Cheesy Butter Eggs

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun. On my first trip to Istanbul, Turkey, my colleague, Ms. Technically Gifted Rebel, would take me around to see what there was to see, and eat what there was to eat. One Saturday evening, we went to the Galata area to eat at one of the many seafood restaurants there. We found a nice (and very busy) restaurant and waited for what felt like a few years until there was a table available. After eating some great mezze and lovely shrimp (among other things), we headed out to walk around the waterfront until we were joined by one of her friends who was taking the ferry down from the Asian side. After introductions were made, we headed to Taksim to have a drink, and because I like to pretend I'm still young and hip, then hit a club. Since we'd just had a really fun time, (and beer induced bravery) I asked my colleague's friend for her number to see if she wanted to hang out some time. Digits exchanged, we called it a night and went our separate ways.

The following weekend, I gave her a call and we met up for drinks on Saturday night. We met at the head of Istiklal street and made our way through the throng to a little winding offshoot lane that was lined with little restaurants and cozy little cafes. After turning down the pleas of invitation from half a dozen establishment owners, we finally found a place she liked and made our way to a table by the door. Once we were seated, the waiter handed us menus as we ordered our drinks. Since the menu was in Turkish, I left the ordering to the expert, and in a few minutes, the waiter plopped a platter of assorted cheeses on our table. From stringy to crumbly to strong to downright strange, we sipped our drinks and worked (she worked, I plodded) our way through the cheese platter all the while typing into Google Translate to make conversation. Once we were done (I was quite relieved at this point; it's really hard to communicate without a common language!), we made our way to the club we had hit last week. This was a big plus, since the club was really loud so making awkward broken conversation wasn't even an option! As we walked to the club through the orange glow of the dimly lit lanes, she began to hum and skip merrily down the cobbled path and soon had me skipping too. A couple of hours later, Hums-as-she-skips and I fell out of the club, and we made our way to the taxi stand on shaky legs and parted company.

Needless to say, my hangover the next day was something fierce and all the water and orange juice in the world couldn't make it go away!

This recipe, would have been the perfect hangover breakfast (with the added advantage of a nice mature cheddar instead of the Turkish alternatives), and it is regretful that I did not have access to it at the time. You, on the other hand, can now have it whenever you please!

For my Cheesy Butter Eggs, you will need the following:

Eggs	4
Butter	massive blob
Cheese	big chunk/6 slices
Milk	big splash
Salt	to taste
Pepper	to taste

Prep:

1. Crack the eggs open in a bowl.
2. Beat them until fluffy.
3. Grate/cut the cheese into smallish pieces.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a pan on.
3. Plop in the butter.
4. Watch it melt into a gorgeous golden pool.
5. Splash in the milk.
6. Toss in the cheese.
7. Move the contents around until the cheese melts.
8. Pour in the eggs.
9. Mix to combine the cheese sauce with the eggs.
10. Add salt and pepper to taste (careful with the salt, the cheese is already salty!).
11. Cook until the eggs reach your desired level of cooked.
12. Turn the gas off.
13. Serve with toast (and bacon, and sausages, and hash browns).
14. Stuff face.
15. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: I prefer a nice mature cheddar cheese for this, but most cheeses will work as long as they are not stringy (like mozzarella).

And remember, overeating is a myth. A full tummy is a happy tummy!

Beer & Lime Grilled Chicken

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun! I've always been a big fan of grilled chicken. Ever since I was little, I remember being immensely fond of tandoori chicken, kebabs, and all things barbeque, and despite my then diminutive size, I could really pack it away.

My best friend growing up, was Parsi Drama Queen. When we weren't at school (or breaking window panes playing cricket or football with the rest of our friends), we'd spend hours on end playing trump cards on his front porch, or classic 8 bit video games on the little telly in his parents' room. From kicking him awake when the professor came our way in class, letting him copy off my test papers (he still managed to score more than I did!), to pigging out at the buffet at the new years' parties at the hotel where my Dad worked, we spent an inordinate amount of time together and it was no surprise that his family treated me like one of their own. On a summer evening back in the late '90s (we were probably 13 at the time), I was invited to his house for a barbeque. I arrived at his place just as his brother, Never Without A Smile, was furiously fanning the coals trying to get them to stay alight. Now, Parsi Drama Queen was quite rotund and had an appetite worthy of his size, whereas I was about half his size but boasted a much larger appetite than one would expect. As Never Without A Smile started roasting potatoes, Parsi Drama Queen and I decided to have an eating contest to finally put the matter of who could eat more, to rest. Once we'd polished off the potatoes, Never Without A Smile popped the chicken on the grill, and the contest began. For nearly an hour, Parsi Drama Queen and I matched each other piece for piece as Never Without A Smile kept grilling until he abruptly stopped. As we waited for the next piece, Never Without A Smile realized that there was no more chicken left to grill. The 5 chickens that he had lovingly marinated were over. Parsi Drama Queen and I had eaten 2 and a half chickens each! To make matters worse, there was no food in the fridge either, save for some left over dal and still frozen sausages. But Never Without A Smile, the saint that he is, didn't complain (not while I was there anyway, no idea what happened after), and proceeded to heat up the dal and thaw the sausages for his dinner. Since the chicken was over, and we had eaten an equal number of pieces, the  contest was deemed a tie, until my chubby friend claimed that because he had eaten 2 potatoes against my 1,  he deserved the title, and crowned himself champion.

This recipe is one of many that you can use to make some lovely grilled chicken, and despite it's western feel, pairs surprisingly well with butter naans or rumali rotis.

For my Beer & Lime Grilled Chicken, you will need the following:

Chicken breasts	2-3
Beer	200 ml
Lime	1
Ginger	1 inch piece
Garlic	3 cloves
Worcestershire sauce	splash
Salt	to taste
Pepper	to taste
Oil

Prep:

1. Mince the ginger and garlic.
2. Butterfly the chicken breasts.
3. Make little cuts on the meat to better soak in the marinade.
4. Plop the meat in a bowl.
5. Pour in the beer. (I used a nice malt beer.)
6. Squeeze in the lemon.
7. Drop in the minced ginger and garlic.
8. Sprinkle in the salt and pepper.
9. Splash in the Worcestershire sauce.
10. Mix.
11. Stick the bowl in the fridge for an hour.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a griddle pan on.
3. Splash in some oil and spread it evenly.
4. Wait until the oil heats up.
5. Fish out the chicken breasts from the bowl and slap them on the pan. 
6. Step back from the sputtering oil.
7. Pour on some of the marinade on the chicken as it's cooking.
8. Cook for 5-6 minutes and flip the chicken over.
9. Cook for another 5 minutes or so until the chicken is cooked all the way through.
10. Crank the heat up, and flip the chicken a couple of times for a few seconds each to get the grill marks.
11. Serve.
12. Stuff face.
13. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: Keep basting the chicken with a little marinade from time to time to keep pumping it full of flavour.

And remember, overeating is a myth. A full tummy is a happy tummy!

Besan Waali Arbi

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun! When you need gram flour and there isn't any at home, and the stores are closed, where do you go? To a Gujarati parent with 2 sons, because they have 'be-son'! Geddit? Huh? Huh? I'd apologize for how bad this joke is, but you know I'm not really. And this isn't the last one either! (Evil laugh!)

Speaking of Gujarati's, I have a few very good Gujarati friends, including the lovable Refugee, who used to crash in our spare room in Antrim, Northern Ireland, back in 2011. Over the years, however, our roles were reversed and when Refugee moved to London, when I wasn't paying him and his Mrs. a social visit, I shamelessly used his pad as a place to crash when travelling in and out of London. Have an early morning flight from London? No problem! Just take the train from Solihull to London the evening before, and crash on Refugee's couch. Schengen visa appointment early Monday morning? No problem! Just take the train from Solihull to London the evening before, and crash on Refugee's couch. All for the very small price of cooking the odd dinner as a thank you. When I wasn't taking advantage of his hospitality, we'd go out, watch movies, eat some delectable Hyderabadi biryani, toss back a few beers, and watch football.

On one occasion, we went to a pub called Pepper Saint Ontiod in Canary Wharf in London to surprise a friend who played gigs there with her band. After chugging back a few beers (I was looking for a reason to keep going back to the bar to speak to the very cute bartender girl), eating, cheering loudly for the band, and basically having a great time, we helped the band pack up and lug their ridiculously heavy equipment and put them on a train back home. Since it was late, and because we were greedy despite eating at the pub, we popped into a nearby Indian restaurant to grab some takeaway to eat when we got home. Then it was home, dinner, bed, followed predictably by a hangover the following morning.

While the takeaway was nothing to write home about, this recipe certainly is, and if you like arbi half as much as I do, you'll love it.

For my Besan Waali Arbi, you will need the following:

Arbi (Colocasia/Taro root)	500 gms
Besan (gram flour)	2 cups
Garlic	3-4 cloves
Green chillies	2
Salt	to taste
Oil

Prep:

1. Mince the garlic.
2. Chop the chillies.
3. Grab a pressure cooker.
4. Plonk the arbi in.
5. Fill it with water until the arbi is submerged.
6. Sprinkle in some salt. 
7. Slap on the lid.
8. Turn on the gas.
9. Bung the pressure cooker on. 
10. Wait until the first whistle begins.
11. Turn off the gas just as the pressure cooker is about to whistle. (Any more and you'll have a mushy mess!)
12. Wait until the steam leaves the pressure cooker.
13. Open the lid.
14. Cool the arbi down with cold water.
15. Peel the skin off.
16. Cut the arbi into biggish pieces.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a pan on.
3. Splash in the oil. (I sometimes do half oil, half ghee.)
4. Count to 20.
5. Pop in the garlic.
6. Roll in the chillies.
7. Take in the wonderful aroma.
8. Gradually add in the besan. 
9. Mix until you have a nice smooth paste.
10. Add salt to taste.
11. Mix and cook for a couple of minutes.
12. Drop in the arbi.
13. Mix until the arbi is well coated with the besan.
14. Cook together for a few minutes.
15. Turn the gas off.
16. Serve with hot rotis.
17. Stuff face.
18. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: I love eating besan waali arbi with yellow moong dal; when I finish my rotis, I mix the remaining arbi in with the dal and eat it. Try it. It's ace.

And remember, overeating is a myth. A full tummy is a happy tummy!

Keema Pav

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun. Back in 2005, when I first started working, I, along with several others, was part of a scholarship program to get my M.S. degree that had us working as full time employees Monday through Friday, and learning as students on the weekends. Since this was everyone's first job, and given that the first 3 months after joining, we had been subjected to a battery of trainings and assessments, the college hangover hadn't quite gone away, and after a week of playing it professional, we'd regress into our 'campus' persona.

As part of our initial training, we were randomly split into batches and a bunch of us found ourselves in the same training facility in Bangalore, India. Given that we were all in the same boat, nervous freshers with no knowledge of the corporate world, a group of us became fast friends. One of my mates, Manly-Aerobics-Doer, had made a quick trip home one weekend and returned with a box of the most spectacular laddoos that we practically inhaled! The weeks ticked by, and our training was soon complete, and we returned to our respective cities to finally pretend to be responsible adults. A couple of semesters in, Manly-Aerobics-Doer, the gem that he is, gave me a call to tell me that his buddy was moving cities and coming to Poona for the remainder of the program and that he was sending me a box of laddoos with him. Normally, the fact that someone new was joining our program would have been enough for me to speak to them, but the promise of the laddoos really put the prospect over with me and I couldn't wait for the bloke to arrive. On D-day, I got a call from him saying he was on campus and where we could catch up, and I hurriedly rushed to meet the laddoos (and him). I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but my first meeting with the guy, Tall-dark-and-Bong (short for Bengali, not what you're thinking!), was driven so much by greed, that I barely said hello; I just grabbed the box and bolted. Thankfully, as the laddoos were devoured, sanity returned, and Tall-dark-and-Bong and I became really close friends.

A few years later, after our program was done and we had all either moved jobs and/or cities, Tall-dark-and-Bong told me his wife, Run-till-you-drop, was coming to Poona for a visit and that I should meet her. Seeing as I was in the city and that Run-till-you-drop and I had only spoken online, it seemed like an excellent opportunity to really get to know each other. Unfortunately, poor explaining on Tall-dark-and-Bong's part and even worse comprehension on mine, coupled with my appallable sense of direction, our meeting was less than stellar and it only seemed right that I should begin my association with both husband and wife on the wrong-est of feet, the only saving grace being the excellent keema we had for dinner.

All that is behind us now though, and we continue to keep in touch, my friends circle with Tall-dark-and-Bong and I reminisce about the good times, and Run-till-you-drop trades me fitness inspiration for what she terms 'marriage saving recipes'. This one, in fact, is all for her!

For my Keema Pav, you will need the following:

Keema (mince)	500 gms. (meat of choice)
Onions	2 medium
Tomato	1 large
Peas	1 cup
Ginger garlic paste	2 tsp
Coriander (dhaniya) powder	3 tsp
Red chilli powder	3 tsp
Cumin (jeera) powder	1 tsp
Garam masala	2 tsp
Green chillies	2
Cumin (jeera) seeds	2 tsp
Bayleaf	1
Cardamom (elaichi) pod	1
Cloves	3
Cinnamon	small piece
Tomato puree	shot
Salt	to taste
Coriander (dhaniya) leaves	handful
Water
Oil

Prep:

1. Blitz or finely chop the onion.
2. Puree the tomato.
3. Shell or defrost your peas. 
4. Chop the chillies.
5. Roughly chop the coriander leaves.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a little pan on.
3. Splash in some oil.
4. Count to 20.
5. Float in the bayleaf.
6. Pop in the cloves.
7. Poink in the cardamom.
8. Toss in the jeera.
9. Slide in the onions.
10. Wince at the spatter.
11. Roll in the chillies.
12. Cook until the onions are light brown.
13. Spoon in the ginger garlic paste.
14. Mix and cook until the onions are dark brown.
15. Sprinkle in the red chilli powder, dhaniya powder, jeera powder and 1 tsp of garam masala.
16. Mix.
17. Add in the tomatoes.
18. Cook until the oil separates from the masala.
19. Add in the puree shot, and mix.
20. Plop in the keema.
21. Break it down with a wooden spoon so it's not lumpy.
22. Bump the heat up a notch.
23. Mix and cook until the keema goes brown.
24. Add in the peas.
25. Pour in a couple of cups of water.
26. Add salt to taste.
27. Bring to a boil.
28. Drop the heat down to low.
29. Pop a lid on.
30. Take a 20 minute walk.
31. Take the lid off.
32. Taste test.
33. Adjust the salt and cook some more if required.
34. Turn the gas off.
35. Sprinkle on 1 tsp of garam masala.
36. Throw on the coriander leaves.
37. Pop the lid back on and let it sit for a few minutes.
38. Serve with buttered, lightly toasted pav.
39. Stuff face.
40. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

 

Tip: If you live abroad and can't find pav, burger buns or white rolls work just as well. 

And remember, overeating is a myth. A full tummy is a happy tummy!

Stuffed Capsicum (Stuffed Peppers)

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun. Let's start this off with a lame (Hindi) joke shall we? If an apparel store had a blowout sale on t-shirts and not on headgear, kya tshirt ki keemat cap-se-kam hogi? If you understand Hindi, please don't leave. I'll stop making jokes, I swear (maybe). If you don't understand Hindi, lucky you! 

While we're on the topic of caps and t-shirts, I'm taken back years and years ago to when I was fresh out of school and often sported a backwards cap with a tuft of hair poking out. Not my best look, I'll admit, but I was more excited about going to junior college not having to wear a uniform everyday, and the fact that I didn't need to crop my hair as short as freshly mowed grass, which is the rule with most convent schools in India. College was great; after a lifetime of studying in boys-only schools, I finally got the chance to interact with the fairer sex. Also, I didn't have to be stuck in a classroom all day, so I spent a lot of time at the basketball court, or throwing about a frisbee on the college ground. One time, my friends and I came across a little envelope of passport sized photographs that some other kid had accidentally dropped on the basketball court by the pavilion. We didn't recognize the face on the picture so returning them got a little difficult. After looking around to see if we could spot the person in question with no luck, one of the more mischievous of our number suggested we play a little prank on the as yet unidentified owner. We got a blank sheet of paper (probably ripped from the stock provided in one of the files provided for practical work) and proceeded to fashion a 'Missing Person' poster. I can't recall the exact words we wrote on it but there definitely was a bit about giving the kid his own room and how much his parents loved him. To make it look official, we used a heavy soled boot to make what resembled a seal or rubber stamp on the bottom right corner. Once we had a poster ready, we had copies made (which made our dusty seal look infinitely more official) and glued a picture on each poster. We then walked around the campus sticking our posters next to the many notice boards, using chewing gum as an adhesive. After we were done, we popped over to the guy selling nimbu paani (lemonade) across the road, and congratulated ourselves on our cleverness as we chugged down glasses of the definitely unhygienic, but unquestionably delicious drink.

For those wondering, we did eventually see the owner of the pictures but since we hung out in different circles, he never found out that we were the ones responsible for making him a very minor celebrity. 

Coming back to food (having exhausted my cap connection), here's the recipe!

For my Stuffed Capsicum/Peppers, you will need the following:

Capsicum (peppers)	2-3
Onion	1
Potatoes	4 (medium - large)
Garlic cloves	3-4
Green chillies	2-3
Mustard seeds	3 tsp
Haldi (turmeric) powder	1 tsp
Red chilli powder	2 tsp
Salt	to taste
Oil

Prep:

1. Boil the potatoes. (4 whistles in the pressure cooker should do it.)
2. Let the potatoes cool.
3. Peel and roughly mash them.
4. Chop 3 chillies.
5. Peel, smoosh, and chop the garlic cloves.
6. Halve the capsicums (green peppers), and take the seeds out.
7. Thinly slice the onion.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a pan on.
3. Splash in some oil.
4. Count to 20.
5. Bounce in the mustard seeds.
6. Roll in the chopped chillies.
7. Toss in the garlic.
8. Pop in the onion.
9. Cook for a minute.
10. Add in the haldi and the red chilli powder.
11. Wait a couple of minutes until the masalas are cooked.
12. Add in the (almost) mashed potatoes.
13. Mix well until the potatoes are a uniform sunset yellow.
14. Add salt to taste.
15. Cook for a couple of minutes.
16. Turn the gas off.
17. Wait 5 minutes until the potatoes cool a little.
18. Fetch your halved capsicum.
19. Grab a spoon.
20. Spoon in the potatoes until the capsicum is full.
21. Smoothen the top.
22. Repeat steps 20 and 21 until all capsicums are stuffed.
23. Turn on the gas.
24. Bung a non-stick pan on.
25. Drizzle in some oil.
26. Pop in your capsicum, back down.
27. Cook until the back of the capsicum becomes a nice brown.
28. Flip the capsicum over so it's stuffing side down.
29. Cook for 2-3 minutes until the potatoes go crispy.
30. Turn the gas off.
31. Gently scrape off the  bit of potato stuck to the pan.
32. Fight with your roommate/partner over who gets to eat the crispy goodness.
33. Serve.
34. Stuff face.
35. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: If you want your capsicum cooked a little more but are worried about over-browning it, just pop a lid on for a 2-3 minutes on each side.

And remember, overeating is a myth. A full tummy is a happy tummy!

Pudina Chicken

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun! Back in 2010, when I first visited Melbourne, Australia, on my business visa, cooking and I had never really been introduced. I could make scrambled eggs (that started off as omelettes), grilled cheese sandwiches, and instant noodles, in the kitchen of my company booked service apartment, but that was the extent of it. It was no wonder, therefore, that my loyalty card from the local pizzeria had more holes than a block of Swiss cheese (on account of the punching), and that my relatives saw my pretty mug every weekend whether or not they had invited me over.

On my slightly longer trip later that year, I stayed with a colleague, Curly-&-Burly, at his apartment. His wife, who had a bun in the oven, had travelled back to the mothership to be with her parents and in doing so had kindly left behind a side of the bed for me to sleep on. Curly-&-Burly was a nice guy, very helpful, very accommodating, and also a very good cook. He would cook big batches of food, with my 'help', a couple of days a week and stick the rest in the fridge for nights when he was pulling ungodly hours at work. Every Friday, however, we'd stroll over to the pizza joints close to the station after getting off the train, buy a couple of large pizzas (they'd always be on a promotional offer), and carry them home, all the time resisting the urge to snack on a slice or 3 as we walked. It was while living here that I realized the wisdom of the words, 'Every pizza is a personal pizza if you try really hard and believe in your self!'. When we weren't tucking away pizzas, we were stuffing our faces with other not-so-healthy-fare and then burning it all off at the gym the next day. On days that we did cook, Curly-&-Burly did the cooking, and I did the prepping and washing up. I thought, initially, that this was a pretty sweet deal, but after several nights of weeping as I chopped onions, and then found myself elbow deep in soap suds as I scrubbed the saucepans, I realized how wrong I was. How. Very. Wrong. I. Was. Curly-&-Burly had this one chicken dish he'd make that was out of this world, that I could never get enough of, that I would beg him to make almost every week. He was a good egg, so he'd agree and ask me start prepping the ingredients. The downside, was it needed 6 onions. 6 tear-inducing, evil, purple grenades, that before I was a third of the way through, had tears running down my cheeks, as I muddled blindly through my task, paying little attention to whether the knife came down on the bloody onion or my poor finger. Spoiler alert, my finger didn't always escape unharmed. It was well worth the pain though, because the chicken always went down a treat and always left me waiting for next week.

This recipe, thankfully, has no onions so you can throw your fingers up in the air and do a little bhangra to celebrate. This is something I put together while pottering with my coriander chicken recipe because I wanted to try something different but couldn't be too bothered to really experiment. But as they say in cricket, it doesn't matter how the runs come, as long as they come, the resulting dish was the important bit, my laziness wasn't!

For my Pudina Chicken, you will need the following:
 

Chicken	500 gms (boneless, if you can wangle it)
Pudina (mint) leaves	2 big handfuls
Coriander leaves	1 big handful
Green chillies	3
Garlic	4-5 cloves
Ginger	1" piece
Cashews	10
Tomato	1 medium
Red chilli powder	2-3 tsp
Coriander powder	2-3 tsp
Cumin powder	1 tsp
Garam masala	1 tsp
Ginger garlic paste	2 tsp
Yoghurt	3 tbsp
Cloves	3
Cardamom pods	3
Cinnamon	small piece
Salt	to taste
Cooking oil

Prep:

Marinade:

1. Dice the chicken.
2. Grab a bowl.
3. Drop the chicken in.
4. Plop on the yoghurt.
5. Sprinkle in the red chilli powder, coriander powder, cumin powder, and 2 tsp salt.
6. Spoon in the ginger garlic paste.
7. Mix well until the chicken is nicely coated.
8. Pop a lid or clear wrap on.
9. Stick it in the fridge for a couple of hours.

Pudina (mint) paste:

1. Grab a grinder.
2. Stuff in the pudina (mint) leaves.
3. Stuff in the coriander leaves.
4. Stick in the chillies.
5. Pop in the garlic.
6. Pop in the ginger.
7. Quarter and toss in the tomato.
8. Stick in the cashews.
9. Pinch in some salt.
10. Splash in some water.
11. Blitz.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a pan on.
3. Splash in some oil.
4. Count to 20.
5. Bounce in the cloves, cardamom pods, and the cinnamon.
6. Wait for a few seconds until you can smell the spices.
7. Plop in the marinated chicken and listen to the pan hiss and spit.
8. Crank the heat up a notch or two to get a nice sear on the chicken. (Don't let it stick and burn!)
9. Drop the heat.
10. Splash in a cup of water and pop a lid on.
11. Cook for about 20 minutes until the chicken is nearly done.
12. Take the lid off.
13. Spoon in the pudina paste.
14. Add salt to taste. (Remember that your marinade and paste have salt!)
15. Mix well and cook for about 5 minutes.
16. Drop the heat and bring to a simmer.
17. Sprinkle on the garam masala.
18. Cook for a couple of minutes.
19. Taste test.
20. Turn the gas off.
21. Serve with hot rotis.
22. Stuff face.
23. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: No reason why this wouldn't work with big soft chunks of paneer.

And remember, overeating is a myth, a full tummy is a happy tummy!