Fish Recheado

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun! One of my favourite places to visit (like countless other people) is Goa. I can never seem to get enough of the sandy beaches, beers by the sea, and obviously, the gorgeous local cuisine. Most trips, I just plonk myself on a deck chair by the edge of the water and read a book with a bottle of chilled beer and some snacks by my side as the sun steadily makes my already brown skin even browner. A tan that takes countless lemon scrubs and 6 months to get rid off!

The funny thing about a trip to Goa when you're younger is that the trip needs to be relatively spontaneous and needs someone to take the lead. If you take longer than 2 days to plan and book your trip, people start to drop out one by one until there's just you left. And with no soul searching or self discovery to do, the odds of making the trip are about as much as people agreeing on what the best cuisine in the world is. In fact, it is widely acknowledged that if you walk up to a random college student or young professional in India, they will have at least 2 stories about their almost-but-not-quite trip, how their friends let them down, and how they would have gone if even one other person had said yes (lies!). My conversion rate on these isn't much better with my only successful trip as a student being wayyy back in 2009.

8 of us, 4 days of laying about on the beach, burying ourselves in the sand, downing beers, doing drunken karaoke at 3 am, and devouring enough local food for each meal to feed a small army without a care in the world. From vindaloos to xacutis to cafreals to recheados, we ate it all and then some. This recipe is my take on Goa's popular fish recheado and if you're in an almost-but-not-quite situation, I assure you that dish this will make you feel like you're there!

For my Fish Recheado, you will need the following:

Fish	3-4 fillets of a white fish
Kashmiri chillies (dried)	8
Garlic	4 cloves
Ginger	1" piece
Cloves	3-4
Peppercorns	8-10
Jeera (cumin seeds)	1/2 tsp
Rai (mustard seeds)	1/2 tsp
Sugar	pinch
Methre (fenugreek seeds)	pinch
Imli paste	1-2 tbsp
Vinegar	big splash
Salt	to taste
Oil

Prep:

1. Pop the chillies in a bowl.
2. Pour on hot water until they are submerged.
3. Cover with a lid or a plate.
4. Let it sit for a few minutes.

Method:

Recheado Masala:

1. Grab a grinder.
2. Toss in the garlic.
3. Throw in the ginger.
4. Pop in the cloves.
5. Bounce in the peppercorns.
6. Shake in the jeera.
7. Chuck in the rai.
8. Pinch in the sugar.
9. Plonk in the methre.
10. Spoon in the imli paste.
11. Add in the soaked chillies.
12. Splash in the vinegar.
13. Pour in a tiny amount of water.
14. Stick the lid on the grinder.
15. Blitz until smooth.
16. Take the masala out into a bowl.
17. Season the fish.
18. Generously rub on the masala to coat the fish.
19. Leave for 30 minutes.

Cook:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a pan on.
3. Splash in some oil.
4. Crank the heat up to high.
5. Count to 20.
6. Drop the heat to a medium.
7. Lay in a marinated fillet.
8. Jump back as the pan hisses and sputters.
9. Carefully add in the remaining fillets. (Don't crowd the pan!)
10. Cook for a few minutes on each side until the fish is done. (The fish will start to flake but still be moist inside.)
11. Turn the gas off.
12. Take the fish out into a plate.
13. Serve with a side of sliced onions and a wedge of lemon.
14. Stuff face.
15. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: You can use the same masala with prawns or squid or any other seafood.

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

Chicken Noodle Soup

Hello, boys and girls,

Welcome to cooking with Varun! In January 2020, Ball-and-chain and I made a trip to Prague, Czech Republic. We flew out on a Friday afternoon and arrived in Prague in the early evening. After clearing immigration, we exited the airport and took a cab to our hotel. Once we had arrived, we quickly checked in, dropped off our bags, and stepped out to explore the city. Armed with a map that screamed 'TOURIST!', we made our way to the old town via. Wenceslas Square where we made our first, and quite possibly, our most important stop. At Sephora. 15 minutes later, with a new lipstick in my coat pocket and a ton of brownie points in the other, we were on our way to the old town square once again stopping briefly to hug people with 'Free Hugs' signs. To the long-haired hippie who hugged Ball-and-chain longer than necessary, I don't know who you are and I don't know what you want, but I will find you and introduce my foot to your rear end.

The next couple of days were great. The sun came out and we spent the days sight-seeing, tucking into some great food, and drinking some great beers. Sadly, all those chilled beers gave me a throat-ache and on the day before we were set to depart, I came down with a cold. As I sniffled from location to location, we came across a restaurant advertising a lunch deal of soup and a main dish in the window. Running low on local currency, and my throat waging war, we decided to stop there for lunch. Big mistake. We took a seat and ordered our food as a group of girls from a nearby table argued with the sole waiter over the french fries they had been billed for. Thinking nothing of it, we sat back and waited until our soups arrived. We tasted a spoonful and found they were stone cold. We called the waiter over to inform him of this and he very brazenly told us that they had just been made and that I was wrong. I insisted they were cold and he picked up my plate, touched the bottom and incredibly rudely asked, "This is cold?", all the time shaking his head and muttering in Czech. Not wanting to explain microwaving 101 to him, I repeated that it was and he stormed off to re-heat them. Having watched enough kitchen disaster shows, I was pretty confident the ray of sunshine that was our waiter would season our lunch with his saliva and we decided to leave. We went to the manager(?) lady and said we were leaving when the ray of sunshine came storming back out and started yelling at us. I asked, very politely, that he refrain from yelling and reminded him that the key to being in the hospitality industry was hospitality, when he screamed, "You Indians are always doing this bullshit!" and told us to fuck off. Returning his warm sentiment, we walked out of the restaurant, pausing only long enough to flip him the bird as we left.

The remainder of our trip was (predictably) uneventful in comparison and when we finally got back home the next day, I cooked up a batch of my own soup, that along with being piping hot, was also much better than the one served to us by Alexei of Restaurace U Prochazku in Prague. Normally, I'd tell you not to visit the place unless you are a fan of rudeness and racial abuse, but I'm fairly confident that given Alexei's winning personality coupled with the stand out quality of their food, it won't remain open for very long.

For my Chicken Noodle Soup, you will need the following:

Chicken breasts	2 (boneless and skinless)
Noodles	100 gm
Celery	2 stalks
Carrots	2
Garlic	4-5 cloves
Mushrooms	4-5 big ones
Chicken stock	1.5 litres (stock cubes + water)
Peppercorns	tiny handful
Butter	knob
Olive Oil	splash
Salt	to taste
Pepper	to taste

Prep:

1. Peel and chop the carrots.
2. Chop up the celery.
3. Bash and mince the garlic.
4. Slice the mushrooms.
5. Make the chicken stock by dropping 2-3 stock cubes in hot water.
6. Pop the stock on the gas and drop in the chicken breasts.
7. Bring to a boil.
8. Drop to a simmer and cook for about 20 minutes.
9. Fish out the chicken breasts and let cool. (Keep the stock aside.)
10. Shred the chicken with a fork (or a hand mixer which is surprisingly effective!)

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a saucepan on.
3. Plonk in a knob of butter.
4. Pour in a glug of olive oil.
5. Toss in some peppercorns for good measure.
6. Plop in the carrots.
7. Drop in the celery.
8. Toss in the garlic.
9. Cook until the carrots and celery have softened.
10. Pour in the stock.
11. Throw in the mushrooms.
12. Add in the shredded chicken.
13. Drop in the noodles.
14. Add salt and pepper to taste. (The stock will already have salt from the cubes so taste before you sprinkle!)
15. Bring to a boil.
16. Drop to a simmer.
17. Pop a lid on and cook until the noodles are done.
18. Turn the gas off.
19. Ladle the hot soup into a bowl, top with crushed pepper and parsley, and serve with crusty bread (or a garlic baguette).
20. Stuff face.
21. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: Don't be racist. It's not nice.

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

Spaghetti In Meat Sauce

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun! In the summer of 2017, I got married. Immediately after, Ball-and-chain and I flew off to live in Durham, England on a project assignment. For a year, we gallivanted across the UK, made a couple of trips to Europe, and shoveled ridiculous amounts of food in our faces like there was no tomorrow until sadly, it was time for us to leave our little home and return to the mothership.

Upon our return to India, we were accosted by family and relatives alike, all descending upon us like famished birds of prey having discovered the road being taken by the Pied Piper, eager to get their fill. Ball-and-chain's north dwelling parents and relatives insisted we visit them, and with the promise of Delhi's most excellent gol gappe and aloo ki chaat as an added incentive, we made our way up the country to our first stop. We arrived in Delhi to a warm welcome at Ball-and-chain's parents' house where we were staying for the next few days. Having never really spent any time with them, I used the time to get to know them and discovered (to my most pleasant surprise) that they were very different from the stubbornly against us people I had met before we were married. As I got to know them, I discovered something most curious. Perhaps it was his conservative upbringing, or perhaps it was just something he wasn't accustomed to, but it seemed like every time there was even the slightest display of affection between Ball-and-chain and myself, my father-in-law would turn and abruptly leave the room. We put this theory to the test on a couple of occasions to be certain and lo and behold, we were right! Armed with this knowledge, we tested it out on her other relatives in Chandigarh and Haryana to hilarious results, until we came to the realization that this reaction was only displayed by her male relatives. While the ladies looked quite pleased, the men would stop talking mid-sentence, spin on their heel, and stiffly exit the room. The remainder of the trip whizzed by with more visiting, road tripping, heel spinning and cash giving (that's right, first time visitors get cash and boy did I make a decent chunk of change) until soon we were back home in Poona. Oh, and there was also the time I walked into a buffalo enclosure owned by Ball-and-chain's grandfather only to cause all the cattle to turn and stare unblinkingly at me for a full minute until I slowly backed out, but that's a story for another time.

While displays of affection might have made Ball-and-chain's relatives uncomfortable (though not nearly as uncomfortable as the staring buffaloes made me), you should show this dish all the affection you possibly can irrespective of how many people vacate the premises!

For my Spaghetti In Meat Sauce, you will need the following:

Spaghetti	300 gms
Mince (meat of choice)	300 gms
Tomatoes	3-4 (or a tin)
Tomato puree	couple of big squirts
Onion	1
Mushrooms	5-6 biggish ones
Green pepper/capsicum	1
Garlic	5-6 cloves
Rosemary	2-3 tsp
Oregano	2-3 tsp
Thyme	2-3 tsp
Paprika	2-3 tsp
Pepper	to taste
Salt	to taste
Sugar	to taste
Olive oil

Prep:

1. Chop the onion. (Not too fine.)
2. Slice the garlic.
3. Blitz the tomatoes. (Be careful you don't cut your finger on the tin if you're using one. If you do, try not to bleed in the sauce!)
4. Slice the mushrooms.
5. Chop the green pepper into smallish cubes.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a pan on.
3. Splash in the olive oil.
4. Count to 20.
5. Toss in the onion.
6. Pop in the garlic.
7. Cook until the onion is translucent.
8. Plonk in the mince.
9. Break the mince into smaller pieces and cook it until it reaches a sickly brown. (Or white if you're using chicken or turkey mince.)
10. Pour in the blitzed tomatoes.
11. Squirt in the purée. (This bit is for colour.)
12. Splash in some water (if it is too thick).
13. Throw in the mushrooms.
14. Tip in the green pepper.
15. Sprinkle on the herbs and paprika.
16. Add salt, pepper, and sugar to taste. (The sugar is to balance the tang from the tomatoes.)
17. Mix.
18. Crank the heat up to bring the sauce to a boil.
19. Drop the heat to bring the sauce to a simmer.
20. Slap a lid on.
21. Cook for about 15-20 minutes until the mince is done.
22. Turn the gas off.
23. Turn on another burner.
24. Crank up the heat to high.
25. Pop a saucepan on.
26. Fill it about 3/4 with water.
27. Throw in 2-3 spoonfuls of salt.
28. Bring to a boil.
29. Drop the heat and bring the water to a simmer.
30. Pop in your spaghetti.
31. Cook until the spaghetti is al dente (cooked but has a slight bite).
32. Turn the gas off.
33. Drain the spaghetti.(Reserve some of the pasta water.)
34. Plop the drained spaghetti onto the meat sauce.
35. Mix.
36. Add a splash of the pasta water to give it a nice glossy finish.
37. Mix.
38. Serve topped with grated parmesan and a glass of red.
39. Stuff face.
40. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: Salt your pasta water like the sea and you'll never have under-seasoned pasta again.

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

Baked Fish With Tomato Basil Sauce

Hello, boys and girls!

Welcome to cooking with Varun! Weddings are an excellent time. Not only for the people in attendance, for the couple in question as well. How do I know this? Simple. I got married!

In the summer of 2017, after a whirlwind romance, complete with inter-city travel, clandestine meetings, battling stubborn parents, dancing around trees with 7 costume changes (Okay, maybe I embellished that last one. It was only 3 changes.), Ball-and-chain and I finally got married. On the evening of the wedding, in my baraat, I sat stoically astride a gorgeous white mare, resplendent in the traditional garb of dapper sherwani, flowery sehera, and soon to be stolen juttis (or jootis if you prefer). The sehera dangling across my freshly de-whiskered face concealing the pained expression brought upon by the saddle I was perched on. The  very saddle that was strapped to my nervously twitching mare, causing it to rub uncomfortably against my posterior. All around me, family, friends, and relatives were dancing with gay abandon to the tunes being belted out by a brass band, oblivious to the amused looks thrown their way by people passing by. Up on my high horse (quite literally), I was joined by my nephew who was playing the role of my sarbala. The frenzied dancing continued for another half hour after which everyone popped indoors to 'cool off' leaving me waiting in the car (the ceremonial horse had been taken away once the dancing had ceased). A point to remember here is, while Punjabi weddings (a multi-day affair) are well known for the free flowing alcohol, drinking on the day of the wedding is a no-no owing to the fact that a holy ceremony takes place on the day. However, a no-no doesn't expressly say it is forbidden, which basically translates to, 'Get hammered, but don't make it obvious lest you hurt somebody's sentiments'.

After what felt like an eternity (you can't rush the cooling off process!), we set off to the hotel that was our wedding venue. After another half hour of frenzied dancing at the hotel entrance, our family was met at the door by the representatives of Ball-and-chain's family where after the milni (meeting of the family elders), we were ushered into the wedding hall. I was seated on a couch on a stage to await the arrival of my soon to be wife. She walked in, prettier than a picture, flanked by her brothers and took the seat by my side. What followed was smiling (till our faces hurt) for the photographer as people queued up to wish us the best and then wandered off to either get dinner or to head up to my cousin's room which had been granted the priviledge of doubling as the secret booze room. The line seemed never ending and we were getting hungrier by the minute until my heroic cousins stepped in. One cousin, arms laden with food stood solidly between us and the photographer and made sure we ate until we felt better, the other, handed us little bottles of water with a wink. Confused, we took a sip and discovered that he had filled the bottles up with white wine allowing us to drink undetected until it was time for the pheras. Buzzing, we sat down in the mandap and between pouring ghee into the fire when asked, my tipsy Ball-and-chain and I giggled and had a mini duel with the long spoons. Not long after, we had completed the pheras, finished the post wedding rituals, and were offially hitched! It was 3 a.m. at this point so we did the most logical thing we could. We went up to the secret booze room, ate leftovers, and played Uno with our siblings and cousins until we retired to our own quarters.

As far as this recipe is concerned, the great part about it is that you don't need to smuggle the wine in like contraband, you can pour it straight from the bottle!

For my Baked Fish With Tomato Basil Sauce, you will need the following:

Salmon	4 fillets
Garlic	3-4 cloves
Cherry tomatoes	250 gms
Basil	big handful
White wine	1 cup
Sugar	to taste
Salt	to taste
Olive oil

Prep:

1. Preheat the oven to 250 degrees (c).
2. Halve the cherry tomatoes.
3. Chiffonade the basil. (That's a fancy way of saying stack the basil leaves on top of each other, roll them into a fat cigar, and slice them. That way you get really pretty basil ribbons.)
4. Mince the garlic.
5. Top the salmon fillets with about 3/4th of the minced garlic, salt, and a drizzle of olive oil.

Method:

For the fish:

1. Plop the prepped fish on an oven tray.
2. Open the over door.
3. Shove the tray in.
4. Shut the oven door. (Takes about 10 minutes.)
5. Begin making the sauce.

For the sauce:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Bung a pan on.
3. Drizzle in some olive oil.
4. Slide in the halved tomatoes, skin side down.
5. Sprinkle on some salt.
6. Cook until they soften and the skin gets crinkly.
7. Toss in the rest of the garlic.
8. Flip the tomatoes to cook them on the other side.
9. Toss in most of the basil. (Reserve a little for the garnish.)
10. Pour in the wine.
11. Bring to a boil.
12. Drop to a simmer.
13. Sprinkle some sugar in to balance the sourness from the tomatoes. 
14. Test for salt.
15. Turn the gas off.

To serve:

1. Turn off the oven.
2. Open the oven door.
3. Get the fish out.
4. Shut the oven door.
5. Grab a nice white plate.
6. Place the fish on.
7. Spoon over the sauce.
8. Garnish with the rest of the basil.
9. Serve with garlic bread, salad, or whatever you feel like. 
10. Stuff face.
11. Bask in the glory of your successfully executed dish.

Tip: I prefer salmon for this dish because I love the flavour, and how it flakes once you've baked it. You can use any fish you want as long as it doesn't taste too strong. Also, basa is useless. Stop buying it.

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

Gajar Ki Rabdi

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.

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:

1. Grate the carrots. (A great bicep workout if you don't have a food processor!)
2. Mix the cornflour in a splash of cold milk to make a slurry.
3. Roughly chop the almonds.

Method:

1. Turn on the gas.
2. Crank it up to high.
3. Bung a heavy bottomed pan on.
4. Pour in the milk.
5. Toss in the cardamoms.
6. Wait for the milk to come to a boil.
7. Look away for a split second.
8. Turn back to see the milk boiling over and getting all over the cooktop.
9. Quickly drop the heat to low.
10. Cry.
11. Stop crying because there is no point crying over split milk.
12. Wipe tears.
13. Realize you weren't crying because you split milk. You were crying because you have a massive mess to clean up.
14. Cry again.
15. Stop crying.
16. Wipe tears.
17. Crank the heat up to medium to bring the milk to a simmer.
18. Pop in the grated carrots.
19. Mix.
20. Drop the heat to low.
21. Let it boil and reduce for about 45 minutes to an hour (stir at intervals when you get bored).
22. Spoon in the sugar.
23. Mix well.
24. Add in the cornflour slurry to thicken.
25. Simmer for a little longer until it reaches the desired consistency.
26. Throw in most of the almonds.
27. Mix.
28. Let cool.
29. Garnish with the remaining almonds.
30. Serve. (Hot or cold, your call. Just don't forget to scrape and lick the sticky bits off the pan!).
31. Stuff face.
32. Bask in the glory of your successfully  executed dish.

Tip: Feel free to try other (natural) sweeteners if sugar isn't for you.

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