Paneer Ghee Roast, A Love Letter to Ni
In the craze of getting married, moving countries (more than once) and the pandemic, I can easily count on one hand, the number of dates that Ni and I have been able to go on in the last couple of years. As we watch democracy crumble around the world and enrage over the inhumane treatment of people, not to mention staying safe from the pandemic and above the fray of nut jobs who go opposing a mask, and of course, losing and finding a new home to settle into, not to mention waking every morning for the last year trying to stay positive about finding a job in a new country (again), I doubt I’m alone in saying that I haven’t really had the extra energy to put into our relationship. It’s fair to say that our dates have been sporadic and hurried at best, with the heaviness of reality always lurking around the corner.
The last carefree date I remember was back in India, when Ni had come down to visit me and help me set up my house in Bangalore. Amongst the many things we had to do in his rushed five day visit, one evening we just chose to keep aside our responsibilities and steal away for a while. Since we were on his turf, the choice of bars was his to make.
“1522,” he said. “That where my folks go for a date.”
My eyebrow raised, laden with skepticism.
“Trust me!” He said, as he pulled me towards the cab.
On the cab ride there, I kept wondering why we were squandering our one shot of a date night at some fuddy-duddy place. This was, of course, before I got to know how truly cool his parents are. In fact, I think the realisation dawned upon me the minute I set foot into the place. Zeppelin sang about Kashmir (always a good sign when entering a pub,) while I took in the ambiance. Dull yellow lighting with exposed bricks and walls filled with retro posters of classic rock musicians. In an instant, I felt my skepticism slink away as excitement replaced it. I was also suddenly reminded of why Ni and I became such instant friends when we first met. Our taste in music.
As Ni rattled off an order for a cold pitcher of beer and something for us to eat, I kept bobbing up and down my seat with a squeak, enthusiastically pointing out the posters that I was seeing.. to no one in particular. After our beers arrived, the first five minutes were awkwardly silent with both of us just smiling at each other. I mean, after almost 3 years of spending everyday together, we had been away from each other for the last couple of months. Most of our conversation lately had been just giving each other a quick catchup of the day before one went to work and the other went to sleep. It was given that we would have a bit of trouble easing back into normal conversations, but in my young head, all that ran free and wild was panic.
Oh, what happened to us?
Why is conversation so difficult? What did we talk about normally?
We’ve already covered the basics of his flight here and my train journey. He knew about the house I was moving into.
Oh lord! What do people talk about??
WE’VE BECOME STRANGERS!!!
Jeez Priyanka, it’s been five minutes of you smiling like an idiot, say something, anything.
A sentence. Something you saw on the way here. The weather!
Ok screw sentence. A word maybe?
Any word?
Oh, I want to dig a hole and bury my head into it.
Thankfully, my inner monologue was cut short with the waiter bringing food to the table. Masala peanuts (like any self respecting drinker would order,) French paneer, and a scary looking red dish.
“Chicken ghee roast,” Ni said, nodding towards it as he sipped from his mug. I looked at him like he was crazy. My only reference to ghee roast up until that point was a plain, crispy, golden dosa that has been literally roasted in ghee. It was so plain that you could almost taste the nuttiness of ghee.
“That ain’t no ghee roast! That looks like it is going to blow my top off,” I told him. Surely enough, as I put my lips to the finger that had just swiped the masala, I felt it burn, burn all the way down to my stomach. It was incredible!
A classic Mangalorean dish, the chicken was coated in a thick red gravy of freshly grounded spices. It was fiery, it was tangy, it had such an intense masala taste, and yet, I could still taste the ghee, right beneath all that heat, waiting to cool your tongue enough to fool it into taking another bite, and another, and another. I was righteously sweating at the end of that dish and enjoying every minute of it.
Coincidentally, when we were too busy with the food, the stress of having to make a conversation slipped away and we eased back into our old ways half way through the dish, already talking about making it at home. Suddenly, our relationship sprung back up. We weren’t strangers anymore. He was still the same man who gave up his sweater to the cold, cold Madrasi on the first day of class. The same man who vehemently argues with me about adding jaggery to rasam. The one who drags me in the middle of the night to go for a walk just because it’s snowing. The one who drove the 11 year old Camry all around New England, to show me beautiful covered bridges.
We didn’t talk about our jobs, colleagues, friends, or parents, but about the little things that we had kept to ourselves over the last couple of months that seemed too irrelevant for a quick phone conversation, or things I kept meaning to tell him about, but just keep forgetting in light of other things.
Like I’d been wanting to tell Ni about the lady outside the temple on my street who insisted that I wear her flowers on the days that I wear a saree to work, or the amazing smell of frying onions I pass by every day to work where a small shop prepares to make biryani for the day, or the exceptionally large number of red lights that surrounded a hospital helipad, you know, the irrelevant things. By the time we walked out of 1522, I felt like that giddy 28 years old college kid again, walking down the glowy, snowy road with her crush, wondering when he would kiss her.
Recently, I wanted to go chasing after those butterflies again, but with Canada going back into lockdown, any date we were going to have was within the four, very thin walls. So, I did the one thing that I know how, use food to romance my husband. On the menu, alongside a classic rock playlist was paneer ghee roast with neer dosa, paneer being Ni’s favourite, the meal a love letter to him.
A ghee roast is one of the simpler recipes that I’ve made. The two main things that make a good roast is the scary red colour warning you about the heat and the smell and taste of ghee coming through it all. The heat comes from freshly dry roasted spices like coriander, cumin, fennel, peppercorns, fenugreek seeds, and most importantly dried kashmiri chillies. The kashmiri chillies, while still spicy, offer more colour to the dish. This gunpowder is then balanced with tamarind which lends the sourness, and curd which cools the tongue. The paneer is marinated in the paste for 30-40 minutes.
To put the dish together, heat ghee in a kadai, add curry leaves and chopped onions. Once they become soft and translucent, add the paneer and marinade. Cook for about 10 minutes and garnish with more curry leaves. That’s it. See, a damn simple recipe.
You can have this with anything. It really is a great accompaniment. I would, however, suggest the classic neer dosa. The soft, almost sweet dosas are the perfect contrast for the tang and spice of the ghee roast.
This is an instant recipe for neer dosa. Take about a cup of rice flour, add about one and half cup of water and season with salt. That’s your batter. It should have a super flowy consistency.
The trick to a good neer dosa is much like a rava dosa, a sizzling hot tawa. When you pour the batter, all that sizzling will create holes in your dosa. Bring down the heat, close and cook for about 4-5 minutes.
The first taste of ghee roast took us right back to that dull lit pub, back to that carefree date and just for that evening, under the string light, the rest of the world and its problems simply melted away.
So, who’s up for some spice in their life?
Cubes of soft paneer in a tangy, spicy masala made from fresh roasted and ground spices.
Let the paneer soak in a bowl of warm water for 15-20 mins. This will ensure that you have pillow-soft paneer.
To prepare the marinade, roast the coriander, fennel, cumin, and fenugreek seeds along with the chillies and peppercorns in a couple of tbsps of ghee until the aroma fills up your kitchen. Allow this to cool and then blend it with the garlic pods, tamarind extract, curd, turmeric powder and salt.
Drain the paneer and chop it up into 1 inch cubes. Gently rub the marinade all over and set it aside in the fridge for about 30 minutes.
In a pan, heat 5 tbsps of ghee and add the curry leaves (keeping aside some for the end.) Once they turn a little crisp, add the finely chopped onions and saute until it becomes translucent.
Add the marinated paneer and gently mix it, being careful not to break the pieces. Cook this for about 5 minutes and no more. The more you cook paneer, the more hard it becomes, preventing it from absorbing all the masala.
Check and add salt if necessary. Add a tsp of jaggery for the balance of taste.
Take it off heat and garnish with more curry leaves and a splash of lime.
Serve hot with neer dosa.
Ingredients
Directions
Let the paneer soak in a bowl of warm water for 15-20 mins. This will ensure that you have pillow-soft paneer.
To prepare the marinade, roast the coriander, fennel, cumin, and fenugreek seeds along with the chillies and peppercorns in a couple of tbsps of ghee until the aroma fills up your kitchen. Allow this to cool and then blend it with the garlic pods, tamarind extract, curd, turmeric powder and salt.
Drain the paneer and chop it up into 1 inch cubes. Gently rub the marinade all over and set it aside in the fridge for about 30 minutes.
In a pan, heat 5 tbsps of ghee and add the curry leaves (keeping aside some for the end.) Once they turn a little crisp, add the finely chopped onions and saute until it becomes translucent.
Add the marinated paneer and gently mix it, being careful not to break the pieces. Cook this for about 5 minutes and no more. The more you cook paneer, the more hard it becomes, preventing it from absorbing all the masala.
Check and add salt if necessary. Add a tsp of jaggery for the balance of taste.
Take it off heat and garnish with more curry leaves and a splash of lime.
Serve hot with neer dosa.
Simple, soft crepes made from rice flour.
In a large bowl, mix the rice flour, salt and water. Mix well so that there are no lumps. The consistency of the batter has to be super thin.
Heat up a tawa until it is sizzling hot. Drop 1/2 tsp of oil and wipe it all over the surface.
Pour in a cup of the batter, spreading it all around. Because the tawa is so hot, the batter will split and you'll notice a lot of holes in the dosa (crepe). That's exactly what you want. Reduce the heat and cover the tawa.
Cook for about 4-5 mins, until you can't see any wet spots. With a flat head spatula, gently remove the dosa from the tawa.
Repeat the same process with the rest of the batter.
Ingredients
Directions
In a large bowl, mix the rice flour, salt and water. Mix well so that there are no lumps. The consistency of the batter has to be super thin.
Heat up a tawa until it is sizzling hot. Drop 1/2 tsp of oil and wipe it all over the surface.
Pour in a cup of the batter, spreading it all around. Because the tawa is so hot, the batter will split and you'll notice a lot of holes in the dosa (crepe). That's exactly what you want. Reduce the heat and cover the tawa.
Cook for about 4-5 mins, until you can't see any wet spots. With a flat head spatula, gently remove the dosa from the tawa.
Repeat the same process with the rest of the batter.