Thoughts

Like because and Love despite

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.

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.

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”.

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..

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…

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.

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

Message in a bottle

A Message in a bottle
I threw in the sea,
where it'll reach
I know not.
But the tides will take it
wherever they'll go.
Or may be lost in the sea.
It may reach a worthy hand,
who will tell the world,
the story,
about the message in the bottle,
thrown out at sea.

The cake that was not to be!

I'm a die hard what u may call a FOODOHOLIC! I love food, good food that is, aesthetically presented... even better. So half of my time goes in the kitchen trying out recipes from the internet, trying to teach myself the TRADITIONAL ones I ought to learn, or just improvising some new stuff of my own... I love being in the kitchen. Recently I've been spending more time than usual thanx to me having no work nowadays. And what better way to diverge AN EMPTY MIND from being a DEVIL'S WORKSHOP. This led me to try out the more difficult of the species. The mighty and hallowed "CAKE". Since I'm an avid follower of improvisation, I try to alter my mum's basic recipe to include a wider variety. A recent experiment of mine made my friend a poet and he composed a few lines in it's honour. It goes as follows:

THE CAKE THAT WAS NOT TO BE !

BUTTER , FLOUR , EGG ALL IT TOOK IN
EVEN THE ICING WERE NOT TOO THIN

EFFORT AND TIME WAS ALWAYS THERE
IMPROVISATION WAS ALSO RATHER FAIR

IT WASN'T TO BE , IT STUCK TO THE BOWL
ALL ADO , FOR THIS FOUL

.... THE CAKE THAT WAS NOT TO BE !

(courtesy Bhaumik dada)

P.S. Since I had no image of the cake in question, the image of a more successful one of my experiments has been posted!

Green Eyed Friend

I was recently reading an article on Green Eyed Friends. Supposedly an unhealthy trait among people hindering them to allow space to their friends. Well, I realised I tend to become green eyed at times. It takes me time to make friends. Well, although I say am not attached to anyone, in actuality I feel I get over-attached. I begin to trust them with my life, maybe I expect a lot and when those expectations are not met, get depressed. What I tend to give I never receive it back. Whoever I get too attached to leaves me and that has filled a dread in me that it'll happen yet again. I get obsessive and possessive about the people I care about. Am I wrong to do it. It's just my love for them. Is it unreal to possess unfathomable affection. But at the end of the day it's a mind fucking game of Tag n who wins. Not me I guess!

Despair!

My fingers are numb,
my feet sore,
dragging myself,
striving for a glimmer in this darkness,
can't see anything before,
I can't walk now anymore.

I have left trying for a while now
straining to walk stumbling again,
lying unconscious,
trying to stay asure,
but I can't walk now anymore.

Toes are bleeding, heels all cracked,
feel so nauseous, I can't stay sane,
flailing around me looking for a sound,
eyes are burning, the path obscure,
I can't walk now anymore.

All hope is lost now,
no I can't walk now anymore...

Dear D!

When I first stepped foot in nixon court, I was welcomed heartily by my neighbor Doris, (Doris Lili Chen) studying economics, very tall and immensely thin (witness to her stint in modelling), she has frightening levels of energy. Soon I met others Mugdha, Pinar, Ehsan and Fauzia. I could tell you about the others but this story is dedicated to my most vivacious of friends. Well the three of us this side (Doris, Mugi n me) compensated for the loss of sound frm the opposite three. Well Mugi had a habit of putting songs on repeat, while Doris believed her voice was better than any inanimate recording device. And I received an interference of 2 sources mixed up in such indistinguishable form that my eardrums too were perplexed. To join in forces there was a guy on the floor above having such a fancy for Rock that he wished I too would hear, leading my room to vibrate.

I was saying about Doris' frightening levels of energy, apart from opera singing in her room she had a habit of taking bath at unearthly hours. But the real test was when she applied her vocal credentials to shrieking if ever interrupted in her nightly walks through the corridor. She was equally enthusiastic about her business ventures. Whoever said chinese are good salesmen must've met her. She had cartons of chinese goodies to traditional medicines, neatly stacked in her room. Well she packed all her stuff and designer labels (complete shopaholic)in cartons while her trip back. Her enthusiastic remark "No worries, ship to China" with a big smile on my utter amazement on her 2 human sized cartons accompanied by 8 other odd cartons. We seldom cooked together, there are a few reasons my erratic food timings, and food burning habits (as I have mentioned earlier) combined with her supersize knife, and hammering of honey ham (I pitied the soul of the poor pig) and also she had this unusual routine of fermenting her food a few days before consuming.

She was always quite enthusiastic but some events just aroused the drama queen in her. Especially when China hosted the 2008 Olympic games. She had brought a window size flag of China and was very perplexed where to put it up and used to narrate the medal tally everyday with tears of joy in her eyes. But now she's been "shipped to China" and no more opera renditions for me.

Breathless..

Treading on unknown paths,
I saw the murky alley close up on me,
Choking up the breath,
The darkness as dark as devil himself,
Grey walls streaked with blood,
The smell ominous and path slippery...

Diwali in Leicester

I celebrated my Diwali away from my family, as I had my college going on. Me and my roomy took a cab and braved through the traffic, pulling our classmate out of his slumber we reached just in time to see the celebrations begin. The kind cab driver showed us a shortcut. At subzero temperature clad in heavy coats reached the back gate of Kossington Park through an alleyway, shaded in the tiny alcove everybody was craning to get a clear glimpse of the fireworks. It had rained all day with light snowfall thereafter. I finally rubbed my hands together and braved to get my hands out of the pockets to get my cellphone. But as soon as the fireworks started I got transfixed to it and kept recording till the end.

All these miles away from India, I miss the chataiys and bombs in each gali and nukkad and sweets from relatives. Puja at home then running away with friends to create as much mishap as could be allowed. But going through Belgrave road at 9:00pm, seeing people rejoicing, and dancing, the sort of melancholy gripping all day finally was replaced by a sense of cheerfulness and completeness.

Waiting

waiting on the curb you left me,
waiting on the stone you pushed me on,
waiting till the end of time,
waiting for one word to set me free.

one smile that sets my heart afire,
one look to melt me through and through,
blossom my heart's desire,
still waiting for that kiss again on my cheeks.

waiting for the early showers,
waiting for you and me back again,
waiting to hold you near me,
waiting is all i've done in life.

for you to come back,
for you to stand beside me,
for you to hold hands,
for you to walk along with me.

waiting on the curb you left me,
still waiting for that one word to set me free...

Mirage

You cannot fathom
the depths of my emotions,
nor decipher
the meaning of my words,
b'cause I'm an illusion,
which'll allure you and leave you stranded

Whispers..

I love you,
I dare not say,
lest the people around might hear.

I love you,
As the silken ray,
touches your tender lips,

I love you,
As the cold streams wash over my feet.

I love you,
As I lie next to you,
don't speak lest the moment passes by.

Hold me so no worries are left,
No passions withheld,

So love me as if the world ends today.

The walk..

In spring, when woods are getting green,
I'll try and tell you what I mean,
In summer, when the days are long,
Perhaps you'll understand the song,
For this must ever be a secret
Kept from all the rest
between yourself and me.

Chillies!!!

I'm a very forgetful person, sometimes I myself am perplexed on what exact purpose did I embark a journey. So I return from where I started and try to remember, at times the laziness takes over so much that I abandon the thought of remembering altogether. On a day like this I returned very hungry from my class. Being an English February it was as usual quite cold and dark. Forced by the voices in my stomach I coaxed myself to cook something. "What now! again, aaagh!!! I really hate this, hmm.. this chilli looks good." These were the moments before the great havoc. So I heated some oil in a "kadhai" and dropped 2 of the dry red chillies I was mentioning earlier. At that very instance my phone rang and as habit I had left it in my room. "Oh! then I better go and get it".

After about half an hour I could hear people running and coughing badly outside my room, even people on the other side of the kitchen were coughing, "Interesting!what happened all of a sudden, an air of virus swept through the place, very weird indeed". Busy in my thought I didn't realise that it was not a viral air that swept through the corridors but infact the smoke of the burnt black chillies that used to be red, still happily crackling in the oil, on the stove that I had left open. "Oh! shit". By the time I came out there was nobody in sight, maybe they had left. I discarded the chillies and heaved a sigh of relief, what luck my flatmates (soft spoken, always smiling Chinese) would have surely kicked me out this time. It was the third time I had burnt food, luckily even the fire alarm didn't go off, "great!". Already my love for chillies have freaked poor Joy out, intermingled with the wild whistles that my cooker at times gave scared the chicken's out of Doris. So I speculated that it would be better for my health to sidle out from the scene of crime and not to be seen around the weapon in question. So what I was telling you about that I was hungry, see I again forgot, thats the issue, I even forget that I am hungry in the first place. So by the time I remembered I got myself some takeout from the burger van parked near the hall gate.