Back in my young bride days, I was a big fan of a food zine called Cooking on the Edge ("The Food Newsletter for Distracted People"), which I used to pick up at Tower Books on Lafayette Street, at least until I bought a subscription. Dear friends, Cooking on the Edge was a lark, filled with brilliant, funny, whimsical writing, mostly by the publisher, Jill Cornfield; her husband, Jeff Stimpson and her sister-in-law, Julie Schuman, with occasional guest writers. The recipes were, as promised, easy for distracted, vaguely anxious workerbees to put together. The graphic design, by Julie Schuman, was largely composed of sweet and whimsical (there’s that word again, but it’s really the best one) clip and stamp art. It was published bimonthly from 1993 to 1996. When a new issue showed up, I fell on it. When publication ceased, I thought my little heart would break. I still miss it.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about food writing, what I like to read, what I don’t like to read, and why. This will be the subject of a scintillating, hot-blooded essay later in the weekend—okay, you can stop guffawing now, guys...guys…—but for now I want to share with you what is probably my favorite Cooking on the Edge moment ever, an essay by Jill Cornfield entitled “Doing the Subcontinental,” published in the May/June 1994 COTE. I love this piece because it embodies all that I found best in the zine: a warm, friendly, funny editorial voice; a profound and comforting sense of place and time; a set of terrific recipes; and, although I can’t replicate it here, some truly fine stamp art. Jill has very graciously given me permission to reprint her essay here, for which I thank her profusely.
Doing the Subcontinental (c1994, Jill Cornfield)
Sooner or later, sometime between growing ever so slightly tired of Chinese food and discovering Thai or Malaysian food, you start wanting to make these things at home. So you pick up a cookbook, or flip through one at the library or a bookstore, and discover that you’re barely equipped to make the simplest pot of rice, according to the pages of instruction you find.
I haven’t had too much luck recreating Asian dishes in my kitchen. Oh, I like them all right, but I’d never serve them to anyone who comes from those parts.
If Chinese food is an intimidating restaurant, Indian food is a homey kitchen. You enter through the back door, where a friend is chatting on the phone and stirring something in a pot. She invites you to stay for dinner—there’s always more than enough—listens to your latest romantic squalls, sends you home with a container of leftovers.
I feel on firmer footing with these dishes, which I first ate in the kitchens of Indian grad students and felt, when I tried them on my own, that I had succeeded in replicating.
Forget complex seasonings and the hypertactic dazzle of tandoori presentation. “That’s restaurant food,” said an Indian friend disparagingly.
In India, spices are called masalas. They can range from ready-made mixes of curry powder (which are seldom used in Indian households) to the fresh mix of onions, garlic and ginger.
My favorite book of Indian cooking is Curries Without Worries: An Introduction to Indian Cuisine by Sudha Koul. It’s straightforward and reassuring. Koul says that Indian cooking is not difficult and requires neither elaborate utensils nor obscure ingredients. Her recipes are simple and include both meat and vegetarian dishes. Her garlic cabbage is my idea of heaven—a great dish that takes about 5 minutes to put together and another 7 minutes to cook.
What’s not easy to find is the book itself, but it is available in paperback for $9 and can generally be ordered through a bookstore. Feel free to let me know if you’re having trouble finding a copy and I’ll help locate one.
Chicken Biryani
1 barbecued chicken, shredded or cut into nice pieces
1 1/2 cups uncooked rice
1/2 to 1 onion
2 inches fresh ginger
butter or oil
2 to 3 teaspoons Patak’s biryani spice paste (see note)
2 tablespoons yogurt
2 bouillon cubes
5 to 6 cloves
1 1/2 cups boiling water
1. Slice onion in thin rings and cut in half. Peel ginger and grate (or chop in food processor).
2. Saute onion and ginger in butter; cover for about 5 minutes on low flame until onion is translucent.
3. Add rice and brown lightly on medium flame (about 5 minutes); add spice paste and mix well.
4. Add yogurt and mix well. Mix boiling water with bouillon cubes and add to onions and ginger; add cloves and chicken.
5. Cover pot with close-fitting lid and simmer over low flame for about 17 minutes. Good with plain salad and brinjal pickle.
Note: Any Indian grocer should have the complete line of Patak’s sauces and spice mixes. Some supermarkets carry it in the imported foods aisle.
One night, a bunch of us were sitting around—of those sort of parties where two people were working on a jigsaw puzzle, another group was chatting. As an afterthought, there was a pot of something on a table, calling no attention to itself. The product of two women—one Indian, one Italian—it was the synergistic keema macaroni. “That’s Alka’s recipe?” someone asked. “I’ll bet she got it from her Kashmiri boyfriend.” And so she did. But her Italian roommate added the pasta.
Keema Macaroni (or, India meets Italy)
1/2 pound ground turkey or beef
1 small onion, sliced
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons fresh ginger (about an inch or two), peeled and grated
1 to 2 teaspoons fennel seeds
1/2 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
1/2 cup chopped tomatoes
1/2 pound pasta (shells or rigatoni or whatever), cooked
1. Saute meat and onions in oil till meat is browned. Onions should be translucent.
2. Add ginger, fennel and hot pepper and stir. Add tomatoes and simmer covered for 15 to 20 minutes. Longer is fine.
3. Add meat and tomatoes to the pasta and mix well. I like this at room temperature, when the flavors are more pronounced.
I have to admit, I don’t know who Mrs. Ramachandran is, but someone brought in a little dish as a try-out to the soup kitchen where I work. Everyone hated it; I finished the bowl at 10 in the morning. ("Just one more bite, then I’ll take the rest home for lunch.")
Mrs. Ramachandran’s Chicken, a/k/a “the way chicken will taste in heaven”
1 1/2 to 2 cups leftover chicken, shredded or chopped
1 tablespoon (or a bit more) garam masala
2 to 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 small onion, chopped
lots of garlic, minced (4 to 5 cloves)
1/2 teaspoon serrano or jalapeno pepper, seeded and chopped (see note)
1/2 can (28 ounces) tomatoes, chopped (use the liquid)
cooked rice
1. Sprinkle the garam masala over the chicken and set aside.
2. In pot (however big you need for amount of chicken), heat the oil and saute the onion and garlic till just translucent. Add the hot pepper, if using, and saute another minute or so.
3. Add the chicken and stir this way and that, so that garam masala, chicken and sauteed onion and garlic all become one.
4. Now add the chopped tomatoes and their juice. I let this come almost to the boil, then turn down heat and simmer, with the pot covered, for about 30 to 40 minutes. The longer, the better.
5. Serve hot over rice.
Note: The garam masala I have is pretty spicy on its own, so I don’t bother with the hot pepper.
I love this vegetarian dish from Sudha Koul’s Curries Without Worries. It takes about 20 minutes and doesn’t use anything weird. Leave out the coriander if you don’t like it or can’t find it. But do serve it with basmati rice—Uncle Ben’s just won’t cut it.
Lentils with Tomato
1 cup lentils
5 to 6 cups water
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons oil
1/2 teaspoon whole cumin
1 large onion, sliced
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh ginger (about an inch or so)
1/2 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
3 tomatoes, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh chopped coriander (a/k/a Chinese parsley)
1. Cook lentils in water with salt until tender (about 25 minutes). Since lentils have a tendency to froth, use a large pot. Set aside.
2. In a skillet over medium flame, heat the oil. Add the cumin and fry for half a minute. Next, add onions, garlic, ginger and hot pepper.
3. Fry until the onions and garlic begin to turn golden brown. Add the tomatoes and cook for a couple of minutes.
4. Now add the lentils to the saucepan or the contents of the saucepan to the lentils. Either way is fine, as long as the lentils aren’t absolutely swimming in extra water. If they are, drain some of it off and proceed.
5. Serve with rice and chopped fresh coriander.
Notes from Jen:
1. Lately we have on a bit of a keema macaroni bender. I’ve made it for lunch the past two Saturdays. Jill is right; you really want to eat this at room temperature, not hot. The last time I went to the Indian grocery, they were out of fennel, so I bought a spice mix called panch puram, which is a blend of fennel, whole cumin, mustard seeds and kalonji (also known as black onion seeds, black caraway and nigella). It is a great blend for this dish. I also like to throw a handful or two of frozen peas into the pot when I put the tomatoes in. For some reason, I just think that keema needs peas.
2. We had Mrs. Ramachandran’s chicken for dinner tonight, with hot chapatis instead of rice. Bee-yootiful.
3. Curries Without Worries can be ordered through the usual internet channels, or you can call my pals at Kitchen Arts and Letters (212-876-5550) and ask them to order a copy for you. They will ship. Tell them that Jen McAllister sent you.
thanks for the lentil recipe—now I have the answer to that age old question ‘what’s for dinner?’