As we proceed with chores here at home, whirlwind after whirlwind swirls in from the Atlantic full of rain and fuelled by endless cyclones, devastate coastal regions, flood people houses. Nightmare pictures from low-lying towns fill TV screens, ride on front pages. At night the rain clatters against our windows and rifles the branches of the lime tree opposite. It crashes and curses. The wind whimpers. Domestic circumstances and weather conditions seem to work together to stifle attempts at keeping cheerful.
Korma is the name given to pale, creamy, spicy, dishes in India. Yogurt and coconut milk supply the creaminess. Tonight, as part of my spicy exploration campaign, is korma night. I have been thinking about appropriate ingredients for most of the day. I am glad to say that Jenny and Caroline share my enthusiasm.
4 comments:
It certainly isn't easy to remain upbeat. We awoke this morning to an eerie lack of sound and movement, but knew what was in store!
After the Christmas/New Year break, I also returned to my hobby of 'cooking an Indian.' It was Aloo Gosht (a mild lamb curry with potatoes) but I cooked the potatoes separately as Khatte Aloo (sour potatoes).
I don't know whether your experience is like mine, but I prefer to cook Indian food to any other, mainly because I love their cuisine, but also because there is room for variation and experimentation without making mess of things. And of course the subtle mixing of the various spices is absolute joy. (Can't keep Lucy away from the kitchen when the aromas begin to weave their magic.)
Bon Appetit!
Korma. Ever my fallback when presented with a hectare of laminated cardboard and a thousand choices. Once, in Leeds (a strange place to be; I felt like a Confederate soldier contemplating the wonders of Hackensack, NJ) I incautiously ordered curry soup. I've never seen it listed since. Clearly a rites of passage dish for young Indians keen to test their manhood. The period was so distant that it came with a basket of bread rolls and those saved my life. Water merely re-distributes the pain, bread to some extent mops it up. Later that evening, when the sensations had fallen to that of a brisk blaze, I was visited by a vision of the future. That my palate would be needed for other applications and it would need nurturing. I like Indian food but I'm the dullest of companions in an Indian restaurant. Always the same choice. Now we don't even need to stray from our own threshold; VR has a gradually evolved recipe for korma and my palate is still intact. More or less.
A new restaurant serving mughlai cuisine has opened in the neighbourhood. I am enjoying the delights of the buffet on the weekends ... all new dishes for me. Korma is often offered, and I it is one of my favourites.
All I could go on talking about cooking for ever. When my mind goes empty at the moment it swells with culinary plans.
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