Baby. And the ruthless heart.

We were enjoying a glass of red, looking forward to that moment of peace and clarity; And then this puppy came along, just like that. He didn't have to do anything, he didn't need an introduction. He was there and anointed adorable. This chubby, pudgy, playful ball of golden goodness who stopped traffic. He took it all in, every little ear rub, every belly scratch, he reveled in it as if it were the only reason for being alive. He was happy and for that infinitesimal moment, in sharing his joy, so were we. The red was not needed.

Such is innocence. It does not question, it only knows to be itself. Yet so many "happy hours", "yoga retreats" and "silent meditations" later; I am still grasping for that ephemeral pause. And then a 3 month old toothless baby gurgles...a boisterous puppy bobs its head, my perennially hungry bunny devours hay chomp chomp; And joy is delivered. They've just got it down, as if they sat at Buddha's feet when he taught Dhamma and then bathed in the river that Lao Tzu describes as inherently still.

These beings do not need us. They are simply here as a prize, for a victory we did not deserve.
Behold, a spectacle of beauty. After you slave away at our day of ennui, you find yourself privileged to catch a rare glimpse of wide innocent eyes.. the purr of contentment of your zen cat.. and your life has meaning.

Don't save Baby for Baby's sake. He does not know he is going to die. I do. I am the damned.
He does not fear pain, he just knows this moment of love and security. I am the coward.
He does not know guilt, he is who is. I am the sinner.

And when Baby dies, it will be not the death of him, but the silent, repeated deaths of the ones who could not save him. Please save Baby for the sake of my mortal soul.

Eleanor Rigby, I, you and me.

It was a clear night, otherwise.

Music, gaiety, wine, laughter. A typical Friday night of cities that don't sleep, just move fluidly from one moment to the next. Here is not found that pause between breath; the pause that gathers, remembers, ponders before letting go. This time is one of movement so constant and stacked that all and one sensory experience feel the same.

It was one more such night. I was stringing myself along the conveyor belt of a "fun time"..... wine, dancing, dinner, live music, stars, water... all and everything without the pause. Stumbled into an elegant wine bar full of people doing exactly the same. Absorbed in music that even the musicians couldn't hear, without missing a beat.

Among this crowd of revelers, one other walked in looking for her place. She attempted to sit down but the server told her the table was already allotted. She looked for a face but couldn't see one. Not because she is partially blind. There were not faces to see, just one large mass of movement without purpose. She didn't see anyone and nobody saw her. So she picked up her cane and walked out into the clear night of dimly lit souls.

Perhaps if the table wasn't allotted to me, I would not have seen her either. Or maybe it was because I was looking for myself, that I couldn't bear to let her go. It was no selfless act when I rushed out and slid my arm in hers, asked her if she would come back for a while for the music? No, she answered. She would come back, but not for the music; she had really come looking for conversation.

It wasn't her that I smuggled back into the cozy wine bar. I had reached out to my future, alone on a chilly evening and wanted to wrap it up with her warm smile.

For the next hour, her eyes twinkled with light as she regaled us through the operas of Salzburg, the streets of Paris, the summer of Malaga. It felt like spring in Sausalito. She led the path to her home, where she drew me into lines, black and white for that is her world now. And all around her, the walls were adorned with colors of a different decade, a different continent she had captured and removed from time. We will meet again today, to talk, to listen to Tango and share a cup of tea.

But what about the others? What about me? All the lonely people......where do they all belong.

Blood, Borscht and the year of the Brave - 2012

"Mommy, I'm OK, but all my friends are dead." - 6 year old survivor, Sandy Hook Elementary School, December 14th, 2012.

Courage.

It is not a display of strength, rather an acknowledgement of humility.
In Courage, we learn of fear; Courage we find when faced with hate, pain, sadness, anger.
In Courage, I acknowledge emotion, acknowledge weakness and know the truth that something outside of me, can hold me, move me but it can never conquer that immutable inimitable me that is here, now and eternal.


2012 has given me this gift of knowledge. I know now that I know nothing of Courage.

Before this dawn, I was increasingly pompous; believing I am the brave, walking alongside the brave. With every pain conquered, I congratulated myself on my ability to survive. After all, isn't it quite enough to be dealt with change, death, separation, illness, love, loss... and still not have forgotten to smile?

With such naive ramblings, convinced of my invincibility, I undertook the "Borscht" journey. The tasks appeared to be quite daunting ...not for the faint of the heart, I boasted! I delegated as much of the work as I could, putting of the final moments of opening the foil and touching the blood red beets, indelibly staining my hands. I trembled in fear gazing at the post-Borscht nightmarish counters and floors. But blood washes away; the counters restored to like new again, and I greedily grabbed credit for the Borscht, an unparalleled success.

And then it was time to serve the soup. I looked around and within, and wondered who would be worthy of a seat at His table, to partake of a true covenant of blood and courage? Not I, not I.

That teacher, who shielded her 6yr old children from death at the cost of her own life. Yes, her. Those children who huddled together in strength when faced with a fear they knew nothing of, yes them. Those parents who can still breathe, love and forgive, yes them. Nirbhaya, who didn't lose her light and her will to live, despite being touched by the hands of evil, yes her. Yes them, all of them and countless of them who know not just an "I", but who have found the oneness of us. And only oneness can be served to them, as truth, love and humanity.

If I could make such a Borscht every day and every night, from scratch, without help, without fear and serve it to all those whose light is a beacon of hope..... perhaps one day the color of my blood could be the same as theirs.

"I want to live" - Damini, the fearless 'Nirbhaya', New Delhi, December 2012 and for all time.



[For the authentic Borscht recipe used in my experiments with the beets, visit - http://russianmomcooks.com/2012/04/06/borsch/]

What eternity this love?

"What love we've given, we'll have forever. What love we fail to give, will be lost for all eternity." - Leo Buscaglia

Ripe heart Ratatouille.

What's for dinner tonight? Crocodile or Monkey heart?

I am in love, I tell you. Madly, truly, deeply, intensely, wholly, soul-ly, consciously, subconsciously, by all adjectives imaginable, for all verbs delivered, in all time conceived. I am in love with you.
But is this weally love, that only gives as much as it receives?

A crocodile once befriended a monkey, who lived on an apple tree. Monkey shared with the Crocodile and his wife, the sweetness of hitherto forbidden apples. The Crocodiles', overwhelmed by the juicy goodness of apples, craved a deeper fullness - to taste that monkey's heart, who dined on apples all day long. They invited Monkey to dinner, leaving aside the minor detail, that he was to be dinner. En route to his casa, wading through murky waters, Crocodile, who was carrying Monkey on his back, felt a momentary twinge of emotion and confessed to his friend of the evening's plan. Crocodile was sad, yet for all that - Monkey heart must be dined upon. Monkey laughed, and was very apologetic -had he known his heart was on the menu, he wouldn't have left it behind to air out on the apple tree branch. Crocodile, fearful of his wife's wrath, rushed Monkey back home to collect said heart.There is a nervous exhilaration in that moment when Monkey springs off the Crocodile's back, to his tree, safe from harm. But what if there was a heart served for dinner that night? Every night.

Can I give of myself to you until the lines get blurry and wipe away, and all that remains is the knowledge that we are nothing, but one.

My heart is what's for dinner, love. It is the ripest fruit of summer; ready and stewed to perfection.


Summer Ratatouille Recipe:-

Farmers market vegetables all -
Heirloom tomatoes - red, purple, yellow - go wild.
Yellow Squash
Zucchini
Green pepper
Mini sweet red peppers
Ripe plum
Cut dried fig
Oregano (fresh)                                                                                                                              
Basil (fresh)                                                                          
Thyme (fresh / dry)
Sweet golden onion
Purple Garlic
Carrots                                                                          
Olive Oil
Red wine
Marsala wine
Eggs for serving (optional)
Salt, pepper and love, to taste.

Cook onions and garlic in olive oil. Add carrots, zucchini, squash, and cook uncovered on medium until soft. Add remaining veggies and cook, till the juices flow. Add thyme, tomatoes, fruits and wine and cook some more. Garnish with chopped oregano and basil. Serve with Sourdough toast. Alternatively in an oven safe bowl, spoon ratatouille, crack two eggs on top and bake at 375 for about 5 minutes until the eggs are cooked and serve from the heart.

Born again Innocent.

It is perhaps a bit too late to be pondering this (on the demise of my 33rd birthday)....not to mention it is nearing 1am, but I wonder what does it mean to be innocent?

Are the innocent called as such because they have never erred or are those innocent who don't know of any other way to be?

An heirloom tomato is a tomato. It does not know of the tomato on the vine, or the Roma tomato, or its inferior GMO cousin.. it knows itself as a tomato and all it knows is itself.

Tomato, Gretel, Infant - the personification of innocence? A rabbit poops without responsibility, the infant eats, cries, smiles without thought, without morality - all follow instinct and instinct alone. If a baby had an urge to tug, or squeeze, it could potentially take a life, unknowingly. Yet, despite being blithely unaware of right v/s wrong, it remains blameless, uncondemned.

Is the essence of innocence then rooted in being as if there is no other way to be... That if there is even the minutest recognition of what one ought to be, in that lies an underlying admission of what one is not...Innocent.

Could it be that wise and the insane alike, have discovered this "being without knowing" and "knowing outside of being" to be the pinnacle?


Once again, I find myself making a wish upon imaginary candles, asking to be born again into this - Silence.


Spoken, it is already lost. 

Happy Birthday, until then, little girl.

Coming home.

There are many houses in this city. The brick house, the small house. The house with the pretty door, the one with the iron grille. The house with children out front and the house with the cat on the porch. There is just one you call home.

Yet with the restlessness of wind, we wander and wander in search of the perfect look, the perfect color, the perfect feng shui - and with all that wandering we are still seeking, still homeless despite many addresses, many experiences.

Home is not perfect. Sometimes rather quiet - despite the occasional yelling that bunny receives when she is being naughty; At times very cold, though it is the only place one can truly seek and find warmth - yes, despite the ridiculous utility bills! And comfort...yes yes, the air mattress adorned with torn sheets sure beats sleeping on a cold floor without a roof under a strange sky. And the familiarity of belonging - Bunny bunny bunny, oh how I wish we could talk sometimes. And safety...no, there haven't been any 4am 911 calls..none that were recorded!

But most of all, home is where I can cook warmth, safety, comfort, familiarity and eat it too and love it forever more!

So how do you gauge the beauty of a comfort stew....?

Mine makes me want to come home to it.. regardless of all the delicacies of the world that maybe calling out from their gourmet shelves.. this is the one I want - because it belongs to me unconditionally. It comes from roots I cherish. It makes me smile at memories as I create some more and put away for a rainy night.

For comfort food, warms not just your belly, but your heart. It reminds you of who you really are - not the body, not the mind, but a soul seeking soul food.

From the warmth and depth of its core it says to me- Come home to yourself, wanderer.

The fine print -

Less glamorously known as "Pav Bhaji" - a street food delicacy - forgive the oxymoron...and the moron :)

My version of the recipe -

Take all the vegetables in your fridge and boil them until they know each other intimately and lose their individual identities in that knowledge. I have used Cauliflower, whole baby potatoes, carrots, peas, green peppers, red peppers and serrano peppers. I wouldn't really recommend other veggies.. avoid celery, broccoli, bok-choy, zucchini, mushrooms... and green beans etc- I try to stick with some traditional Indian veggies for this one, the others will muddy the flavors or not mash well together..

So as you are boiling the veggies, add lots of ginger, a touch of garlic (don't overdo garlic, less is more!),  turmeric, salt (if that is not obvious - to taste), and some water to keep the veggies from burning but not too much water... mid way add "pav bhaji masala" - this is a must have ingredient for this stew - no substitutes but easily found in any Indian store / the intraweb...

Boil and boil and stir..Once the veggies are soft take a potato masher and mash the veggies together to make a thick consistent base; we want something between the consistency of mashed potatoes and thick soup when we are done. In a separate pan, heat oil. add red onion and green chillies and cook - then add chopped tomatoes (lots of them!), tomato paste (1 tbsp), red chilli powder pinch, turmeric (a pinch) and cook - add pav bhaji masala 1 tsp, and then add the boiled veggie mix, and cook to reduce the water content - add a pinch of dried fenugreek leaves, lime juice, and Asafoetida (hing) - very very little, barely half a teaspoon of hing.

Cook and cook and mash and cook and mash and cook... until the flavors and the aroma melt your heart!

Make sure when you serve, you heat the accompanying bread in butter and brown it well! Do add cold butter wedges, lime wedges (squeeze lime juice over), raw red onion slices and cilantro to serve the stew - 'tis the traditional way and it is not to be messed with. This recipe is not for the faint of the heart, butter notwithstanding. There are many methods to cook this, mine is the longer, slightly healthier route (arguable!) with more veggies....you can take that path or watch this video for a different / fast food variation and sing.. "O ye'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road, An' I'll be in Scotland afore ye;"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pye6pnZpjfs

Chocolate and other emptiness' of the sumptuous.

There are minarets rising above clouds, spooning a sun on its way to slumber. Perhaps these are beacons of an imaginary castle where never-lands abound, ascending like notes of hymns sung at Notre Dame on a silent day. Or, air traffic control towers, rising up to find their ground - adorned in a mist of tears, densely guarding a city by the bay.

As I shuttle between fantasy and reality, desire is an assiduous constant. It wants and wants alone - a self fulfilling prophecy indeed. I wake up with a longing for the dream castle, the solemn sound in prayer and a warm abode - all in the womb of reality.

And I wake up with a hunger for Chocolate.

Bittersweet chocolate chip pancakes are a perfect panacea for Sunday morning hunger pangs. Bob's Red Mill  whole grain pancake flour was gifted to me very kindly by a loving friend. Add to that, Euphoria Chocolaterie's unsweetened ground cacao, bittersweet <always fair trade> chocolate chips, pure vanilla and almond extract - et Voila!

Chocolate Creme Fraiche frosting is not for the faint of heart. There is a certain tangy romance between the melted butter-semi-sweet chocolate-creme fraiche trio. I add vanilla to soothe frayed nerves for the first introduction. Then we are all friends.

Bu today, I wake up with a deep burning desire to drink chocolate. Not to sip the insipid hot chocolate seeping in water. Or even the version that I have previously imbibed with smug pride, spicy cocoa with milk and cream, laced with vanilla ice cream and Kahlua.

No - I want to drink deep from the cistern of pure dark forbidden pleasure as all do here. They won't share the conspiracy behind the concoction. I won't ask. I will willingly be a prisoner every morning and every evening and in between if they would have me. I will give in to longing as an end in itself.

Good Bye San Francisco. Good Morning Madrid - Citadel of Desire.

Vers la quai

Pause. Breathe. Pause. Breathe. Stop.

That was to be the epitaph of a certain Ms. Boat. It may still be.

Ms. Boat was born from a song. As a child of the Baul's, she too is a wandering minstrel, tumultuous in her own lilting melody. An ephemeral being oscillating on incessant waves searching for the invariable - a conundrum indeed.

For eons, Ms. Boat has been following the dawn - lost in the night. Her search for light, perpetual, her joy, perpetually transient. To the onlooker and to the passenger alike, her journey seemingly futile. Rushing through towns and waters, movement is her static state. Inertia weighs down her anchor, never dropped, just held in suspension somewhere between the throat and the heart space.

Winds replace winds, tattering her sails already hanging by a thread.

If the dawn does not lose hope, how can I? - she rhetorically asks the night waters - their cold caresses her only solace through winter nights.

Perhaps on any one of these glacial nights, the "stop" ought to come. It would be simple enough really to break the tenuous string of her music, what with the epitaph preordained, prepared. One wonders if fate orchestrates all funerals with such expedience and maybe even in harmony with conception?

As her song ascends to a close, we expect the crescendo to reach the final note of silence. After all, if the universe itself is conspiring against her, wherefrom then is Ms. Boat finding voice to hold song, we ponder. She should be sitting pretty for her epilogue, not gasping for breath and buoyancy at the precipice of terminal gravity. 

Are you still delusional with your visions of warm waters and steady winds, Ms. Boat - we ask just as we urge her to capitulate.

She is silent now and dark as the one moment before day break. 

Will the light forever be a mirage or will you find it in its entelechy? we ask again. 

Eternity will find me always within ambsace of a sunrise where the sun and its light are one - she responds.

El Quesedilla de piedras....

Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled. - Nietzsche

An empty stomach grumbling about a heavy heart does not make for a good evening or a good night's sleep -That is a conflict indeed; and one raging within the confines of oneself - a lonely uphill battle that cannot be won, that cannot be lost. I march towards victory and loss, armored with courage, shamed with remorse. Lead me to a rock greater than I - the Bible doth expound. My prayer and my salvation are one... my soul, lost in translation, understands only that it is yet just a bruised, hungry fragment searching for light within the dark recesses of thought and desire.

From this empty evening emerged but a shadow of a stony silent night. I remained hungry for life, for a voice.... stoically patient...in fear that movement would disturb the equilibrium of inertia.

And a voice comes knocking! Smiling, angelic in hope and reward. Suddenly the grumbling and groaning subside into elegant coordinated movements, that of fingers leading the knife..arms grabbing out and holding the pan for support and direction, swirling in olive oil to set back in movement the one who appeared to have never paused. 

The faux chicken is roasted on cast iron then chopped. The fridge ransacked for onions, tomatoes, green peppers, red peppers, to be melded into a harmonious one. Kale and Broccolini, already soul-mates, find friends in leek and garlic fragrant in butter. We are finding love in togetherness and togetherness in love. It's a party!

When she walked in I told her my fridge was empty; It was really rather the opposite, bursting at the seams with unnecessary, expired, rotting remnants of yesterday... The very yesterday that had left me empty, forlorn and not anticipating any joy for I had not forgotten that after hope flirts, reality commits.

At first glance we thought we may be able to scrape up a tortilla with some cheese.. call it some sort of a poor woman's quesedilla.... but then as the stone soup brewed, we found we had much more within to offer it; that hope had died and reincarnated into strength.... yesterdays and tomorrows collapsed into this one moment of peace with my friend cooking supper and bunny chewing on leftover kale.

On a full stomach and a purged heart, I embrace you - sleep.

Waiting to exhale - Ragoût d'insatisfaits..

My breath has been on a pause. Subliminal forces have taken over, holding me hostage balanced at the precipice. Stationary and restless as a tree with shallow roots, I await he storm. But no storm arises. All there is, is this dull ache, and a paradoxically hopeless dream of a roof in the sky.

If I could reach and grab a piece of this sky and slice it and gobble it up and hold it and love it and need it and want it and consume it...  would I be back again, incomplete at the precipice? Is there such a moment as 'trupti" <loosely translated - divine contentment and peace> on the menu?

No. Which is why today I am cooking up moments of anxiety and endless wait into my "Ragoût d'insatisfaits" . The stew of the unfulfilled.

Desire for this stew starts simple - the craving for a warm, tangy, all encompassing feeling. And it takes just one ingredient really - a spark. But as the flame grows, so grows what I feed into it. I keep adding to it and stirring it and scraping it and watching it condense into rich colors and yet, I never ever really know with certainty the moment of the first bite. And when I do finally have the courage to taste heaven, Lao Tzu reminds me that the cup is already is broken.

Yet I continue to stir desire - if you are anything like me, you too will not learn from the folly of the past. Each time, you will start out trying to contain this plethora of emotion in a tiny shell, only to realize and forget - that pain and sorrow when blended together, grow to make one ebullient soul curry that brims over, sweeping the past and the future into one.

I will dip into myself today, fragrant with basmati rice and garnished with chopped cilantro.


Ingredients -
1 red onion
1 tbsp chopped garlic
2 green chillies
4 fresh Curry leaves
1 tbsp Curry Powder
2 cans Garbanzo beans (15 oz each)
2 yukon gold potatoes, peeled, cubed
2 cans (15 oz each) diced tomatoes and juice
1.5 cans Coconut milk (15 oz each)
4 tbsp Oil (Safflower / canola)
Salt to taste

Heat oil in a pot which at the onset should very obviously be too small to hold all the ingredients (not!!). Add curry leaves, green chillies, garlic and onion and sauté until you are satisfied with the color - I like mine almost burnt. Add potatoes and cook. Add Chickpeas and curry powder and cook for a few minutes - then add the tomatoes and the coconut milk and salt and stir and stir and boil and stir and boil and cover and simmer for as long as you are winning the game with patience. Ideally, you should let stew for at least 2hrs and if you are one of those who can hold out a flame for a slow cooker you can let it go for about 8hrs.



Did I tell you that it is now 2pm and all I have imbibed today in anticipation is water?

Foggy Blue Bird Mondays...

Mondays are perfect for leftovers - food and emotions.

After a week of work and a weekend of social inactivity, Mondays are always a conundrum. Ever notice how the colors are brightest around you when the day is the dullest? But you have to step out of the moment at times to experience it fully. I can only ever chew on Mondays when I am not in them.

Mondays predictably are mundane. Reminding us of the repetitive cyclical nature of life; but sometimes this boring mundane Monday becomes our existence for the rest of the week...month...year. Is that because while Monday's are most dreaded, they are also the safest..? That shrouded in the dread of boredom and apathy, Mondays come to signify for us stability, routine, same-old packaged in a new week.

For once I wanted to experience Monday as a beginning. Not a fear but an excitement. Not the crawly "5 more days to go till Friday" dread, nor an anticipation of Tuesday.. just a warm regard for the day, as it is. All my days from September onwards, start with a foggy outlook and some clear up as the day progresses. Monday's however seem to have the foggiest outlook, not clearing the choking down my throat, even if the sun peers.

But this Monday was different. This Monday, the blue bird sang a song, no less sweeter than another day. The blue bird knows not weeks or days, just the moment. And in each moment, it re-invents life. Just as it re-invented all my Mondays from here on.

So much so that, Tuesday is here, and look at me - reminiscing the Monday blues :)

Can-do the-Laddooo!

I have to risk a repetitive title to make two points - One of the "Kaddoo" (pumpkin) already made elegantly by my mother, and one of "Laddoo"that I am making today!
Husband asks if there is any similarity in the two words.. Linguistically no, but I suppose if there is, then perhaps this will be known as the "Dooo-day", the day to make happen.

Laddoo's are as colloquial and quintessential to India as PBJ's to 5 yr olds in the U.S.  Halwai's as sweet vendors are traditionally known, prepare heaps of these for festivals, weddings and holy Tuesdays. There is never an excuse needed for Laddoo's, they are always consumed in all their glory without guilt.

Considering the "love handles" I live with, I cannot consume the traditional laddoo's without guilt, so I made the laddoo my own and it embraced me too! You can make it vegan if you skip the ghee, which I added purely for awakening childhood memories in my olfactory's!


1cup almonds
3/4 cup cashews
1 cup walnuts
1/2 cup dates
1/4 cup raisins
1/4 cup flax seed meal (ground flax seeds)
1/4 cup Agave
1/4 cup warm water
2 tbps of melted ghee (optional)
Pinch of Saffron (optional)
Pinch of Cardamom powder (optional)


In a food processor, grind the almonds, cashews and walnuts one by one to a coarse powder, not too fine but just enough to make a dough but also taste some texture. Combine with the flax seed meal and set aside in a dish.
In the food processor, add the dates, raisins, agave, saffron, cardamom powder and puree to a thick paste. Add to the existing mixture and with your hand, mix it into a dough. Slowly add the warm water and the ghee to make the dough. Make small round portions by hand and roll it into shapes / size of your preference. Roll them in the flax seed meal to finish.

et Voila! We have the healthiest laddoo's, sans sugar with only health benefits! Add it to your breakfast or dessert, I have it for both :)

Can-do the -Kaddooo!

Pumpkin (Kaddoo as I know it) season is here and everywhere!

Our journey into cuisine, will take us and the vegetables we know, to places familiar and new.
This journey is not going to be one of technique and precision but one of discovering the styles of souls around the world. And food will be our common language for emoting.

My mother's favorite vegetable vendor picks up fresh vegetables from one part of Mumbai at 5am drives his tempo - his wife and child in accompaniment and arrives at this tiny suburb by the ocean.. fondly referred to as "7 bungalows".. where originally only 7 homes lined a street facing the ocean.

Now this little suburb is filled with high rise apartments, the original seven bungalows not in appearance except in name alone.

Along the same street, a throng of people, early morning walkers and the like come to this "sabji waala's" (vegetable vendor's) tempo and buy out all his stock in 1hr! All cash of course, and some bargaining too.. Not much different and not much similar from buying one's vegetables at a temperature controlled supermarket in the U.S.

In making Kaddoo, as in-elegant as the name may sound, my mother is reminiscing and recreating very elegant memories - those of her father's favorite dishes found traditionally at Indian weddings. One of the funniest things I remember about my nana (maternal grandfather) is that when eating any food that he found particularly delicious, he always commented on how it paled in comparison with another dish he had eaten at a wedding. Eaten perhaps in the 1930's, decades before I was born, or even my mother for that matter. It is amazing how people and events pass, but sounds and smells and tastes prevail. Just like my nana's tastes show up in my mother's cooking today.

My nana, always the raconteur....It was my earnest wish that he had captured all his memories on paper.. I remember begging him to do that, knowing then when he was smiling at me with his mischievous smile, that he was not eternal. But he had other plans - I suppose he wanted his legacy to be discovered, for all of us to dig for the flavor that one can only find in self exploration.

So my meditation today, as I cook and eat.. will be to taste in each morsel, the generations whose taste buds are sewn in mine.... whose work I now create as myself.

Living rooted in Knowledge.

Let me start today not with food, but a little story - food for thought, equally flavorful I assure you :).

2 days ago we mourned the loss of our dear friend "Big screen TV". BST as we fondly remember him, was always there for us, waiting at the same spot! BST was grand in size and splendor but with great humility he would light up at our minutest touch. Pleasing, friendly, accommodating and never judging, BST was a true companion.
In all the years we knew him, BST never changed; Sure he added on new channels, and had decent picture quality for HD, but even as LCDs strutted in, BST sat there, holding up his "Plasma" chin.... waiting as life passed him by, and passed those who sat around him. Well, 2 days ago he died; 
And all that is left of him, are a few fond memories, ephemeral as the hearts of those holding them...

To mourn deeply the loss of a broken electronic and obsolete object, one would label ridiculous. When I shared BST's tragic life story with my husband, he said his "nonsense indicator" was beeping :) But what is really comical is how life imitates what it shouldn't. I have often wondered if I will ever leave behind anything more than BST did - or would it be just memories - my vast inheritance to the living?

VegVeda was born out of a desire to find my own answers....  And Food became an essential beginning.. for it is only through proper nourishment of the body that one has the opportunity to discover all the splendor within.

To live rooted in knowledge then, must require that I first live in awareness of what I consume,  then grow to live in mindfulness of my actions and what I produce, and eventually be still in meditation on how my thoughts conceive the universe. Be it the ancient Indian Vedic texts or the Bible, or Teachings of the Buddha, such wisdom is universally available and universally ignored.

These musings are my endeavor to rekindle my search for wisdom;

To aid my own healing and growth....
To give to you all that is worthy in me to offer .....
and
To ask of you to give of your wisdom generously,
To ask of you to share that which makes you whole.

Ma Francaise est tres mal...

My french is very poor. My cooking skills even poorer. But the french have a flair, that makes both their language and their food seem all at once, exotic yet within my grasp.

It is this very essence of "je ne sais quoi" that I wanted to capture in tonight's dinner.. Recipes from Alain Coumont.. the creator of "Le Pain Quotidien"... I picked him because I read an article on him where all his featured recipes were vegan / vegetarian.. It is more than impressive. In a country that made "duck confit" famous, there is still a love for simple, elegant, flavorful food cooked using vegetables, fruits and herbs.

There is a certain tangy romance in thyme... coupled with wine and bay leaves, vegetables take on a new garb, of simple sophistication. And who can deny that the French are the masters of dessert. But while Alain uses lavender, I infused some of my Indian-ness into the fig-apricot creation - Pure ghee and saffron.. The result, as my more than honest husband will tell you - was we both turned into Oliver Twist... "please, sir, I want some more."

Tonight there are those who sleep on an empty stomach and those who sleep on one too full. I will also rest, plagued with regrets of the past perhaps, but with no anxieties for the future. For I know, insignificant and disconnected as it may seem today, I have taken my first step toward the innocent who I pray sleep at peace tonight; and maybe, even towards awakening a few, who have slept too long.


Braised vegetables in white wine, with Tomato Coulis
2 cups Artichoke hearts (fresh or canned)
1/4 cup Extra virgin olive oil
6 garlic cloves, finely sliced
2 carrots, thinly sliced
2 sprigs of thyme
1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
3/4 cup leeks - sliced in rounds
2 bay leaves
1 tsp black peppercorns

1 tsp coriander seeds
3/4 cup dry white wine
1/2 tsp salt / to taste







In a large skillet, heat the olive oil. When the oil is hot, add garlic and fry for a minute. Add the bay leaf, black peppercorns, thyme and coriander seeds. Let them sizzle for a minute, then add the onions, leeks and carrots. Fry for 6-8 minutes until golden brown and the carrots become tender.

Add the artichoke hearts and fry until tender and browned for about 8-10 minutes more. Add the wine, salt and cover for a minute and cook.

Garnish with thin lemon slices and a sprinkle of lemon juice!

Tomato Coulis
1/2 cup chopped tomatoes
2 tbsp sundried tomatoes
5 basil leaves
2 cloves of garlic
salt and pepper to taste

In a blender / processor, puree all ingredients together for about 2 minutes for a chunky coulis.

Serve the Coulis with the Braised vegetables, and a slice of baguette.

Figs-Apricots with a Saffron infused syrup


6 figs
6 apricots
1 tbsp pure Ghee (clarified butter, available in Indian grocery stores)
2 tbsp lemon juice freshly squeezed
1/4 cup honey
1/2 tsp saffron

Slice the figs in halves. Slice the apricots or leave them whole. In a skillet, heat the ghee. Add the figs face down and the apricots. Turn the apricots occasionally until evenly browned on both sides. On a medium-high flame this would take about 5-7 minutes. Check on the figs to make sure they don't fall apart of burn.

In a small pot, add the lemon juice, and honey and bring to a simmer. Infuse with the saffron and let it simmer for about 5 minutes until the flavors blend.

To serve - add the apricots and figs in a bowl. Spoon over the lemon-honey-saffron infusion. Add a spoon of creme fraiche and garnish with mint and a few strands of saffron.

Bon Apetit mes amis!

"Kaali Dal", Amma's way!

I love Dal (दाल) / (Lentils) , it is my staple. But for years I have been petrified of cooking Dal, simply because I could not cook it right.!

Finally this year, I was able to overcome my fears, because the truth is I cannot hold up a candle to my mother's shadow.. so instead of trying to do this perfectly, I am giving you my Dal, true to Amma's style!

Ingredients:-
Kaali Urad Dal (Black Lentils or Split Urad with husk) 2 cups
Water (3 * Dal qty = 6 cups, but I measure by sight - make it as thick / soupy as you like)
Green chillies - 1 / 2 / to taste
Turmeric 1 tbsp
Ginger 1 tbsp (Peeled, finely chopped)
Garlic 1 tbsp (Peeled, finely chopped)
Cumin seeds 1 tbsp
Ghee 2 tbsps (or olive oil as a vegan alternative)
Red dry chillies whole 2 /3 / to taste
Red Onion one-half, thinly sliced
Red chilli powder 1tsp / to taste
Bay Leaf 1
Garam Masala  - one pinch
Salt - to taste
Fresh Cilantro / Coriander to garnish

Method:-
1. Cook Dal -

Measure and wash dal in a pressure cooker. Wash thoroughly until the water is clear.

Add water and bring to a boil. Once it begins to boil. it will foam on the top. Scrape the layer of foam off with a large spoon and discard.

Add ginger, garlic, green chillies, turmeric and salt to taste. Close the pressure cooker lid and let simmer on medium flame for 15-18 minutes.










During this time, keep the pressure cooker locked. Once the time has elapsed, and you turn off the burner, blow the whistle 6-7 times by turning the knob to "whistle" -

Once the dal is cooked set aside. It would look in consistency something like this - water and dal are one! :)

2. Make Tadka

In a separate pan (iron skillet or non stick), heat oil / ghee. Add cumin seeds. When they begin to swell up and pop, add dry red chillies and bay leaf. When it browns add sliced onions and cook onions until browned. Add Red chilli powder and Garam masala and cook for one minute.

3. Incorporate

Ladle cooked Dal into the pan with the spice mixture (we call this mixture "tadka") Be very careful as the pan will sizzle and perhaps splash a little so add 2 big ladles quickly to cover the surface of the pan. Pull all the spices, onions into the Dal and pour the mixture back into the entire cooked dal and incorporate. You can close the cooker lid and allow this to cook for another 5 minutes for the flavors to blend or just bring to a boil on the open flame.

Garnish with freshly chopped cilantro leaves before serving with hot roti's / bread / rice / naan!

Greek for the Indian

I have plans to make a special meal tonight so lunch is simple, not cooked and...greek with ofcourse my own interpretation.

Fig, olives, a sprig of thyme, agave nectar, english cheddar cheese, dolmas from my favorite organic deli, and a piece of carrot for my bunny and me to share....

Very satiating, just perfect for a quick lunch before I get to work!!

Veda for the Vegetarian-Vegan Soul

The best things in life are... living.

I woke up this morning dismayed, worried, anxious. In moments past and in moments anticipated, I wallowed. And then as the story goes, the living moment - the present - spoke up and gently asked "what about me - can you be with me, I am here now." It's plea filled with love, I could not ignore.

So here I am in my now, in your now - doing the labor of the Soul on what is popularly called "Labor day weekend".  It is an auspicious start, my Indian heritage tells me. Every moment is precious, none more auspicious, my western thoughts chime in.
In this perfect moment, what could be better than to make a beginning.

If you, like me, love animals without wanting or having to eat them then you like me, are searching for another world.
If you, like me, want to start by making a small difference to this world,  perhaps just by buying "cage free eggs" or "organic milk", then you like me are trying to be on the path to something better.
If you, like me, love flavorful food, and do not believe that it needs to have dairy and meat to make it flavorful then you like me are searching for kindred spirits in need of affirmation.
If you, unlike me, eat animals, but are searching for a healthier, more nourishing alternative - even if only partially trying vegetarian food, then I applaud you for the effort.


But most importantly, we are both on the same trek up this soul mountain; So whoever you are, meat eater, vegetarian, vegan - whoever you are soul, I love you, and give to you, as I give to myself.


Let this day begin!

Sumie