Not a very good way to start this post would be by saying that I’m not fond of puff pastry. Just something about the flakes that scatter when I bite into it and then proceed to stick to my lips when I pull away. Ultimately, I keep wiping myself after every bite.
And this has kept me away from freshly-made croissants and cream puffs. I only eat the stale ones. Less flakes.
And all this hostility towards puff pastry, till I made it myself last week.
Well, being the lazy big-buttocks that I am, I had never imagined having the patience to roll, pat and fold over and over again. But I did. And yes, I could go on about how I achieved a sense of accomplishment and yada yada yada. But I didn’t. To say that the pastry I made went on to become lovely flaky chutney tarts, would be a lie.
After all the hard work, sweat and toil and unlimited glances at the recipe did not result in success. The first batch did not rise and came out half-cooked and soggy…sort of like sad deflated bread slices. It can’t get any worse, I thought foolishly as I raised the temperature hoping the even hotter air would make it rise. Then the second batch came out. Brown and burnt to a crisp with an even under-cooked center.
So I gave up. I went to the store and bought ready-rolled puff-pastry sheets. And no, I’m not ashamed of it. All you with your noses turned up can stick it really, because, the next time I’m trying my hand at puff pastry would be if I’m in either one of the following situations:
1) my children, off-springs of my own flesh and blood, request me to make some, or
2) someone has a gun pointed at my head.
That’s it for now. If you want a really good puff-pastry making guide try Keiko’s recipe.
Tomato & Pineapple Chutney
500 gm of tomatoes, diced
1 pineapple, diced
1/2 cup muscovado sugar
1/2 cup of honey
Pinch of salt
5 crushed cardamom pods
1/2 teaspoon red chili powder
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup of sultanas
Combine everything in a deep-bottomed pan and put on low heat. Cover and cook for 15 minutes till the fruits have started breaking down. Add 1 cup of water. Raise the heat to medium. Cover and cook till the mixtures starts resembling a chutney, i.e., all the fruit has turned into mush and a thick syrup has formed. Take the cover off, and boil on high heat till most of the moisture boils off. Cool and serve with or after meals, especially Indian ones. Great on toast or cream-crackers as a snack…or just by itself, straight from the fridge. Keeps in the fridge for 3-4 days covered with cling film.
For the tarts:
Store-bought puff-pastry sheet, either ready-rolled or in a block
1 egg, lightly beaten
Tomato & Pineapple Chutney
Peanuts or Toasted Almonds or Pistachios, slivered or roughly chopped, to garnish
Lightly whipped double cream , to garnish
Pre-heat the oven to 180 deg C. Line a tray with baking parchment or greased aluminum foil. Cut the sheets into rectangular tart-sizes. I can get about 8 pieces out of one sheet. Make a grooved border all around, about 1/2 an inch away from the edges. Use a pastry brush to brush the borders with the beaten egg. Lay the tarts on the tray. Arrange the chutney, or strawberries on the inside of the egg-washed edges and bake in the oven till the pastry is all puffed-up and the edges are a crispy golden colour. It takes about 18-20 minutes. Serve immediately topped with the nuts or with lightly whipped cream.
Alright. Grab your coffee and pull up a chair because we need to talk about this chicken.
This chicken is hot property. In fact, I can still hear the two leftover pieces sizzling in the baking dish in the kitchen. And its been at least three hours since I’ve had dinner.
Every time I roast whole chickens, I whip up a concoction of ginger-garlic paste, soya sauce, white sugar and Xiaoxing wine and pour it over the chicken and under its skin. And I’ve always served it with roasted red peppers and cucumber salad.
I’ve always felt that as an Indian I should automatically tip towards khichdi or daal as comfort food. But as much as I hate to admit it, it is true — roast chicken calms me down.
If my mother’s reading this, then we’ll have a lot to talk about very soon.
And yes, coming to the subject of breasts and thighs; I’m a thigh-person through and through. I go straight for the dark meat. No apologies. Besides, what is it with all the oohing over chicken breasts? Unless cooked sous vide or doused in sauce, those breasts usually have a tough time staying plump and juicy. I worry about that.
And that is exactly the reason I winced when I read a recipe of black-pepper crusted chicken breasts. I wanted to try making something “crusted” and the recipe seemed appropriate. Except those breasts. They loomed before me with a sneer in their faces.
In the end I settled for smoky chili and garlic instead of black pepper. And to keep the breasts moist, some orange juice. That’s right. You heard me. Orange juice.
Kind of a botched very-weak poulet version of duck a l’orange.
P.S. – If you’re wondering about the strawberries swimming in cream….well, as an homage to my grandmothers who moved to England 70 years back at the tender age of 16 or 17, I decided to have their favourite dessert for breakfast. And also, I had a ton of strawberries lying lonely in the fridge.
Chili-garlic crusted chicken
4 chicken breasts
1-2 tsp of unsalted butter
1-2 tbsp of olive sauce
2 tbsp of minced red chili (leave the seeds in, if like me you like it hot. For a milder taste, remove the seeds)
1 tbsp of dried chili flakes
2 tbsp of minced garlic
1 cup of orange juice (with pulp)
Salt and pepper, to taste
Pre-heat the oven to 160 deg C. Prepare a baking tray by greasing it.
Make diagonal cuts on the skin-side of the breasts; each cut just about quarter of an inch deep. Rub in the garlic, chili flakes, minced chili and butter into the cuts. Drizzle orange juice and olive oil over the breasts after placing them in the tray. Add salt and freshly ground pepper. Roast for about 30-40 minutes, or till the juices run clear.
In the picture I’ve served it alongside a watercress and arugula salad dressed in a mint-pecorino dressing.
I’ve been adding to my list of talented fashion illustrtators for quite sometime now, and here are my top 10 personal favorites.
OK, well. Top 10 is a small list, admittedly. With so much talent and inspiration out there, it is impossible to cram in all the illustrators I admire, on one list. This list is a LOT shorter than the original one. The original one had 41 illustrators on it! And I’ve spent the last two days poring over each one of their works and carefully editing the list. It would be impossible for me to strike out any more names! I’m in love with them all!
Who’s your favorite? Any upcoming illustrator whose work you like?
2. Laura Laine
3. Nuno DaCosta
4. Shannon Toth
6. Kareem Iliya
7. Sandra Suy
10. Spiros Halaris
Heading back to London tomorrow. I’ll wait with baited breathe till I see you again, Paris.
It’s like I’m going crazy.
Just when you think things cannot get any worse around here, they do.
Exhibit A: just as I thought how last week’s interview was a breeze and how the interviewers seemed duly impressed, they call this week and say ‘the position has been filled by someone more suited to it’, followed by ‘could they wish me good luck for my future?’.
Bitch. I am not amused.
Meanwhile, to rub salt over the wound, summer’s gone and fall hasn’t even arrived yet. Its just drafty, cloudy and wet all around with sudden bursts of indecisive sunshine. I suspect the sun is not amused either.
My habit of stalking people over the internet is at its strongest when I’m depressed. And yesterday as I furiously went through blog after blog, I came across Athena Plichta’s work. And man, that girl can cook. Stunning, is all I have to say.
Exhibit B: aka, How the Universe Conspires Against You When You’re Broke.
Right at this moment, when I’m surviving on leftovers, wrenching myself away from Miu Miu’s mouth-watering store display, Garance Doré, the beloved trendsetter, has let Elle & the Coveteur photograph her stuff.
And she’s got stuff I could mindlessly kill for.
Take a look at those red Lanvin shoes. The brazennes of the colour apart, just the curve of that heel is enough to suggest the certainty of a great fuck.