Tag Archives: onions

Goan Chicken Curry

This lovely number is from one of my first cookbooks, garnered from that sale table at Borders so many years ago: the ‘Best-Ever Curry Cookbook’ by Mridula Baljekar.

The region of Goa is known for its coconut, and since I don’t think most people associate coconut flavors with Indian cooking (I certainly didn’t), I think this will come as a delightful surprise.

Unless you’re a rebellious coconut hater.

And unless you’re against dishes that look like a pile of schmushy brown sludge.

But tasty does not always equal photogenic–right?

Ingredients

(Serves 5)

1 ½ cups desiccated (dry, unsweetened, shredded) coconut
3 TBS water
2 TBS vegetable oil
½ tsp cumin seeds
8 black peppercorns
1 TBS fennel seeds
1 TBS coriander seeds
2 large onions
½ tsp salt (more to taste)
2 ½ lbs chicken thighs, or 8 small chicken pieces
Fresh cilantro
2 lemons, to serve

Soak the coconut in the 3 tablespoons of water for 15 minutes.

And by ‘soak’ I mean . . . well, more like ‘moisten.’ But I was trying to avoid that word. But then I went and said it anyway. Oh well.

Chop up the onion nice and fine:

Heat 1 TBS oil in a large pot or wok and fry the cumin seeds, peppercorns, fennel, and coriander seeds over low heat for 3-4 minutes (until they start spluttering).

The smells during these few minutes are to die for. “Hmmm, what smells like pizza?” my husband inquired happily, wandering into the kitchen. It’s those fennel seeds. They do it every time. One sausage pizza, not coming up.

Since I didn’t have coriander or cumin seeds (just the powdered kind) I added them along with the onion so as not to burn them.

Add the onions to the spices.

You’ll notice that at this point, the sun was slanting through our solitary, grated kitchen window. We only get about 10 minutes of natural light in there per day, and the light just so happened to invade right when I was trying to photograph the curry. That’s why these shots are a little whacko. Whacko exposure, whacko shadows, whacko whacko whacko.

But back to the curry! Which is not at all whacko.

Fry the onions for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they’re softened and become opaque.

Add the moistened coconut and salt, and keep frying for about 5 minutes, stirring.

I love coconut in all forms, but especially in a good curry.

And now! Put the entire onion/coconut mixture in a food processor and process until it forms a rough paste.

Why oh why didn’t I just get out my food processor from Aunt Jacquie? It was a battle extraordinaire to get the onions and coconut to finally resemble this:

I had to take a small break to cool down at this point, because I had worked up a mighty, mighty sweat.

All because I’m afraid of that ginormous food processor from the past. My cousin’s wife even cleansed it of all the dead insects and spiders–so why the fear? Why indeed. Is it so wrong to want a smaller, more modern food processor when I have this large and free one? I will be debating this internally, writhing in guilt, for at least the next few months, at which point I will give an updated status report.

Anyway, set the paste aside.

Cut the chicken thighs into bite-sized pieces (on the larger side).

You can also use big ole chicken pieces (such as drumsticks) after removing the skin, and leave them whole–that’s what the original recipe demands. But this time, I just wanted something I could scoop up with a spoon and ferry straight into my mouth. Either way, it’s great.

Heat the rest of the oil in the pot, and fry the chicken for 6-7 minutes.

Add the coconut paste (and note how the sunlight is quickly disappearing off to the side) . . .

. . . and cook over low heat for 30-40 minutes, until the coconut paste is a golden brown and the chicken is tender and cooked through, stirring occasionally to avoid burning at the bottom of the pot.

After about 15 minutes it still looked pretty pale . . .

. . . but as I stirred up the brown bits and gave it some time, after about 40 minutes it looked like this:

Mucho better-o. Time to taste, re-season, and stir in some cilantro.

The sauce is so flavorful, it blew my mind. Even though I had made it once before.

Also time to cook up some naan.

At this point my husband grabbed the camera from my hands.

Urgh–why do my knees look so . . . knobbly? Deformed?

Then again, let’s not dwell on that question for too long. They function and allow me to bend and walk and move around and such, so I’m grateful just to have ’em in there, cooperating with the cartilage and knee cap and tendons, doing their job day after day. Thank you, Oh Knobbly Ones.

Taste the curry and re-season if necessary . . . and serve it over rice!

Garnish with cilantro and freshly squeezed lemon juice–the lemon juice adds the perfect note.

Very tasty guys, very tasty. And different than anything else I’ve eaten.

I served it over that Golden Basmati Rice. Though it does it look kind of like . . .

. . . never mind. I won’t mention it.

Okay, I’ll mention it. Cat food!

I changed my mind. Erase that from your memory.

It’s great–make it!

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Tomato Mascarpone Pasta

I can’t count the times that I’ve heard my mom use the phrase “In my humble but correct opinion . . .” When I was young, I thought it was just one of her mom-isms, like her habit of waking us up in the mornings with an annoyingly happy song and a dose of joy that our sleep-encrusted selves were simply not ready for. Or her habit of encouraging our problem solving skills by chirping ‘Figure it out yourself!’ in that maddeningly cheerful voice that made you want to shoot a small rabbit. But as an adult, I have connected some psychological dots, and that phrase “In my humble but correct opinion” does a lot to explain a whole family-treeful of people.

See, the women on that side of the family, well–they like to be right. A lot. Especially a certain member of the family whose name stars with a ‘J-‘ and ends with an ‘-essica.’ It doesn’t help matters that she actually is right most of the time, dagnabbit.

I’ve been hitting myself over the head for years with the Mallet of Truth, trying to drive into my puny little brain the following: being right isn’t the most important thing in life! And I think I’m actually making some progress. However, as soon as I sat down to type up this recipe, my mom’s old phrase started emerging from the battleground of my own psyche. Since I haven’t even had my first coffee of the morning, I will make no attempt to resist it at this time. So here goes:

In my humble but correct opinion, Kayotic Kitchen is one of the best food blogs out there. This Dutch cooking whirlwind of a woman creates recipes that have both innovative flavor combinations and that comforting quality about them. And did I mention her stellar photography? Basically, I would dig into anything that Kay cooked up with more relish than I care to expound on (I think I’ve already done enough expounding for one morning). Kay is responsible for inspiring this African stew as well as this amazing Tomato Mozzarella tart. So if you at all have a thing for food blogs, it is your bounden duty as a human being to go look at her blog.

Okay! *stepping off podium* Enough jabbering! Let’s get to the cooking. This little pasta number is a simple dish, with just the right amount of creaminess, herbs, and rich tomatoey-ness. With my twist (red wine and more garlic!), here we go!

Ingredients

(Serves 5)

1 lb spaghetti
1 TBS olive oil
1 onion
5 garlic cloves
1-28 oz can diced tomatoes
5 oz mascarpone
2 tsp Italian seasoning
Salt and pepper, to taste
1/3 cup red wine
Parmesan curls, to serve
Handful fresh basil

Oops! Forgot the wine.

I love the price on that Yellow Tail brand.

Dice the onion finely . . .

. . . and mince the garlic.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Add the onion and cook for 5-6 minutes, until softened.

Season the onion with salt and pepper, then add the minced garlic and cook for 1-2 more minutes, stirring to make sure the garlic doesn’t burn.

Pour in the diced tomatoes (please make sure to splash yourself thoroughly with tomato juice during this step–I hear red polka dots are the New Black) . . .

. . . and add the Italian seasoning.

Give it a nice stir.

Bring the sauce to a boil, then partially cover the pan (leaving a small opening on one side between the pan and the lid) and cook the sauce over medium low heat for 20 minutes.

Add the red wine . . .

. . . and cook for 10 more minutes, with the pan still mostly covered.

Cook the pasta in salted water until al dente.

While the pasta and sauce are a-cookin’, it’s prime time to finely slice or mince the basil . . .

. . . and shave some Parmesan. I just use a vegetable peeler to get those nice thin slices:

And don’t stop until you have a goodly pile of shavings–I never heard anyone crying ’cause there was too much Parmesan.

Except for Luke. He’s my dear cousin. He’s lactose intolerant. Who knows–a large mountain of Parmesan might indeed bring a tear to his eye.

Stir the mascarpone into the finished tomato sauce.

Ignore the pool of grease that’s quickly becoming apparent. The way I figure it, the faster you stir it in, the faster the evidence will disappear.

Taste and adjust the seasoning.

It’s better to overseason it a little since it’s going to be flavoring a whole whoppin’ pound of pasta.

I also wondered to myself if the sauce would need a pinch of sugar to counteract the acidity of the tomatoes–but it did not. In my humble but correct opinion, that is.

Stir the pasta into the sauce along with the basil.

Tongs are useful at this juncture, in my humbl . . . *hitting self repeatedly*

Top it with Parmesan shavings to serve.

Please forgive the wacky color balance of these pictures and just focus on how good a bite of this would taste. Does taste. Has tasted.

And while we’re on the subject, have I mentioned that I can do a really cool trick? I grab a strand of spaghetti, see, and while holding onto one end, I swallow it.

Then I drag it up and out through my throat. It’s the tickliest sensation you can imagine, and if I had a strand of spaghetti I’d totally do it right now for you.

I regularly horrified my younger siblings with this trick during our youth. Then we all grew up and moved out and I ran out of people to horrify. So I got married. And I started a blog. Problem solved!

The End.

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