty pans, the Mexican gray, the ones that look like lemons...

Perhaps one of squash's best qualities is that it cooks up so quickly. Give yourself about 15 minutes, and this dish will be done, and you'll only have to dirty one dish: your wok. You'll end up with a smoky, juicy dish that would sing alongside a roast or grilled meat, but is equally satisfying on its own.

Check it out!

More videos here!

Songs:
"Reading Rainbows" by 8bit Betty
"Smokey the Bear" by Gene Autry

Director, camera & husband extraordinaire: Brendan McNamara

Smoky Squash

Assorted squash with red bell pepper, tomato and coriander, cumin and dried mango powder

Adapted from a recipe by Neelam Batra.

You'll need:
2lbs zucchini, yellow squash, patty pan, whatever you want or can find
1 red pepper, chopped into 1" squares
1 tbsp coriander powder
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp dried mango powder (amchur)
1 tbsp minced ginger
2 medium tomatoes, chopped
Seasoned salt (to taste)

1) Top and tail the squash. If you're using zucchini, slice into 1" rounds. If you're using patty-pans, cut a cross into one end of the squash, cutting about a 1/4 of the way through.

2) Warm a little olive oil in a wok over high heat. Add squash & pepper. Stir occasionally, and cook, uncovered, until some brown spots appear all over.

3) Turn heat down to medium-high. Sprinkle spice powders, ginger and salt all over the veggies. Stir. Cover and cook 2 minutes.

4) Add tomatoes. Stir and cook, covered another 2 minutes until squash is crisp-tender.

5) Sprinkle with chopped cilantro. Taste for seasoning and serve!



-x-
aarti

"Terrible" Short Rib "Tacos"

Drum roll please! The Short Ribs Recipe is finally here!

But, a double-dose of quotation marks, you ask? Stick around homies, I'll explain.

As a rule, Bren hates beer. All through college, while others drank that awful watered-down version of the already watered-down Bud, he stuck to coffee and Arizona Iced Teas (especially the Pina Colada one, which back in the day had the little packet of coconut flakes... remember those? GENIUS!). In fact he wasn't into alcohol at all.

These days, he still picks the sweet, lady-like drinks. Inevitably, the bartender will mix our drinks up, plonking the Makers & soda down in front of him, and gently laying the the gingerbread-baileys-cream-coconut-something or other concoction with an umbrella, in front of me.

We then dutifully switch them around.

One day, (at where else, Father's Office!) Bren discovered "Terrible" by Unibroue. It was love at first... gulp. If Guiness is a meal, then Terrible is a day of manly desserts... all the mythic colour and gravitas of the legendary Irish brew, except with the bonus of prune, cherry, espresso, even chocolate notes. But this is no prissy beer. It comes in a manly bottle! All dark, with just the word "Terrible" emblazoned on it, in silver. And, at FO, it comes in an ice bucket! Ha!



If you happen upon it, give it a try. Oh and, if you have a Trader Joe's around you, keep an eye out for the Trader Joe's Ale, which is often shelved right next to the Chimay; it's made by Unibroue and is a wonderful, more affordable way to dip your toe into the Unibroue universe. Just be prepared to say goodbye to that toe!

So that's the "Terrible" part. Now for the meat.

The other day, I found boneless short ribs on sale at the supermarket. They looked marvelous -- bright red and lean, and I loved the price -- nearly $2 off! I grabbed a pack with glee, not even knowing what I was going to do with them. I realise now that this is something I had always dreamed of being able to do -- grabbing some meat or produce that looked good, with no plan of how I was going to cook it, and yet able to turn it into something that night. Isn't it nice when you realise how much you've grown?!

Anyway, on the drive back to the homestead, I remembered my glory days in New York... this is where the "taco" part comes in.

Living with two Korean women (Joo!) meant that we frequently feasted on all manner of Korean treats: bulgogi (so many fun little flavours in one bowl!), kimchi jigae (oh so spicy), and my all-time favorite, kalbi: thin strips of beef marinated overnight in a secret brew, unique to each family it seems. Everyone has their own secret weapon to tenderize this chewy cut of meat: pineapple juice, pureed pear, even Pepsi!

"Marinate 'em in Terrible!" Bren said.

I balked. "But isn't that a waste of good beer?"

"No! It'll taste awesome!"

Here's the thing. Marinades don't penetrate much deeper than a 1/4" into a chunk of meat. Marinating for long periods of time doesn't help either -- that marinade ain't goin' any deeper than a 1/4" so all you're doing is turning the outside of your precious meat into mush. Ah, but what if your pieces of meat are about 1/4" thick and in need of some tenderization? Well then an overnight sweet-ish beer-bath will do quite nicely, thank you!

I loved how this turned out: reminiscent of kalbi but with a little Aarti kick! Classic Indian flavours (ginger, garlic, fenugreek, garam masala etc.) give way to an unexpected beer twang. I made some simple white rice, laid a steaming spoonful into a fresh red oak lettuce leaf, and topped it with a piece of deliciously caramelized beef that I cooked outside on the grill. A little drizzle of either extra marinade (don't use the stuff that came in contact with the beef though. That's unsanitary. Make a little extra beforehand.) or some mango chutney and you're good to go. With grilling season upon us (yippee!), this is excellent party food!

If you don't have Terrible, or can't stand the idea of "wasting" it in a marinade when it would taste perfect flowing down your gullet, I understand! I'm sure a Guiness would work just as well. Also, I didn't pound the pieces of beef thin enough, so make sure you take the time to do it; my pieces weren't as delicate as the ones I'd had at Korean joints, and so they weren't quite as tender as I'd hoped. Alternatively, if you can't be bothered to go through all that pounding trouble (which I might forgo myself!), you can find 'em all ready to go at Korean or Asian supermarkets usually.

"Terrible" Short Rib "Tacos"
"Terrible"-marinated Boneless Beef Short Ribs

You'll need:
2lbs boneless beef short ribs, at least 1" thick
6 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
2 tbsp ginger, minced
3/4 cup Terrible (or Guinness)
2 tbsp brown sugar
3 tbsp vegetable oil
2 tbsp tomato paste
3 tbsp soy sauce
2 tsp fenugreek seeds, toasted and ground
1 tsp coriander seeds, toasted and ground
1/2 tsp ground allspice
1/4 tsp garam masala
1 tsp sweet paprika

For serving:
1 head of red oak or butter lettuce, washed and leaves separated but intact
2 cups steamed white rice
Mango chutney

1) Combine everything except beef ribs in food process, process until smooth. Taste for seasoning.

2) Prep meat. Trim excess fat and silve skin from meat, then slice each piece of rib meat into 4 pieces, cutting at an angle. Lay these pieces between two large pieces of plastic wrap, and pound away with a meat mallet or a heavy pan until they're all about 1/4" thick. I followed the instructions from Cooks Illustrated:


3) Pour some marinade into a non-reactive (glass or plastic) dish. Lay beef in the marinade in an even layer, and then pour the rest of the marinade over it. Cover tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

4) The next day, you can either cook it on the grill or under the broiler. I like the grill better. If you are using the broiler, place the meat on one of those broiler rack pans, and cook under the broiler for about 8 minutes until cooked to your liking.

5) If you're going to cook it on the grill, light your coals, and once they're covered in a layer of ash, push them to one side of your grill. Lay your grill grate over the top, and once you've cleaned it, using a pair of tongs and a paper towel, rub with some vegetable oil. Then place the meat on the grate on the side over the hot coals. Turn a few times, and cook about 7 minutes until well-browned on both sides. Move to the cooler side and continue with second batch if you have one. Remove all the meat to a platter and serve: wrap each piece of meat in a lettuce "taco" with a spoonful of rice and a drizzle of mango chutney.



-x-
aarti

Aarti Paarti Show Ep. 13: Wannabe Nobu Black Cod!

I promise that short ribs recipe is coming. I can see you drooling from here. Have some self-respect. Use a napkin. Come on!

Heehee just kidding.

In the meantime, here's some more fodder for drooling: what do Nobu, Sponge Bob and sake have in common?

They're all in my show this week!!

Have you ever had Nobu's black cod? He marinates it in miso, mirin, sake and sugar, then cooks it over high heat so that it caramelizes on top. The slight greasiness of black cod, paired with the salty-sweetness of the marinade results in, no joke, a party in your mouth.

But Nobu, bless his heart, who has opened new spots with Bobby (de Niro. You're not on a first-name basis with him? Oh.) everywhere from Dubai to Moscow, charges a pretty penny for this dish.

What bliss to realise that, despite living on unemployment checks, that party-in-the-mouth could be mine again! There IS a way to make it at home, for far fewer pretty pennies, and with the added bonus of tamarind which bumps up the tangy quotient. It was so good that even my friend Ross, who just happened to stop by, and who really doesn't like fish as a rule, found himself eating more and more of it.

Oh, and for those of you who are vegetarians, this marinade works pretty well on tofu too!

Wannabe Nobu Black Cod!
Black Cod marinated in tamarind, white miso, sake and honey

4 black cod filets (or any fleshy white fish like tilapia or perhaps even mahi mahi; OR a block of extra-firm tofu)
1/2 cup white miso paste
1/4 cup honey
1.5 tbsp tamarind concentrate
4 tbsp mirin
4 tbsp sake

1) 1-3 days prior to cooking: if you're using tofu, put it on a paper-towel lined plate, place another piece of folded over paper towel on top. then, place a plate and two heavy cans on top of the whole thing. Let it sit for 30 minutes, so that all excess water is squeezed out of the thing.

2) In a bowl, whisk together miso paste, honey, tamarind concentrate, mirin and sake. Place fish in a ziploc bag, pour marinade over the fish. Seal, squeezing all the air out and gently rub marinade into the fish. Let it sit, on a plate in the fridge overnight or up to 3 days. I normally hate the overnight marinade recipes, because it's such a pain in the bum, but in this one, it's really, truly worth it.

3) When you're ready to cook 'em: preheat oven to 400 degrees fahrenheit/200 degrees celsius.

4) Heat nonstick skillet over medium-high heat, with a little oil in it. When hot (but not smoking!), add fish. Allow to cook 2 minutes. WARNING: it will smell a little funky! But don't worry. The smell will go away, and then it will smell delicious. It just needs to get its stink on for a second.

5) Line a baking sheet with foil. Place the filets browned side-up on the baking sheet. Throw into the oven for 10 minutes, until fish is cooked through. Serve with some steamed green veggies, like chinese broccoli or bok choy.

-x-
aarti

Aarti Cooks: Baby's First Chicken Curry ("Murg Tamatar")

Curries scare the be-geezus out of me.

The curry is the backbone of Indian cooking. Ladle a spoonful into your mouth and a Bollywood musical number verily opens up before your eyes, rickshaw gas fumes flood your nostrils and the soliciting calls of street-hucksters ("hey madam! take, for 20 rupees only!") ripple through your memory's ears.

But curries are wicked hard to make. Which is why I turn into a little girl in front of the shopping-mall Santa when I think about them: "Mummy! I'm scaaaaaaaaaaaaaaared!".

Like the countless myths about India itself -- no, it isn't this magical, spiritual shangri-la where everyone does yoga, finds their third eye and lives happily ever after with each other; no, visiting an ashram doesn't mean you've experienced India; no the birthplace of Hinduism and Buddhism isn't a peaceful place where people aren't corrupt or violent or obsessively caught up in expressing superiority over others (caste system); no we aren't all born with the kama sutra ingrained in our DNA; and NO, we don't ride around on elephants all day (seriously, my acupuncturist asked me that last one) -- there are a lot of myths about curries too!

First off, there is no such thing as curry flavour or curry powder, at least not in India. "Curry powder" is a shortcut melange of spices produced mostly for/by the Western market, which I'm not saying is bad; heck I used it in my curried popcorn!

It's a quick fix, it usually tastes alright but all I'm saying is... it's not authentic. Flip through any Indian cookbook and you'll find 6-kazillion different variations of spices, all under the label "curry". In fact, "curry" just means "sauce". Curry leaves, which you'll find frequently used in South Indian cooking, do not make curry powder. There are, however, a number of spice-mixes or masalas (eg. bafaat powder, stew powder, chaat masala, chole masala) that Indian mums use frequently.

Oh which brings up another point. Masala is an Indian spice mixture, wet or dry. Marsala (with an "r") is a sweet wine. Note the difference. Tattoo it in your memory banks. Don't do it again.

Now onto the biggest secret about making a curry, one that I just figured out a few years ago.

You can have every ingredient on hand, every spice, every piece of garlic minced to the right size... but if your technique is off, your curry is a goner. It's one of those "it's all in the wrist" kind of things, a kind of intuition that (annoyingly) only comes from being under the watchful eye of a skilled mentor, and years of practice.

Mum's wrist knows all there is to know. Having cooked for one family or another from a young age, her wrist is all, "go ahead! Blindfold me! I can STILL do it!". It's not just a matter of memorizing recipes or knowing which spices sing together in both delectable harmony and yummy dissonance... it's knowing how to saute the onions just so, how to "fry" the masala until that mystical mature state, how to bloom the spices enough that they lose their bitterness but too much so they taste burned.

Basically, it's the kind of thing that no cookbook can teach you.

It's the kind of thing I should have learned from my mum. But as much as I like to rewrite history, I didn't spend a lot of time in the kitchen with mum in my formative years.

Instead, I was watching "Dallas". Truly. I love Dallas. JR EWING! GENIUS!

You're not going to be great at it, at first. But you will get better. Being a pompous butt, I thought I had the upper-hand, that somehow being born in India, having uttered my first affluvia-covered scream in Bombay, having eaten curries practically every day of my life until I was 18 -- oh, I thought that the curry would just fall together effortlessly under my hands. Oh no. So wrong.

Happily, I think I'm getting the hang of it. There's something distinctly old-school about it -- you have to be patient, attentive, alert... No, you can't check Facebook in between. You can't change your kid's diaper. You can't crack open a beer -- well ok, I take that last one back. There's always time to crack open a beer! And you'll need it! Ha!

So here's some of the techniques I've figured out. Feel free to comment with more!

ONION FRYING
This was the first thing Mum allowed me to do in the kitchen. I hated it. I thought she had given me the most mindless and boring task but I realise now that she actually entrusted the very basis of the curry to me! Well-fried onions are the foundation of most every curry.

Take your time with this part, and don't let them burn. You're looking for your onions to turn a deep dusty pink, then golden-brown (but not crispy), and smell sweet. You can make this happen by tamping them down in the center of your pot, allowing them to cook for 30 seconds or so until they get a nice crust, then re-stir and repeat. Don't undercook them -- not only will your curry taste weak and thin, the onions themselves won't dissolve, so you'll end up chewing little pieces of onion. Which isn't that great. Use red onions -- we grew up with the smaller, squat versions of the ones we get here in the States; I find them slightly sweeter and more assertively onion-y than the white or yellow ones. If that's all you have, no big deal.

BLOOMING SPICE POWDERS
You won't find this step in this recipe, but you'll find it in others. Spice powders need to bloom in oil, releasing their flavours and cooking out their "raw" flavour. I also find that blooming the spices gets rid of that silty-powdery texture too. But maybe that's in my head. :) Blooming is just a fancy term which means that you will stiry-fry the spices (added to your sauteed onions, or just to the oil itself) for about 30 seconds, until you can really smell their bouquet. Don't fry them too long, or else they'll burn and your curry's done for. You'll often find that a recipe will often tell you to add tomatoes after you've cooked the spices -- that cools the whole thing down so the spices don't burn. If you're worried about burning them, you can do what my mum advised: add the tomatoes first, let them get a little mushy, and then add your spices. They're less likely to burn that way.

FRYING THE MASALA
This is the trickiest step, yet another point where your curry can either soar, or sink!

Some curry recipes will require you make a wet masala; throw some onions, green chilies, tamarind, tomatoes or what have you, in a blender or food processor, and hold that button until it's smooth. Or you can kick it old-school, like my aunt still does in Mangalore and use a masala stone:


It's a great workout! But no fun!

It'll be a bit watery in the blender, but once it hits the warm pan (medium heat), the water will evaporate, the masala will tighten up, deepen in colour, and it'll start to smell like an Indian kitchen in your house! You'll want to keep cooking and tossing it until you see tiny droplets of oil forming on the surface of the masala. It'll move around the pan more fluidly too, and when you do move it around, you'll see a thin trail of oil, kind of like that silvery stuff snails leave on the ground. That's the best way I can describe it. Mum -- have any suggestions on this step? I'm still learning this one.

After this point, you're home free.

This week, I decided to tackle the ol' curry. I'd made a few before, and each one is getting a little bit closer to my mum's style -- so I'm encouraged. This one is what I'm calling Baby's First Curry! It's relatively easy, as long as you have a good blender or mini food processor. Let me know if you try it.

Baby's First Chicken Curry Tomato-Poppy Seed Chicken Curry

1.5lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs (breasts will dry out)
1 1/4 cup finely chopped red onion
2 bay leaves
5 cloves garlic
4 chiles de arbol
1/2" ginger
1/4 tsp turmeric
1/2 tsp paprika
1 tsp honey
14.5 oz can whole tomatoes
1 tbsp white poppy seeds (you can find 'em at the Indian shoppe), blended in 1/4 cup milk
(OR, bypass the poppy seeds & milk, use 2 tbsp yogurt)

1) Heat 1 tbsp vegetable oil in a large deep pot over medium heat. Add onions and bay leaves. Saute until pinkish-golden brown.

2) Meanwhile, in a blender or food processor, whiz together garlic, chiles, ginger, turmeric and paprika with a little water until as smooth as possible.

3) Once onions are cooked, add the masala from the blender. Cook, stirring often until deepened in colour, and oil droplets appear on the surface of the masala.

4) Add honey and chicken, coating the meat with the masala. Cook, stirring often, about 5 minutes until masala sticks to the chicken.

5) Pull tomatoes out of the can and squish into the pot, crushing them with your hands. You should have about 4 or 5 tomatoes in that can. Add a splash of tomato juice too. Stir, bring to a simmer, semi-cover and cook about 20 minutes until chicken is tender and gravy has thickened. Turn heat down, add either poppy seed-milk mixture or yogurt and stir gently. Taste for seasonings. Garnish with fresh chopped cilantro and serve over rice.





-x-
aarti

Aarti Cooks: Let My People Go Lamb!

I am grateful for all the delicious food God has provided mankind, but I don't think I am ever more grateful than at this time of year, when we celebrate Easter with... LAMB!

Oh man. Lamb! LAMB! Just the thought of it makes my mouth water. I'm sure that for vegetarians and vegans, lamb must be one of the hardest meats to stomach, second only to veal. I won't deny it. When you see a cute little baa-lamb, as my friend Emma Glynn used to call them, with their adorable little faces and delicate springy limbs and pristine white fleeces… oh! How hard it is to imagine what’s next!

When I imagine preparing an Easter feast, I build the menu around lamb, don’t you? And it occurred to me that it’s not just because it’s delicious, or because it’s traditionally a spring delicacy. For me, it’s also because lamb is a powerful symbol of what Easter (and Passover) commemorates.

In the Old Testament, the lowly lamb won the Jewish people their freedom. God promised to deliver the children of Israel from slavery to the Egyptians. They were told to slaughter a lamb, and mark their doorways with its blood so that the Angel of death would “pass over” their homes. In the morning, the first-born boy of every Egyptian family was found dead, and God’s message to the Pharoah, “Let my people go!” was finally heeded.







In the New Testament, Jesus becomes that lamb, whose whiter-than-white fleece is the key that unlocks our slavery to the earthly bullsh*t we endure everyday (I mean, the earthly “fiddle-faddle”): money, ego, greed, hatred, pride, war, self-sufficiency, self-worship.

None of us have a white fleece. Mine is stained beyond stained. Can you imagine going to see someone of God’s stature with a stained coat? Heck no! But because Jesus died for us, because His blood is metaphorically over our doorways, it’s as if the angel of death passes over us all, and washes our collective fleeces clean. Now we can all go hang out in God’s court, learn from Him, live fulfilling lives that force us to look not within our selves for enlightenment, but to look up (love God) and look out (love your friends and enemies). Now, the God-shaped hole in our hearts, which we usually fill with stuff -- money, sex, accomplishments, acclaim etc -- has been filled.





Interestingly, Jesus went on to inspire some of the greatest freedom fighters in history: William Wilberforce, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Mandela…

Jesus’ death is brutal, I know. In all honesty, I struggle with having such a bloody act at the crux of my faith. But I am trying to come to peace with it. It’s kinda like looking at that perfect lamb I mentioned at the beginning, and then imagining its impending death. It hurts. It doesn't seem fair. Knowing that Christ rose again is the only thing that makes it better. And for some reason, this Easter, I have wept every time I hear the Passion (the story of Jesus’ last days). I can’t stand it!





So yeah, I can’t look at lamb the same way this year. But being the fat kid that I am, it doesn’t mean I didn’t relish making a small plate of it yesterday! Yum yum! Bren grew up with lamb and mint jelly, but my mum fed us lamb roasted in a sweet, tangy tomato marinade. Mum’s secret ingredient was ketchup, which makes total sense: it’s a masterful mix of molasses and vinegar (in addition to tomatoes), the basis of most barbecue sauces. This week, I tried to re-create the lamb of my childhood without the ketchup and, yippee-kazoo! I think I came darned close. It was so good, that this was what is left of it:


All gone! The marinade results in a tangy, sweet, gorgeously greasy and sticky lamb chop. This might be my favorite recipe so far. It’s on par with the Giddy-Up Steak people. Seriously. It’s that good. Try it.

I served it with some simple sides: a minty fresh fava bean mash, some garlicky fingerling potatoes. If you want to know how to make those, let me know!

Live on in freedom people! He is risen indeed!


"Let My People Go" Lamb Chops!
Tangy Sweet Roasted Lamb Chops in tomato, coriander, fennel and brown sugar

You'll need this stuff:


3/4 tsp coriander seeds
3/4 tsp fennel seeds
5 lamb loin chops
2 tbsp low-fat plain yogurt
1 1/2 tbsp tomato paste
1 1/2 tsp ginger, grated on a microplane
1 1/2 tsp minced garlic
1/4 tsp Sriracha hot sauce (or as much hot sauce as you like. I like it mild, so you may want more)
1 tsp brown sugar
3/4 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp apple cider vinegar
2 tsp vegetable/canola oil

1) Toast coriander and fennel seeds in small pan over a medium flame, shaking every 30 seconds, so they don't burn. Once they're giving off a lovely aroma, and have turned a darker tone, remove from the hot pan, and cool completely on a plate. Then throw them into your spice/coffee grinder or your mortar & pestle. Grind to a fine powder.

2) Mix spices with yogurt, tomato paste, ginger, garlic, Sriracha, brown sugar, salt, a healthy few grinds of freshly ground black pepper, apple cider vinegar and oil. Taste and season according to your palate.

3) Cover each chop with the marinade, rubbing into meat and fat. Cover and marinate a few hours or overnight.

4) The next day, preheat your oven to 475 degrees fahrenheit/240 degrees celsius. (I warmed mine to 500 degrees because it's a cold oven). Place your chops, with marinade in a baking dish. Don't let them touch and leave a little room between each chop. Drizzle a little oil over each one.


5) Bake in the middle of the oven for 20 minutes, until lightly browned. Turn the oven down to 350 degrees fahrenheit/180 degrees fahrenheit. Bake for another 5-10 minutes until lamb is cooked to your liking. Sprinkle with a little fresh mint of you have it. Eat, enjoy and give thanks for sweet, sweet lamb!


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aarti

Aarti Cooks: New Love, Old Love Fish

Green garlic. The name alone is onamatopeic, isn't it? You have to say it slowly, savoring every syllable, the long "eeeee", the long "aaaaaah" ending in a playful "lick", a lazy, warm, gently spicy companion to the gorgeous days and delightful spring vegetables at the market. This is a garlic only spring could bring, with its delicate, lapping sunshine, the cool breezes and the youthful, almost naive promise that everything's going to be alright because winter is over.

I'm in love! Can you tell? Green garlic is what happens when you pluck garlic out of the ground before it forms a bulb. It looks very much like a scallion, except that the white bulb looks like it's been splattered with purple paint. You can find them at the farmers market. I also found it at the Persian/Jewish store, Elat Market.


So why do I love green garlic? Well, I love garlic. But this is a milder, sweeter, greener version of its older brother, which is often marked by that distinctive sharp spicyness. It doesn't make your hands stink for days. It probably can't stand up in a curry, but sauteed with some delicate fresh peas, it's bliss. And, unlike regular garlic, you can't use too much of it! I literally put about 1/2 cup of green garlic in a gratin last week, and once I tasted it, I realised I still could have used more.

I'll tell you what I have not been in love with in the past: fish!

Every Friday, like the good Catholic family that we were, we had fish. Dad would go to the outdoor fish market in Dubai, where fishmongers displayed every fish and shellfish imagineable, fish that just been plucked out of the Indian ocean or the Arabian Gulf. After you'd bought your fish, you could get it cleaned, de-veined, de-scaled, de-whatever you like, for just a few fils more.

From someone's Picasa page.

I dreaded Fridays. It was our day off, when you would normally look forward to eating your most favorite thing. Alas, we had fish, in a yellow curry my Nanny would make with green mangos. I hated the texture, the flavour, the way it looked and smelled...

But for some reason, as I got older, I started to love fish. I couldn't tell you when or why. Maybe it was sushi that did it. Whatever it was, I am now hooked. In fact, thinking back on Nanny's curry right now is making both my eyes and my mouth water. What is it about "maturing" tastebuds? I hate that phenomenon! I hate thinking about all those wasted years not enjoying fish! (Imagine me shaking my fists at the heavens here). Bren used to hate mushrooms. Now he loves them. What? WHY?! Isn't that so weird?

Anyway, today's recipe is a combination of an old love and a new love: whole fish and green garlic.

If you can't get your hands on a whole fish, or you don't want one, I think this would work with fillets too. This is a very flexible recipe, so you don't even have to use the same kind of fish I used, which was Branzino. Just make sure your fish is fresh: clear, glassy eyes (not opaque, smoky ones), red gills, and a lack of odour. If it smells fishy, then something is, um, fishy about it. So don't buy it. It should smell like the ocean. Go ahead and get a 2lb fish though, even if you're not going to eat it all for dinner. It's easier to flavour the fish when there's more flesh to play with.

Since we're on that topic, I wonder whether one of the reasons I didn't like fish was that, of all the animal proteins available, it is the only one you buy in its original form. You can see its face, its tail, its insides. Today, when I was massaging oil and salt into its skin, I found myself whispering to the fish under my breath: "thankyou sweet fishy for giving up your life for me."

I know, it's silly. The fish didn't give up its life, so much as it was taken from him. But there's something very intimate about rubbing salt and marinade into a fish's inner cavity, slicing into its body, rubbing salt into those new wounds... all while its glassy eye stares up at you.


It's enough to make this carnivorous zealot pause for a second. Would my passion for beef be any different if I had to buy a whole cow at the store, peer into its gorgeous dark eyes and then skin it, slice it and bbq it?

Probably not now I think about it. Beef trumps fish any day of the week, hahahahahaahaha!

Anyway, back to the recipe. If you don't have green garlic, go ahead and use a couple of cloves of its older brother, the regular kind. And hey, if you happen to have a bulb of fennel in the fridge, or a few potatoes lying around, throw those in the bottom of the roasting pan too. This is a flexible recipe. This was also a great opportunity to finally use the wonderful gift Sara and Alex got me! Thanks again you guys! I love this thing!

This recipe makes a ton of marinade. I've been using the rest of in a ton of ways; diluted with a little oil and vinegar, it makes a stellar dressing. You can also toss it on freshly steamed vegetables, or grilled meat.

So without further ado:

New Love, Old Love Fish
Roasted whole fish, with green garlic and tamarind, with roasted vegetables.

You'll need this stuff:


1 2lb whole fish, such as branzino, scaled and gutted
1/2 cup green garlic, white and tender green stems, chopped roughly
1 spring onion, white and green parts, chopped
3/4 cup cilantro, chopped roughly
1tsp tamarind concentrate
1/8 cup grapeseed or canola oil
1 large onion, peeled and sliced into 1/4" rounds
2 large carrots, peeled and sliced into 1/2" rounds
Salt and pepper
Wedges of lime, to finish

1) Preheat oven to 425 degrees fahrenheit/220 degrees celsius

2) Wash your fish and dry with paper towels. Make sure all the scales have been removed. Slice 5 3" into each flank (side) of the fish. Don't slice all the way down to the bone. Stop just before it. Rub oil and and a sprinkle of salt all over the fish.

2) Grab your food processor. Throw in green garlic, spring onion, cilantro, tamarind paste, oil, salt and pepper. Process until it's a smooth-ish paste. Taste and adjust seasoning to your liking.

3) Rub the marinade into the slices you made in the fish's body. Rub a little over the skin too. You'll have a ton of marinade left. No worries. Allow to marinate for 30 minutes.

4) Meanwhile, throw onions and carrots in a roasting pan big enough for your fish. Toss with a little oil, salt, pepper and a dollop of the green garlic marinade. Throw into the oven for 30 minutes, until starting to brown around the edges.

5) Pull pan out of the oven. Turn it up to 450 degrees f/230 degrees c. Stir veggies, and shape into a narrow enough bed, in which to lay the fish, belly-side down. Prop the tail on the edge of the roasting pan, or make a small bowl out of aluminium foil and rest the tail on it. It should look as if the fish is about to swim through your kitchen! If you like the skin crispy, turn your oven up to 500 degrees f/240 degrees c, remove the veggies from the pan so that they don't burn and put the fish back in the oven for 10 minutes.

6) Roast it for another 30 minutes, until the flesh is flaky and cooked. Pull fillets off the bone and serve over a mound of veggies. Smear a little leftover marinade on the fish's skin, and finish with a squeeze of lime. Serve immediately!



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aarti

Aarti Cooks: Unemployment Stew

Unemployment checks have kept us afloat (with a little, ok a LOT of help from savings and odd jobs) for a long time. This week though, panic set in. The last unemployment check arrived. Now what?

I can't say that I've come up with answers beyond the typical, GET A JOB! And the Indian part of me is even ashamed to talk about this. Not having worked for so long goes contrary to our culture, to our very DNA, to the very direction my blood flows! We are a country of ridiculously hard workers (at least the people in my family are). My dad comes from a family of farmers, dragging their butts out of bed at the crack o' dawn so that they could then drag their feet through rice paddy after water-logged rice paddy to harvest rice, monkey-climb up tall coconut trees for a nariyal (coconut) or two, come in for a breakfast of curry and rice (ew, I can't imagine eating fish curry for breakfast!), and then out again to go to school or other chores.

Dad (on the left) being gangsta

Mum barely saw her dad while she was growing up because he had taken a better-paying job in Doha, far from the love of his life, my gran, and his other loves, the children. My gran died early, before he could make enough to come back permanently and live the life he always wanted with her. To this day, I believe he died of a broken heart more than anything else.

Me & Grandpa

And then... there's me. I got a job two weeks before graduation, at my dream company, CNN. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. How could I have gotten my dream job already? I worked HARD there, putting in 15-hour days. And yet, ever since I moved to LA, I have not kept a steady job. I've had lots of work, yes (thankyou Lord!), and actually, it's been much more rewarding than staying at the same job for 5 years. I've freelanced at CNN, covering the economy, immigration, wildfires and entertainment. I've produced documentaries about illegal street racing and the genocide in Darfur. I've quit news altogether and worked for one of the best chefs ever. And while it has been exciting, my poor sweet friends and husband must have gotten bored of me whining the same refrain every month or so: "What am I supposed to be doing with my life?". I've asked God the same question with tears running down my face. I made a vision board but I had no vision. It was mostly empty save for a photo of a house and a photo of a kid with the word "mother" next to it. I've never known what to do.

Anyway, that's a long preamble, huh? I'm just trying to say that I used to think that I'd wasted a lot of time not working. But somehow, I think God needed me to hibernate or something. Every time I applied for a job, it was as if the application disappeared into the ether; I never heard back. Once I applied for a job that I was 99.99% sure I was going to get -- everyone around me thought I was going to get it too. But I didn't. I was heartbroken, but I realise now that, had I gotten that job, I would have died inside. And there's no way I would be where I am today, which is on the precipice FINALLY of figuring out what to do with my life and with the talents God gave me: I want to cook on TV.

Oof! I said it! That was really scary!

Anyway, what does that have to do with unemployment? Well, Bren and I being out of work has been one of the biggest blessings ever. It freed his creative mind up, and motivated him to work as hard for himself as he had been working for a company he didn't believe in. He is incredibly productive, as you all know (take a look at his YouTube page -- this man puts at least two things up everyday!). Having him at home, with his constant example and encouragement, inspired me. And now I'm shooting my own cooking show... all on the money that Bren paid into unemployment all those unhappy months. I strongly believe that God has been working some fishes and loaves magic on that unemployment check too -- we've had to cut expenses, yes, but we've been blessedly comfortable.

And yet, despite all of that divine provision... I have been losing sleep this week trying to figure out what's next! I am trying to have faith, to remember Jesus' comforting words from Matthew (Chapter 6):

"You cannot serve God and mammon. Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? ²⁶ Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? ²⁷ Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?"

I go back and forth, between being buoyed and being worried. I know it'll all be alright, and as my sweet director on the Darfur film always says, "Hey, I'm not living in an IDP camp!". God has led us through some unebeliveable stuff in the past few months. This is nothing.

Anyway, all of this has been running through my mind this past week, when I came up with this stew. Chorizo and I are long-lost lovers (insert phallic joke here) but I was always a little uncomfortable with chorizo's traditional components, which mirror your worst sausage nightmares. Enter: vegetarian chorizo!! I first found it at Trader Joe's, and used it in my Lucia-Lucica Fried Rice. But I worried that you poor souls who don't have a TJ's near you would lose out. Then, I found it at the regular supermarket, in the refrigerated section next to the regular chorizo! Hallelujah! Not only is it MUCH LESS fatty than it's meatier cousin, it's free of gruesome body parts, and to top it all off, it's cheaper!

And that's the thing about this stew: bizarrely cheap, it tastes extravagantly rich. That's because it uses just a few cheap ingredients: vegetarian chorizo, dried beans, a fennel bulb, a small butternut squash and some veggie stock. Even on an unemployment check, you can eat like a king.

And so, I can say without even a smidgen of sarcasm on my face that the Lord has blessed us with unemployment! Whoopee! Not only has this time encouraged both of us to lean on His arm even heavier than we were before, it has pushed us both out of our coccoons, emerging as pretty, pretty butterflies (Bren is black, red and gold I suspect. I am red with sparkles!). In addition to doing whatever we can to live to punch some of God's light into this darkness, we are both doing what we want to be doing career-wise, until someone pays us to do it. God is good. And so is this stew.

Unemployment Stew Vegetarian Chorizo Stew with Fennel, Butternut Squash and Pinto Beans

You'll need:
1 cup dried pinto beans
1 pkg vegetarian chorizo, casing removed
1 big bulb, fennel, chopped small-ish
1/2 medium onion, chopped small-ish
2 tbsp chopped ginger
2 medium tomatoes
1/2 cup white wine or pernod/ouzo
6 cups vegetable stock
1 cup butternut squash, chopped into bite-size pieces
1 sprig mint leaves (optional)
1 lime, cut into wedges to serve

1) Wash and sort pinto beans, soak in water overnight.

2) The next day, in a big soup pot, over medium heat, saute the crumbled chorizo, until it darkens in colour a little, about 7 minutes. Some of the spices should stain the bottom of your pot. Don't worry if some sticks to the bottom. That'll flavour your soup, and we'll get that off later. Remove chorizo from pot.

3) Add about 1 tbsp olive oil, then add fennel, onion and ginger. Saute until softened, about 10 minutes.

4) Add tomatoes, cook until mushy.

5) Add wine, scraping up browned bits. Cook until it has almost fully evaporated.

6) Add stock and drained beans. Bring to a boil, and then turn down to a simmer. Cook, covered, and stirring occasionally for 35-40 minutes.

7) Add butternut squash, and cook, covered, for another 20 minutes, or until both the butternut squash and the beans are cooked through.

8) Add chorizo, and cook until warmed through. Add chopped mint. Serve with wedge of lime in each bowl. A dollop of yogurt is good too, especially if you find it spicy (although the vegetarian version of chorizo is usually milder).


-x-
aarti

Aarti Cooks: Hair of the Dog Hash

Ouch. My head hurts. But everytime it throbs, I smile remembering the source of my pain.

Having married into an Irish-American family, St. Patrick's day has taken on an entirely different meaning for me. I barely noticed it when I was growing up in Dubai, except when the Irish boy in my class, Jonathan Ryan, poked a daffodil through his lapel. Oh-ho, have times changed now that I've come to America!

Now, as a Sequeira married to a McNamara, I celebrate the famed serpent-banisher's day in a wholly secular fashion at O'Briens, an Irish-owned pub in Santa Monica. The tradition was started by Bren's Uncle Dan, to whom this day is akin to Christmas.

Uncle Dan, pondering the real cause of the potato famine.

Uncle Dan will get to O'Briens at about 7am, have an Irish breakfast (REAL bacon! sigh!), washed down by a few Irish coffees, before we get there at around 10am, have an Irish breakfast and wash it down with, oh I don't know, 6 or 7 irish coffees. As the supping transitions to Guiness and Harp, we relax into the massive booth, cheering every new wave of friends that comes to visit and covering our ears when the bagpiper inevitably starts up. We might have some lunch around 2pm and eventually, when the clock strikes 4, we'll drag our numb bums out of the booth, wave tata to the lovely staff, and venture out into the (too bright by then) sunshine, sharing our giddy Guiness giggles with everyone we meet.

It's a day of laughter and carousing and family. It's great.

This year, we were "victims" of the economy; no O'Briens for Dan. Nor for us. Dan was devastated. The St. Patrick's Grinch seemed to have succeeded.

But then, Bren and I had the same idea. Why not try to do the same thing at our place? We called Dan who enthusiastically rode to the rescue, a Santa of sorts, loaded up with an assortment of Irish whiskeys, TWO corned beef briskets, and more carrots and potatoes than should be legal. I followed Elise's example over at SimplyRecipes, boiling one brisket the traditional way (with Dan's direction: lots of potatoes and carrots, substituting a couple bottles of Guiness for the water), while roasting the other in the oven with honey-mustard and brown sugar.

I have to say that I liked the beefy flavour of the roasted version, but I also liked that the boiled version was less salty. Next year, I think I might boil it for an hour, and then roast in the oven for an hour. You can see the difference in texture here too; the meat on the left is boiled, on the right is roasted.


I also made some of that awesome onion-date compote, and we set up a station so that people could fix themselves an Irish coffees whenever they chose.

We had such a blast! What a fantastic day!


We had just the right number of fantastic people come over and lounge on our couch, drinking in the ocean breeze and the sparkling sunshine, and swaying ever so slightly to the endless mix of Pogues, Van Morisson and the Chieftans blasting out the stereo.

Doesn't Bren look oh-so Irish in this photo?


Today, we are both hurting, Bren more so than myself. And with the remainder of the corned beef taking up precious room in our fridge, I decided to make my all-time favorite breakfast dish of all: corned beef hash.

Uh-oh. I feel a spot of Corned Beef trivia coming on. Can't. Stop. For. Give. Me....

Did you know that corned beef is not a traditional Irish dish? When the Irish came to New York City many moons ago, they were looking for a substitute for the pricey bacon joint of the old country. Whaddya know, they stumbled upon the brisket cut of their Jewish neighbours, which had that same hardy, meaty texture. And, bob's your uncle, corned beef was born. Mooooo.

And did you know that the "corned" part refers to the salting process used to preserve meat back in the day? Meat was thrown into a barrel with kernals of rock salt ("corns"), so that it could travel on long journeys without refrigeration! These days, we mirror that process by soaking the brisket in brine for a day or so.

Phew! Glad I got that out of my system!

This version of corned beef hash is a little different from the traditional, a reflection of the two flags figuratively flying over our lowly apartment: Ireland and India. In addition to the traditional corned beef and potatoes (I used the same ones I cooked the boiled brisket with), I added some roasted red peppers for sweetness, some fresh ginger, garam masala and coriander. I also snuck in a splash of whiskey to try the ol' "hair of the dog" treatment. I am therefore dubbing it the McSequeira Hair of the Dog Hash (my last name is Sequeira and Bren's is McNamara, for those of you who don't know me yet).

Oh also, there's no cabbage. I don't like cabbage and nor does Bren. If you like it, add it. If you don't, then we're better friends that I thought. Ha!

I love hash 'n' eggs, so I carved four holes in the top of the hash, and poured an egg into each, allowing the residual heat of the hash to cook the eggs through. We just polished off half of it and while my head still throbs a little, my tummy is very very happy. And there's still another half for dinner!

If you have any leftovers, or if you're planning on making some corned beef this weekend, give it a go. Slainte!


McSequeira Hair of the Dog Hash
(Corned Beef Hash with Ginger, Irish whiskey and garam masala)

You'll need this stuff:


1 onion, diced
2 tbsp ginger, chopped small but not minced too finely
2 roasted red peppers, chopped
1/2 tsp ground coriander (or you can use the whole kind if you like a stronger coriander flavour. Soak them for about 10 minutes in water though to soften 'em)
1/4 tsp garam masala
1/2 tsp thyme
2 generous cups potatoes and carrots (cooked) from previous day's boiled beef
(Alternatively: peel and dice potatoes and carrots into 1/4" pieces, cook in boiling water for about 2 mins or until tender. Drain and set aside)
2 cups corned beef, chopped into 1/4" pieces
Splash Irish whiskey
Splash of half and half (or cream; optional)
4 eggs
Salt & pepper
Small handful chopped fresh parsley or cilantro

1) Heat a couple of tablespoons of canola oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Once shimmering, add the onion and ginger. Saute until lightly browned, dark brown around the edges and sweet smelling, about 10 minutes.

2) Add garam masala, coriander, thyme and roasted red peppers. Saute 2 minutes.


3) Add potatoes and carrots, flattening slightly with your spatula. Once warmed through and sizzling, add the corned beef. Pour in whiskey and (if you like) half and half. Turn heat up to medium-high, weigh down with a plate and something heavy. Allow to cook and crisp on one side for 5-7 minutes.




4) Remove weights, toss the hash so browned bits are on top. Add a touch more oil if it's sticking too much. Flatten again with your spatula, weigh down and allow to crisp up, 7-10 minutes.

5) Remove weights, carve 4 small holes in the hash with a spoon (not all the way down to the pan). Taste and season with salt and pepper. Pour an egg into each hole. Turn the heat off, and cover, allowing the eggs to cook for another 10 minutes or so. Sprinkle with chopped parsley or cilantro and serve!




Enjoy it!




-x-
aarti