Happy Birthday, Amma

Amma (mother, in Tamil) and I have had a long-standing tradition that on my birthday, we celebrate both the person who's been alive another year (the birthday boy), and the person who got him there in the first place (the mother). It's a good tradition, and one that the ravages of distance and time have not managed to kill off. Now that my mother is on the other side of the country (and for anyone who's familiar with the sheer size of the USA, will know that it might as well be the other side of the planet), we continue the tradition over the phone, which is just as nice, because there are fewer distractions.

That being said, I'm preemptively making this post, because I know Amma reads this thing, so that in case the unthinkable happens, and I manage to astoundingly bungle what really is my favourite part of my birthday celebration (due to being too tired after work, or not charging the phone, or something else equally annoying and dumb), I will have at the very least made it clear that the first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning at 5:30 (after the initial thoughts of "ACK! BATHROOM!") was indeed my mother. However, because she's like three hours behind, I'm not about to wake up the entire house to call her at that ungodly hour. Especially not when my nephew is likely sleeping, and getting woken up by the phone is Not To Be Considered.

It's strange. I've had an inexplicable dread of hitting this particular milestone for a while now. I'm 30. Ugh. Even writing it makes me uneasy. But here it is, and I might as well admit to the old age that I've been cultivating since the age of 5. One of my aunts mentioned (in an amused tone, for the record), ages ago, that I was in equal turns an unabashed young child, and a 75 year old man at the same time. So. Here I am. 30 years old.

I've met (and married and stayed together with) the sort of man who I used to think only existed in sappy romance novels. I've written and had published my first book. I'm working at a place where I enjoy the fruits of my labour, and the challenges excite rather than drag down. I've got some pretty close friends who enjoy spending time with me. I've got a comfortable little home in a city I love dearly. I've managed to get rid of most of my major vices, and have reeled in any that I haven't given up completely (I'm not trying out for sainthood).

There are definitely things that I still want to do, that I still look forward to being able to do. But I've got plenty of time for those. It's not like I'm 30 or something.

Oh wait.

If I'm being perfectly honest with myself, the outpouring of love and good wishes from family (my sister called and left a voicemail at 12:30 AM last night, while I slept, and thereby managed to be the first to wish me, which she promptly followed with an email; her husband emailed shortly after that) really is life-affirming. I love that I inspire good feelings towards me, and that people want me to be happy. I've also gotten some lovely emails from fans who've been around since day one, from the before time when I was just a voice on a podcast, or a few words on the screen.

Thanks to Amma for my birthday, as always. Thanks to all my friends and family and fans who have sent over their lovely words of support and love. Thanks to my angel husband who still somehow enjoys my company. It's a good time to be 30. 

Pressure cooker follow up; other ramblings

To clarify: when I said that I'm prejudiced against pressure cookers, I really meant it. Just like any prejudice, it's completely irrational, and based on spotty information at best. Also, I got it from my mother, who also hates them with a fiery passion. Having learned to cook in her kitchen, I inherit a lot of things the way she does them. For example, there's a wonderful little innovation that Indians use in their kitchens called a masala dabba. Go google it, and check it out. In it, you keep your most frequently used spices, like cumin, coriander, and mustard seeds, urad daal, dried chilies, possibly chunks of asafoetida for you to pound down (because traditionally, the stuff came as a hard chunk of the dried resin, rather than the powdered stuff you get nowadays; the flavour is superior, in my opinion). Now, my mother, like many women in the South of India, would only keep whole spices in her masala dabba, and powdered spices in tightly covered containers.

The reasoning is twofold. For one, if you spill some seeds on the counter, a quick sweeping will clear the mess. If you spill a powder, like turmeric on the counter, you're going to most likely end up with some fairly raunchy stains that aren't going anywhere. Also, powdered spices lose their punch a fair bit more quickly than whole spices. Frankly, why chance it? Also, it's how my mother and her mother, and her mother's mother did things, so I'm not about to switch that up!

My sister, on the other hand, is a rebel. I went to visit her house, and I was shocked to see her masala dabba with powdered spices in it! I was horrified and asked my mother what happened. Apparently, my sister insisted that she likes it that way.

Heathen.

So basically, the pressure cooker hate isn't so much because I'm scared of the thing exploding. I just really hate them for no reason more than my mother does.

The lovely Eric Prescott gave me a buzz the other day to ask about the Jimmy Crack Corn Crack. He wanted to know how to adjust when using a coarse ground cornmeal. Let me just let y'all know for future reference: just add some flour or breadcrumbs. The thing is, with the larger grind cornmeal, you're going to have a fair bit less packing of the patties. They won't stay together as well, because the granules will not snuggle up as cozily as the finely ground cornmeal. The addition of an extra bit of binder will keep everything together. However, since you are adding flour (and/or binder), you will want to make the patties thinner than I state in the cookbook. This is to compensate for the cooking time, and for crispness.

We move out of Brooklyn on Friday. It's been fun living here, but the commute is getting to me. I guess I'm looking forward to having taxi services know where I live! I'll keep you guys posted about the results.

Inagural Post

I do have a product blog up for my book, The Alternative Vegan. However, I feel like since it's out there in the open, attached to the product itself, I can't be as chatty and silly as I want to be. If you've read the book, you know that I like to ramble on about nothing in particular, and sometimes I've got some ... unique observations about things going on in my life. I'll answer questions, if you post comments, but for the most part, this is about what's going on in my life, and other silly things of that nature. Feel free to read it, or ignore it.

As far as I know, sales are doing fine. I get people telling me about the different things that they're trying out, and I'm thrilled to bits when they try out something "exotic," if that makes sense. For example, at the last minute, I wanted to include a dish called Venn Pongal. It's a dish from the south of India, where my family is from, and it's filled with all the good things that I remember about growing up in the land of spices. It's very light in terms of fat an calories, but it's like magic. Pongal can settle an upset stomach, fill an empty belly, warm you up from the tips of your toes to the top of your head when it's dreary and rainy outside. Its smoky scent will fill the house as you cook it.

All that being said, it does take a fair bit of time for it to finish cooking, during which you're going crazy wanting it. Additionally, the instructions look complicated. Not that it's hard to make, mind you. It just looks that way, because I had to explain it just so. Anyways, I'm rambling. My publisher offered to test the recipe (because no recipe went into the book without being tested for ease of understanding the instructions, etc). He and his wife whipped up a batch, and fell in love.

Since then, they've made it a few other times. Now, my publisher is a talented and adventurous cook. He loves to tinker about with food so that it can reach the fiery heat he craves in there. (Suffice to say that chiles make regular appearances in the Torres house.) I expect him to be able to churn out pot after pot of pongal with no trouble, and no fear at all. I didn't expect people to try it after buying the book! I was surprised and so pleased that others could experience this ultimate of comfort foods for the first time, because I was introducing them to it. Something that I consider so common, but so good that I'll cheerfully eat it three times a day for a week or so. This, in all its beauty, was introduced to people, because they felt adventurous enough to give it a try.

That's so cool! What's even better is that they'll get to try the version that doesn't cost a fortune to make, and for which it is easy to find ingredients. I was telling my mother about the recipe in the book, and she asked me, "So, did you say to use moong daal?" "No," I responded, "I said to use split yellow peas." The two of us burst out laughing as she said, "I never do anything traditionally!" Of course we don't! That's how we adapt to the different places we've lived throughout my life. You can't be so rigid as to demand that everything be just so or not at all! You figure out how to make something work for you, wherever you are. Frankly, I'm not going to have someone spend three times the cost of split yellow peas on moong dal over some sniping about "authenticity" or "tradition". Sorry, but tradition is only so important that it serves us, not the other way around!

In other news, I figured out that I'm capable of getting into the door, and maximising my efficiency. Whenever you know you need to have dinner on the table in an hour or so after you get in, use this method, because it works for me without tiring me out! The second you walk in, drop whatever's in your hands onto the dining room or kitchen table, and walk into the kitchen. Quickly rinse out a pot, and start to fill it with water. While it fills, dash off to the washroom to give your hands and face a rinse with clean water and some soap. I find that if I'm using my regular facial soap to wash my face, my hands get cleaned at the same time, so I prefer to save a step if I can help it. Dry your hands off, and pat your face dry.

By now, you'll probably be feeling a lot more refreshed. The reason I added in the face and hand washing thing is twofold. For one thing, before you start preparing food, you HAVE to wash your hands. It's not pleasant to find unwelcome visitors in your food, and be laid up in bed with a stomach infection. Keep those hands as clean as you can. The other reason is that I live in Florida, and it's HOT. The first thing I wanted to do was wash my face as soon as I got in, but I knew that my kitchen sink can take a long time to fill a pot. I also fought the temptation to wash my face in the kitchen sink, because that would have involved the dirty water from my face flying around the kitchen. Ew.

Now that you're feeling more human, go to the kitchen again, and pour off any excess water from your pot. You're going to want 6 litres or so of water in the pot. Set the pot on the stove, slam on the lid, and crank it up to as high as it goes. The reason we are boiling water is because hot boiling water is perfect for cooking anything from rice to pasta to noodles to potatoes to vegetables. It's a pain, however, to wait for it to boil. Rather, why not let it do its own thing, while you go about your business? Once that's going, you can get to the rest of your meal.

Grab a clove of garlic, and smash it open, by pounding something heavy on it. Leave it whole; this is lazy, quick food, remember? Chop up an onion. Open up a can of black olives. Set a skillet onto your stove. Pour in any type of oil. See, when I came home that day, I didn't feel like digging out the olive oil. I just grabbed the canola bottle. Pour in enough oil to coat the bottom of the skillet. Quickly drain your can of olives, and pour them into the oil. Let the temperature come up, while you slice up your clove of garlic.

Within a couple of minutes, you should hear the olives in the skillet sizzling away like crazy. This is a good thing. You probably also smell an olive smell in the air. This is even better. Toss the olives around in your skillet. Sprinkle in the garlic and onions, and follow it up with a few good pinches of salt.

When you add salt this early in the game, you let the onions and garlic leak out their water more quickly, and the flavour intensifies. Find a can of tomatoes, or do what I did and find a jar of prepared tomato sauce. Nobody has to know! I have yet to see a jar of tomato sauce that had whole black olives (in this amount, anyway), and pieces of onions and garlic that you can actually see. When the onions turn light brown, pour in a few cups of the tomato sauce (or a 12 - 16 oz can of diced tomatoes, juice and all). Turn down the heat to low, and let the sauce simmer away until the pasta's done.

Now that your sauce is on the stove, your water is probably boiling. Splendid. Grab a 1 lb box of pasta, and pitch it into the pot of merrily boiling water. Generously salt the water. Throw in the juice of a lemon into the water (prevents pasta from sticking). Put the lid back onto the pot, ONLY for as long as it takes to get the water back up to a full rolling boil. Remove the lid, and set it aside. Boil the pasta until it's done.

Pour yourself a glass of wine or juice or water or whatever it is you like to drink at the end of your day, and sit down for at least five minutes, while the pasta boils. Don't leave the kitchen; you don't want to leave things on the stove unattended. You do, however, need the break for yourself at this point, because your legs are probably reminding you about the sweet allure of a hot bath. With bubbles!

When you've had your five minutes of relaxation, put a colander into the sink. Start checking on the pasta to see if it's cooked. Keep checking it every minute or two, until it's just done. When the pasta is done, pour it out to drain into the colander. Turn off the stove, and put the empty pot back onto the still hot stove. Pour the sauce into the bottom of the pot. Pour some of the cooked pasta into the sauce pan, and swirl it around to catch any leftover bits of sauce still in the pan. Dump all the pasta (including the one from the pan) over the sauce in the pot, and stir it all around to combine it.

Everything will be done to a turn, and you only need dump together a salad (which takes no time flat) and throw out some crusty bread and olive oil. That was more or less how my Monday night went. Ah, life is so simple when we've got so much.