Hello, boys and girls!
Welcome
to cooking with Varun! Back in 2016 when I was in Istanbul, Turkey,
things were exploding around me. Literally. Spots I used to hang out
were being targeted and there was cloud of fear that hung over the
place. I hung around for as long as I dared, but after the coup, I knew
it was time to go.
I booked my travel, packed my bags (with great difficulty since I had to part with a LOT of extra things that exceeded the paltry baggage allowance), commissioned my friend, Khal Haivan, to help with my stuff, and on the day, hailed a taxi to take me to the airport. Khal Haivan helped me load my suitcases into the boot and got into the cab with me. The airport was about an hour away, but having gotten acquainted with Istanbul's (terrible) traffic situation and the airport's tightened security checks, we left around 4 hours before the flight time to make sure I got there on time.
We cruised for the first 40 minutes. There was little to no traffic and I was thinking to myself how it was good that I'd carried an extra book to read since I was going to have a long wait. Then, unsurprisingly, we began to slow down as traffic started to get heavy. With plenty of time to spare, I was feeling pretty relaxed in the knowledge that we'd still get there with more than enough time to spare. Our taxi driver, however, had other ideas. Tired of sitting in traffic, he opted to take a side road that was a little longer but had far fewer vehicles. We drove for a few minutes only to be stopped by a police barricade telling us that the road was closed. Not one to give up, our self proclaimed hero, Cabman, took another side road, and then a few more only to end up at more barricades until I finally figured out (since my Turkish was limited to a few words and phrases) that all approach roads to the airport were closed barring the main road following an attack at the airport a few days prior. I checked the GPS, and it still showed us getting there with a little under 3 hours to spare so I wasn't too fussed. Cabman refused to give up and after driving to an intersection, began driving in reverse. Assuming he'd just missed an exit, I didn't give it much thought but about 50 meters in, I realized the idiot was attempting to reverse up the last 1 km up the highway on the shoulder of the wrong side of the road. As we reversed into a bend in the road, it happened. I saw his eyes widen, his lips part as he mouthed an expletive, and almost instinctively I leaned forward and braced myself for impact. With an ear piercing screech and crunch, the fender of an oncoming car crashed into the boot of our taxi. The back window shattered and glass rained down on us. Khal Haivan's body jerked as the impact had caught him off guard, and a long second later the smell of leaking petrol hit my nostrils. Shaking and covered in glass, we got out of the cab to be met by the wreckage of the car that had crashed into us and the mess that used to be our boot. After the trembling subsided, we managed to pry open what remained of the boot and pulled out my now damaged suitcases. With time running out, we tried to flag down another taxi. Cabman came up to us and demanded his fare. With damaged suitcases, a bleeding finger thanks to the broken glass, and a whiplashed friend, I told him I wasn't paying him and told him where he could go. Cabman didn't speak any English but the finger I was holding up gave him the general idea of what I was saying. He made a grab for my suitcase and I was painfully close to punching him in his idiot face when Khal Haivan stopped me and said it wasn't worth it. My flight was in less than 2 hours and it was pointless starting trouble now. I threw some money in Cabman's face and got into another cab that looped around and joined the traffic on the right side of the road.
With traffic getting worse and the clock ticking, we reached the airport with just over an hour to go, I made a mad dash to the first security checkpoint setting off every alarm they had because I forgot to empty my pockets and take my belt off. After a lengthy pat down, I grabbed my things and tried to find the counter, my jeans threatening to slip off my bum since I didn't have the time to put my belt back on. I reached sweaty, disheveled, and with broken baggage managed to check my bags in. I was told to hurry up as I bid my injured friend goodbye at the line for immigration checks and after standing in line for 20 minutes and having moved 12 feet, I had to do the thing I despise most. I begged my way past people standing ahead of me to get to the counter. I cleared immigration, rushed through security, and ran pell-mell across the airport to reach my gate which had started boarding. I got on the plane and sat down with a sigh of relief, my hands still shaking, and very uncharacteristically had a glass of wine to help calm my nerves.
As good as Turkish taxi drivers are with their driving skills (barring the buffoon I had the misfortune of riding with), what they sorely lack, is patience, which is key if you are going to cook this dish.
I booked my travel, packed my bags (with great difficulty since I had to part with a LOT of extra things that exceeded the paltry baggage allowance), commissioned my friend, Khal Haivan, to help with my stuff, and on the day, hailed a taxi to take me to the airport. Khal Haivan helped me load my suitcases into the boot and got into the cab with me. The airport was about an hour away, but having gotten acquainted with Istanbul's (terrible) traffic situation and the airport's tightened security checks, we left around 4 hours before the flight time to make sure I got there on time.
We cruised for the first 40 minutes. There was little to no traffic and I was thinking to myself how it was good that I'd carried an extra book to read since I was going to have a long wait. Then, unsurprisingly, we began to slow down as traffic started to get heavy. With plenty of time to spare, I was feeling pretty relaxed in the knowledge that we'd still get there with more than enough time to spare. Our taxi driver, however, had other ideas. Tired of sitting in traffic, he opted to take a side road that was a little longer but had far fewer vehicles. We drove for a few minutes only to be stopped by a police barricade telling us that the road was closed. Not one to give up, our self proclaimed hero, Cabman, took another side road, and then a few more only to end up at more barricades until I finally figured out (since my Turkish was limited to a few words and phrases) that all approach roads to the airport were closed barring the main road following an attack at the airport a few days prior. I checked the GPS, and it still showed us getting there with a little under 3 hours to spare so I wasn't too fussed. Cabman refused to give up and after driving to an intersection, began driving in reverse. Assuming he'd just missed an exit, I didn't give it much thought but about 50 meters in, I realized the idiot was attempting to reverse up the last 1 km up the highway on the shoulder of the wrong side of the road. As we reversed into a bend in the road, it happened. I saw his eyes widen, his lips part as he mouthed an expletive, and almost instinctively I leaned forward and braced myself for impact. With an ear piercing screech and crunch, the fender of an oncoming car crashed into the boot of our taxi. The back window shattered and glass rained down on us. Khal Haivan's body jerked as the impact had caught him off guard, and a long second later the smell of leaking petrol hit my nostrils. Shaking and covered in glass, we got out of the cab to be met by the wreckage of the car that had crashed into us and the mess that used to be our boot. After the trembling subsided, we managed to pry open what remained of the boot and pulled out my now damaged suitcases. With time running out, we tried to flag down another taxi. Cabman came up to us and demanded his fare. With damaged suitcases, a bleeding finger thanks to the broken glass, and a whiplashed friend, I told him I wasn't paying him and told him where he could go. Cabman didn't speak any English but the finger I was holding up gave him the general idea of what I was saying. He made a grab for my suitcase and I was painfully close to punching him in his idiot face when Khal Haivan stopped me and said it wasn't worth it. My flight was in less than 2 hours and it was pointless starting trouble now. I threw some money in Cabman's face and got into another cab that looped around and joined the traffic on the right side of the road.
With traffic getting worse and the clock ticking, we reached the airport with just over an hour to go, I made a mad dash to the first security checkpoint setting off every alarm they had because I forgot to empty my pockets and take my belt off. After a lengthy pat down, I grabbed my things and tried to find the counter, my jeans threatening to slip off my bum since I didn't have the time to put my belt back on. I reached sweaty, disheveled, and with broken baggage managed to check my bags in. I was told to hurry up as I bid my injured friend goodbye at the line for immigration checks and after standing in line for 20 minutes and having moved 12 feet, I had to do the thing I despise most. I begged my way past people standing ahead of me to get to the counter. I cleared immigration, rushed through security, and ran pell-mell across the airport to reach my gate which had started boarding. I got on the plane and sat down with a sigh of relief, my hands still shaking, and very uncharacteristically had a glass of wine to help calm my nerves.
As good as Turkish taxi drivers are with their driving skills (barring the buffoon I had the misfortune of riding with), what they sorely lack, is patience, which is key if you are going to cook this dish.
For my Gajar Ki Rabdi, you will need the following:
| Milk | 1 litre |
| Carrots | 2 medium |
| Sugar | 10-12 tsp |
| Cardamoms | 2-3 |
| Cornflour | 2 tsp |
| Almonds | handful |
Prep:
- Grate the carrots. (A great bicep workout if you don't have a food processor!)
- Mix the cornflour in a splash of cold milk to make a slurry.
- Roughly chop the almonds.
- Turn on the gas.
- Crank it up to high.
- Bung a heavy bottomed pan on.
- Pour in the milk.
- Toss in the cardamoms.
- Wait for the milk to come to a boil.
- Look away for a split second.
- Turn back to see the milk boiling over and getting all over the cooktop.
- Quickly drop the heat to low.
- Cry.
- Stop crying because there is no point crying over split milk.
- Wipe tears.
- Realize you weren't crying because you split milk. You were crying because you have a massive mess to clean up.
- Cry again.
- Stop crying.
- Wipe tears.
- Crank the heat up to medium to bring the milk to a simmer.
- Pop in the grated carrots.
- Mix.
- Drop the heat to low.
- Let it boil and reduce for about 45 minutes to an hour (stir at intervals when you get bored).
- Spoon in the sugar.
- Mix well.
- Add in the cornflour slurry to thicken.
- Simmer for a little longer until it reaches the desired consistency.
- Throw in most of the almonds.
- Mix.
- Let cool.
- Garnish with the remaining almonds.
- Serve. (Hot or cold, your call. Just don't forget to scrape and lick the sticky bits off the pan!).
- Stuff face.
- Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.
And remember, overeating is a myth. A full tummy is a happy tummy!
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