Sunday, 16 March 2014

Mini Apple Tarts

Hey foodies this time I did a little experiment to entertain my new friends in Pune: Mini Apple tarts.

Ingredients

pastry:
50g salted butter
250g all purpose flour
11/2 cup Ice cold water

filling:
3 medium sized apples
200g sugar
1tbsp vegetable oil
2" cinnamon stick
1 lemon

First I needed to make a basic pastry crust. So in a bowl mixed the flour and cold butter and mixed it with hands till it had a crumbly texture. Now added ice cold water slowly and add till u can just mix the dough. Wrap with cling film and refrigerate for 10 mins.

Now take out n roll the dough 1/2 cm thick. Cut into rounds with a round steel cutter. Grease a muffin tin and press the dough in the mould firmly. Prick the base of the tart with a fork.


Preheat the oven at 180 deg C for 5 mins. Place butter paper within each tart and fill with uncooked kidney beans and blind bake in convection oven for 20 mins at 180 deg C. Remove the beans and butter paper and bake for further 20 mins so that the inner portion crisps and dries out.

Prepare the filling by removing the core and chopping up 3 medium sized apples. Heat a saucepan, add 1 tbsp oil. When the oil is hot add 2 inch cinnamon stick when it sputters a bit add the chopped apples. Saute for few minutes. Add 2 cups of water and bring to a boil. Now add the sugar and keep stirring till it becomes soft and reddish in colour. Now add juice of 1 large lemon and stir for some more time. When it starts to thicken remove from heat.

Pour the filling in the tart shells.

Take some more pastry dough and roll out thin. Cut into 1/2cm strips. Cover the filled tarts withe dough strips in criss cross pattern.

Brush with egg wash. Bake for another 20 mins. Remove from oven and keep on a wire rack to cool before serving.



Thursday, 25 April 2013

Uncertain affections

Affection is a wierd word, it manifests itself in many forms.
Sometimes, understood but mostly misunderstood,
How something so complex remain so simple.
It's like water that takes shape of any vessel it fills,
fluid or placid it makes mundane things beautiful.
All the glory is taken by Love but what about affection!
is it any less important, or less evident.

Saturday, 8 September 2012

Visit to Bridgewater Lane


During my studies in Leicester, I used to frequent my cousin in London a lot. During these visits only I happened to meet Kanchu (pseudonym). He was from Sri Lanka. Well a perfectly normal guy but had a fetish for cleaning. Not a bad thing at all but his was bordering on insanity!

The routine included cleaning of his room and toilet twice or thrice a week, and kitchen about once a week. But his passion lay in trimming the yard grass. Even the lawnmower bowed before his obsession and refused to work anymore one fine day with a bang and rising black smoke. Through innumerable kicks and howls it still refused to budge. Ultimately kanchu decided that he required help. Some suggested going in with the big carver's knife Rambo style. While another more scientific idea was suggested that he could attach the cutting wheel of the mower to the axel of a bicycle in place of the wheels, create a balance by attaching a pipe or something and make a manual mower. Dissatisfied with all the “cumbersome” inventions being suggested, he devised an ingenious plan. Yes a very clever plan indeed. He'd cut all the grass with SCISSORS. Not the big one used for cutting bushes but small Cartini scissors that Mom uses while stitching or Dad uses for trimming their hair. Yup! That very small tiny thingy. We bucked him up and waved him goodbye as that was the last day we ever saw him. It's been years and you can still find him in Bridgewater Lane, Wembley patiently cutting grass. His beard may have grown and clothes tattered but that won't deter him from the path of nirvana “A CLEAN BACKYARD”.

Wednesday, 5 September 2012

Coffee Choc Cake

Return of the FOODOHOLIC! It's been ages since my last adventure so here's to a new beginning " Coffee Chocolate Cake". Soaked with the goodness of Carte Noir and sprinkled with Bourneville, give into your dark desires quite literally.. I celebrate my 2 years as a teacher and to all my teachers who have made me the person am today, I reminisce all my student years through school, college and grad school and realise how difficult it is on the other side of the table. I dedicate this cake to all my teachers who are there and the ones who've left for a higher abode..

Saturday, 23 April 2011

lost dream

You still made my heart skip a bit,
eyes moist again..
But I don’t love u anymore.
Neither do you,
But something still pulls us
A silken thread of memories,
Tangled in the thorns of life,
Singed with pain,
An addictive sweet pain…

Saturday, 27 February 2010

Cuppy cake!




Another experiment from the FOODOHOLIC series is here! "cuppy cakes".
Made in earthenwares, deeply dark chocolate and date cupcakes with a secret ingredient "Glenfidditch 18 yrs aged in cherry oak casks". Quite a controversial ingredient that is why kept secret for Indian audiences ;).
P.S. don't use terra cotta if u want to remove the cakes from the mould.

Friday, 18 September 2009

The Wooden Horse part I


When I opened my eyes I found myself surrounded by shiny paper and pieces of the cardboard box in which I had been. Waiting for a breath of fresh air. When I adjusted my eyes to this sudden flash of sunlight, I noticed a little boy, chubby, with soft pink fingers. He had a small nose on his little pink face reddened by the chill outside, his hands moving slowly towards me. Then he grabbed me, fondly judging my new coat of paint.

A sudden blast of voice rattled my ears, “Ravi come soon, breakfast is ready.” He hurriedly went to another room, still clutching me tightly. The room was bright and sunny. Cool breeze flowing in through the window. The walls were covered in flowered paper. A big oak round table in the middle of the room surrounded by six chairs. At the center of this table was a yellow porcelain flower vase filled with fresh blooming red roses. A lady wearing a lavender hued saree was serving food to a young girl who was merrily waving to Ravi, “Hi! Big brother do you crave for some hot paranthas mumma made.” She must be her sister, I thought. Her mother looked squarely at her. She happily resumed gorging down her morsels. On one of the chairs sat someone I could not comprehend as he was holding a newspaper before him. He was reading something very intently unaware of the tea getting cold kept in front of him. Ravi stuffed me in a big red bag. It smelt of wood of the sharpened pencils, the pleasing smell of new books and copies mingled with smell of chocolates and the smell of hot steaming paranthas from a little green box kept in front of me. I looked around, everything was dark, yet comforting. I knew I was safe here.

When I saw sunlight again I was in an altogether different scene, surrounded by at least a dozen children each one passing me from one to another. Some holding me gently, while the others tossed me. Ouch! He almost popped my eyeball out of its socket, such a naughty boy. Another girl pulled my ears. Some stroked my tail while another one was coming towards me with a shiny pointed object and “swish”. I was again safe in the hands of Ravi, panting. He scolded her,” Don’t prick my horse with your compass, it’ll hurt him.” Just then came a lady with a hooked nose and a pair of black-rimmed glasses was resting on it. Her small yet piercing eyes compelled everyone to sit at their places. She came slowly towards Ravi and surprisingly said in a soft voice, “ Happy Birthday Ravi, congratulations, but please keep that toy inside, it causes disturbance.” He quietly kept me on a shelf beneath his table. From this place I had a clear view of the front of the room. This was his classroom and she his teacher. She was writing assiduously something on the black board covering the whole of the wall. Her black hair tied in a neat bun rested on her head like an apple kept on a pumpkin.



To be continued