le sauce

jackfruit biryani

Oh biryani, how I've missed you. It was a rare thing to begin with, my family usually reserving it for special occasions, but when my parents too became vegetarian, they sort of stopped making it altogether. Their specialty usually involved meat, most often, chicken, and they didn't often attempt vegetable biryani. That prompted me finally (I have no idea why I waited so long...hoping that my dad or aunt would think up an alternative. Was I the only one missing this??) to come up with something to take the place of meat. In Sri Lankan cooking that's easy--jackfruit is the perfect stand-in in curries. It's a popular curry in its own right, but here, jackfruit is curried with a mild, un-roasted powder, for that subtle flavour found in biryani. 

To say that my family and I were happy with the results of this experiment would be an understatement completely underselling this. This is a boafide, delicious biryani--yes, if I do say so myself. I don't mean to boast, I mean to convince you to make this and not another type of biryani, because we all really loved this. And if you've never thought to make biryani, this is your next dinner party menu, trust me!

cashew nut curry

If you've eaten cooked nuts, you may be excited about the idea of a cashew nut curry--you may have had one before! If you've never eaten nuts that have been stewed down, you may be furrowing your brown as your eyes grow wide and you reach, absent-mindedly, for another carefully roasted, crunchy almond right now. Having grown up eating this curry, I didn't have time to think about whether stewed nuts was kinda weird. If you are on the fence, let me assure you that you want to try this right now.

These nuts become mealy in the best way possible, retaining some body but mostly adding just-enough-but-not-too-much contrast in texture when scooped up with a spoonful of rice. And a ton of flavour too--this is a distinct but subtle curry, it's rich and perfect with biryani or roti, or bread, actually. And no, I've never tried these with other nuts (cashews are considered queen in my family) but if you are so inclined, please, please report back.

hoppers & egg hopppers

It's a little personal accomplishment to have a hopper recipe on this site. I never thought I would ever make them myself. They were my aunt's "thing" -- my parents left them to her to make and we enjoyed a generous batch whenever she did--perhaps that added to their mystique, somehow. But what mystyque? We're talking about the equivalent of a pancake batter, although these were often made special with the addition of eggs and they had a beautiful, covetable, lacy crust around the edges--and that, you see, was because of the special pan used, that allowed the batter to be swirled thin around the pan but evenutally pool in the centre and set to a thick, soft pillow there. A pillow that cradles a softly poached egg--the milkiest egg you've ever cooked. Ok, I see it now. These will always be a little magical to me, though no longer mysterious.

Let's talk about the batter, like the one you might make every weekend. This one uses rice flour and it sits covered overnight--that's how it differs from a typical pancake batter though it requires no more work. The batter ferments which is why hoppers have that slightly complex but subtle "bread-y" flavour and wonderful aroma that you get when you're so close to them you're tearing off a piece to eat, and that makes them ideal for savoury accompaniaments. The batter cooks in hopper pans--so small, lightweight and affordable that they would be worth adding to your already-packed kitchen (see my post about hopper pans) so that you can have hoppers every weekend or for dinner too. Did I mention the sides (*see below) can be made in batches and frozen? Meaning you could have hoppers within minutes if you took two minutes 8-12 hours earlier to stir a batter together.

The delicate crust that forms at the edges of hoppers are the reason to buy the pan. It's golden, it so thin it can shatter at the outermost tip but for the most part can handle a dip in warm, golden egg yolk and then be gently scooped through some sambol for a crispy, rich and spicy little boat that drips and threatens to break before making it to your mouth. The fluffy centre can be dragged through curries before being chewed, reminiscient of pancake but with much more flavour. And then...

...there's the egg. This is an egg unlike any you've had before. It's essentially poached, but not in water so the whites and yolks get to branch out more and retain more of their individual identities. Cooked only on the batter, the eggs retains even more of their integrity than when cooked in tomato sauce or on a pizza, undisturbed by competing elements, not encroached on phycially or by other flavours. In that sense it's like a fried egg that arrives solo and can be given proper attention, but it cooks much more gently, never coming in direct conact with heat, and the result is a warm golden centre but also the milkiest whites ever.

Both cooking hopper batter and adding an egg to the centre can be attempted in a regular, seasoned skillet but not to the same effect. What I would try is to swirl the batter, cook for a few seconds and then lift and swirl so that the uncooked batter keeps being sent to the edges where you will hopefully cook up a thinner and crisper intererior than the centre. Keeping the egg in the centre would be more of a challenge but a very small, high-sided pan might do the trick. Here's hoping you get to experience the same thing one way or another. If not, please don't hate me if I made you want one.

the perfect piece: hopper pans

I am so excited to tell you that I have a recipe for Sri Lankan hoppers coming up this weekend. But I felt that hopper pans themselves are so beautiful and unique that they should be spotlighted in a perfect piece installment. First, hoppers are a sort of rice flour crepe, sometimes made with an egg in the centre and usually eaten for breakfast. They are made by pouring batter into a heated, oiled pan but unlike flat pancakes, they are concave and crispy on the edges--acheived by making them in hopper pans.

Hopper pans are incredibly simple in design and material, and they become so intricate over time. The best ones, seasoned with use, show the prettiest signs of wear as they subtly discolour. My aunt's set (seen above) are made of the lightest metal and the lids are even thinner--you could bend them if you wanted to. The almost flat metal scraper is the perfect thing to loosen the crisp edges from the pan once the batter has set. These pans are available in large South Asian grocery and housewares stores (it helps if you have a "Little India" in your town) or they can be ordered online. Owning two is ideal, so you can churn out twice as many. Just be sure to use them often to be rewarded with a patina!

 

sri lankan stuffed banana chilies with onion & almonds

I finally know how to make something that I used to have to wait for a special occasion to request--my aunt's stuffed banana peppers. Sadly, I think learning how might have been a mistake. Why did it only occur to me now that part of the allure of eating this was knowing that my aunt was making this especially for me, that I'd walk into her apartment and the aroma and spice in the air would greet me just in advance of her, and that the love and experience she brough to this can't be accounted for in a recipe? I find myself doing this a lot. Investigating too closely, pulling back even sacred veils, like magic and memory. Le sigh. At least you don't have to worry about messing up a good thing. You've never had my aunt's stuffed banana peppers, so if you try this recipe, you have nothing to loose and only seriously great things to gain.

The flavour that the chilies bring, and the fact that this is a white curry, might make it different than one you've tried before. White curries are wonderful and this one is completely satisfying. If you like heat, this dish has got that--but if you don't, you can substitute a mild pepper for the banana chilies. The flesh of the chilies is soft but the filling has bite. The onions are sweet and the sauce is fragrant and savoury. I find that sometimes the thing you're stuffing takes a back seat to the stuffing itself, but not here. You'll enjoy the sauce, filling and chilies in equal measure, and though you could serve this with other curries or sides, you might want it only on a bed of hot rice. I prefer to eat it that way, to let me experience it without distraction and to tame a little of the intense heat that at least one of the chilies (I'll consume serveral a sitting) will ineveitably bring.

cherry tomato sambol/salsa

I've gone on a lot (again) this year about tomatoes and I have a special tomato recipe coming up in a couple of days. But I never say much about cherry or grape tomatoes, which you've probably been snacking on for weeks, right? If by now you're sick of simply popping them in your mouth, you don't have to go to turn to oven-drying them just yet. They are perfect for a fresh salsa, or my dad's version of a salsa: the shallot and cherry tomato sambol you see below. He adds lime juice and salt to pull a little of the tomato juices into the marinade. After thinly slicing the tomatoes, and mincing shallots, he adds freshly ground dried chilies from which he meticulously discards all the seeds (I can promise you I wouldn't be as detailed). A little bit of TLC and this sambol went from a side dish to the star of the meal--nobody could get enough of it. I won't blame you if you think this is weird, because I'd never really thought of having cherry tomatoes on rice before, but trust me and everyone at my table that night, it makes perfect, mouth-watering sense.  

 

another aunty's food

Speaking of pineapple curry, I recently got to try a special batch, made by an aunt of mine visiting from Sri Lanka. It's always a treat for me to get to eat someone else's cooking, I love to experience the way they put flavours and plates together. Eating another aunty's food is extra-special because even the dishes I'm so familiar with taste different. Where and when they add chilies, spices and milk (she adds milk to her pineapple curry, I don't to mine), how they take a fried eggplant curry in the direction of a pickle (which she did, above--my mouth waters remembering it), or decide to serve everything on a fried rice pilaf instead of saffron rice--it's a fascinating and delcious adventure for me. So, if you're just too busy to head to your aunty's this weekend, tell her I'm free for dinner.

curried pineapple

There's a whole roster of foods that I tried for what I thought was the first time in my life, that I "mmm" over and ask my mom how it is that I've never had this before, to which she responds with:

(quite tersely) "I used to make this all the time those days (referring to my childhood) and you never liked it."

I imagine I might not have like pineapple curry those days. Depending on how ripe the fruit it can be a very sweet dish but it will still be tart too. It's balanced but still bold and I have no doubt that when I had it back then, it was spicier than I could handle too. But that's up to you and I to control now that we have the recipe. My mom uses coconut milk in her version, but I fell in love with this in adulthood when my cousin served it to me at her house, and she uses water for her curry which I prefer. Milk seems to knock back the tanginess a little, so proceed as you wish. 

Don't be intimidated about using a fresh pineapple if you can get your hands on a ripe one. Simply trim a thin slice from the bottom to stand it up, cut off the top and the peel cuts away evenly with a sharp knife. My first time doing this, my mom and aunt berated me for wasting too much good flesh with my cuts, and they showed me that you can cut just a thin strip of peel away and dig out any really deep eyes with the side of a peeler, just like you would when peelng potatoes. The shallow marks don't even need to be dealt with. 

Once you've peeled and trimmed your fruit on both ends, look for that white ring of core in the centre and cut around it. The core is too tough for this curry, but it's edible and delicious so don't waste it. The day I made this with my family, we sliced up the centre, sprinkled it with salt and pepper and it disappeared in seconds. It was a nice taste of things to come.

love cake

My appreciation for the love cake you see in this picture is three-fold:

1. I made it with my aunt, and we followed my grandmother's hand-written recipe. I'm not letting that cloud my feelings about the end result itself, but those circumstances generated good feelings in me toward the cake, naturally. Just this cake above, not love cake overall.
2. I finally understand why love cake tastes like it does because I made it, instead of having had a small, wrapped square offered to me at a wedding or other celebration. Now those complex flavours and textures make sense--the chewy parts are no strange mystery and the sugar and spice combination doesn't catch me off guard at all. Plus something about making something yourself makes it taste better, doesn't it? I fear that may have had some influence on how I experienced the cake when it was done, versus other times, but it's more than that because finally...
3. ...I'm just getting old. The nuances in this cake were lost on me and in fact, I hated love cake, if you can stand the irony, until now. And now...well, now I sort of love it. Which I should be happy about, except, see the part about getting old. It's the kind of cake you may need a refined palette for. 

Because the recipe includes pumpkin preserves, you see, and I used to loathe any dried or otherwise preserved fruit. I loathed that chewy texture and saw it less as a contrast to the other ingredients in a dish and more as an obstacle to enjoying them. Like raisins--gross! I wouldn't touch rice pudding and was sad when someone added them to a stunning biryani. I couldn't deal with a stray dried cranberry in granola and I still can't go near fruit cake. Now I want raisins in my couscous and I throughly enjoyed this love cake, pumpkin preserves and all. Who am I? And how disgusted would the old me be with this love cake-loving traitor? These are my internal dilemmas. You can't help me.

Hopefully you are more mature than me, regardless of your age, and you can appreciate the loveliness that is love cake today. It's simply delicious, rich with cashew nut meal and slightly crumbly. Those pumpkin preserves, shown below, can be found in South Asian grocery stores and are found in the traditional love cake recipes. You will find youself snacking on this highly sugary preserve while you mince it, and if you have any sharp cheese around, you might want to have that handy too. I'm skipping replacing jellies with slivers of pumpkin preserve on my next cheese board--I'm mature/old enough to enjoy them that much. I think they would be a fine thing to nibble on with a glass of ice wine or port too. But back to the cake--if you can't find pumpkin preserves, another aunt of mine suggested using minced pieces of pineapple which I think is an inspired idea.

Love cake is served at Sri Lankan weddings, birthdays and some other celebrations. To present it at weddings, it's usually cut into very small squares, wrapped in cellophane and packaged individually in tiny white boxes for guests to take home with them. Because it's so sweet, you only need a tiny piece, not the wedge I've carved out here, but don't let me stop you. Cream, unsweetened and whipped, provides a neutral, silky balance, and this is just the cake you want to have with strong black tea (Ceylon tea, of course).

Oh and a word about the recipe. It was interesting trying to decipher my grandmother's recipe, which called for rulan and which my aunt explains as essentially Cream of Wheat--which I discovered is semolina or farina to us in North America. The original recipe refers to a "wine glass full" of "bee's honey" (so cute!) and calls for 200 cashew nuts, which were counted and, I was surprised to find, weighed exactly the 3/4 pounds of cashews that a third aunt in Sri Lanka said they would in her handwritten adjustments of my grandmother's recipe. And now the aunt/second mother/culinary genius that I gush about on this site from time to time and I have re-tested and modified the recipe to bring it to you. Which is to say, a lot of love has gone into it over the years. I really hope you enjoy it.

parsley pittu

I come from a family that likes food (understatement) and to cook, but they also love to recipe test. My aunt's at it again, pushing the ingredients in her recipe for pittu around like puddles of paint on a palette. Last time it was millet pittu, this time, parsley pittu. She loves to submit her tests to all of us for our evaluation, and she never brings pittu to us without the standard accompaniments: lunu miris and coconut milk to be heated and poured over and soak into the pillars.

It's no wonder I never want her to land on the perfect version. I try not to let that influence my feedback...