French Toast: Middle Eastern or Mediterranean?

I've been baking cookies. You know, trying out the bazillion "Best Choc-Chip Cookies Ever!" recipes floating around the food blogosphere. I've succumbed to all the tricks and tactics of the trade: adding an extra egg yolk, using cake flour, stuffing it with chunks of chocolate, refrigerating cookie dough for 36 hours, resisting eating raw cookie dough for the 24+ hours. The whole nine and a freaking half yards.

So you know what my post is going to be. Not Chocolate chip cookies. Had enough of them  for a while.

Middle-Eastern French toast.

I'm sorry for the build-up. Please go do some cardio+crunches(20 reps, 3 sets), and I'll have about six batches of Chocolate Chip Cookies prettily ready for you in a couple of days!

Middle-Eastern French Toast was the result of a happy accident. By that, I mean I overheard my 8-year-old sister instructing mum on how she wanted her french toast. It could also mean that I stole a slice of her French toast (and swooned) as I'd rather my metabolism went for a toss than eat Ragi Kazhi for breakfast. P.S.: It isn't a frou-frou thing. I like Kazhi, just not the ones made with Calcium-enriched Diabetic food.

Sumi had this brilliant idea of adding pinches and pinches of saffron strands to the French toast egg mix... she probably thought it'd make it taste like kheer or sheer korma.



She isn't at the age where she understands how much each milligram costs... and if I tell her that mind-altering drugs cost less, I'd be killed by mum for a) "spoiling your sister and making her exactly like you" b) even if it's been two years since I graduated Medical school, Mum chooses to believe that her 24-year-old daughter has no clue about the existence of "drugs" or where babies come from; simply because unmarried girls mustn't know/speak of "these things".
I'll spare you the lengthy diatribe this post is evolving into... and teach you how to make Middle-Eastern french toast.

It's easy, you'll know how to make it already (I use the base recipe from i am baker). To go along with it, I suggest a simple, luxurious dry-fruit milk we make only (justifiably) in the month of Ramadan.

Middle-Eastern French Toast:

Ingredients:

2 eggs
1/2 cup + 2 tbsps milk
2 tbsp sugar
a pinch of salt
3/4 tsp rosewater
7-8 strands of Saffron
5-6 slices bread


Method:

Heat the 2 tbsp milk until it's boiling. Add the saffron strands to it and squeeze the extract out of it. Keep aside the saffron to infuse in the milk until cool.

In a large bowl, beat together the eggs, milk (both the plain and saffron-soaked), sugar, salt and rosewater.

Silly me forgot to do the saffron-infusion before hand. You must, though!

Heat an non-stick pan or griddle. Add a pat of butter or ghee.

Dip a slice of bread into the milk mix. Do not let it soak too much, as there won't be enough egg-milk mix for the rest of the bread.

Cook the dipped bread on medium-low, about 2 minutes on each side.

Do NOT use skim milk and wholewheat bread. Please.

Take it out and serve hot with Saffron honey and butter!

A dusting of confectioners' sugar is pretty handy when you're out of honey.



Could not resist a couple of bites fresh off the griddle, pre-photo session!



Dry-fruit milk:

Ingredients:
1 cup whole milk.
5-6 walnuts
4-5 almonds
4-5 unsalted pistachios
5 raisins or a couple of chopped up dates
a pinch of saffron
1 tbsp sugar (or more, per your liking. Remember, dates are sweet!)

Method:

Feel free to use and hold off on the dry fruits of your choice!

Combine all the ingredients in a bowl. Cover it with plastic wrap/lid, and refrigerate overnight (minimum7 hours).

You can eat it by itself or with the french toast!

Suddenly can't wait for Ramadan. For more reasons than one.

Eid Mubarak and Sorry. And Baklava Muhalabbiya.

It's been a week since Eid; my grandiose plans for putting up recipes for Eid dishes all over the world have obviously not fallen through. Shame on me.

To make up for the deficit, I'm going to pull out of my Toque blanche a Double-Delight! kind of recipe. I've professed my love for Greek and Middle-Eastern food, time after time. Fallen short at the dessert category, though. Blasphemy after blasphemy.

So. I give you. Baklava Muhalabbiya.

Don't X this tab just yet. I know Baklava (or anything with phyllo pastry in it) sounds scary. Especially since even the most upmarket of Madras's groceries don't stock any frozen phyllo sheets. You can do one step better. Find a friendly neighbourhood bakery and give in your order for "puff pastry", one day before you actually need it. If you're in and around Egmore, you have two options.

Hot Puffs 2010 on Casa Major Road and there's this other bakery in Chetpet (opposite McNichols Road) with extremely humble/kind/unpretentious(you know the kind) that will mix you up an extra batch of puff pastry when they make theirs fresh, each day.

However, I went around searching for it on the eve of Eid, and my luck ran out... I had come too late, they had finished baking (and selling out) their puffs for the day and won't start until tomorrow morning, they were very sorry, but the dough needs to rest and chill, but could they give it to me by noon tomorrow?

With as much politeness as I could muster up, I turned them down. The Baklava Muhalabbiya were meant to be delivered by 10 the next day, and you need to let the baked pastry soak in the sugar syrup overnight. So I took on the herculean task of making my own phyllo pastry.

I can say that I succeeded... somewhat. It won't be as thin as store-bought phyllo and requires a little arm-power, but very worth the effort, I think. The recipe I used gave me around 17 sheets, which I didn't think were enough at all. But I ate enough of the muhalabbiya filling during prep-and-cooking so the recipe got into decent proportions somehow. How could I not stuff my face with a creamy, cinnamon-scented phirni/kesari type thingy? I'm a sucker for most things dairy.

And one last thing I need to tell you about this is that it is kind of a sugar bomb, not unlike a Gulab Jamun. The flakiness of the pastry gets a teeny bit overshadowed by the muhalabbiya, but I could stop shoving the wonky bits that couldn't go into the box,  my mouth. It was Eid, people. Calorie-counting is against the law on Eid.

Baklava Muhalabbiya:

Recipe source:
For the Baklava: Desert Candy
For the phyllo pastry: Daring Bakers' challenge

Making the phyllo pastry *:


1 1/3 cups (200 g) all-purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon salt
7 tablespoons water, plus more if needed
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, plus additional for coating the dough
1/2 teaspoon cider vinegar (I used regular white)

*Defrost around 20 sheets of readymade phyllo pastry if buying

Making the muhalabbiya:

1/3 cup semolina (Rava)
1/4 cup white sugar
2 cups milk
1/4 tsp each, cinnamon, nutmeg
pinch salt

Making the syrup:

1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup water
1 tbsp rose water
1 tbsp orange blossom or lemon juice
A stick of cinnamon, 1-2 cloves

Method:

Making the phyllo pastry:

Combine flour and salt in a bowl.

Mix water, vinegar and oil in a small bowl.

Beat it into the flour until it's combine.

Change the paddle attachment to a dough hook.

If you don't have a dough hook, you can knead with your hand.




This is a wee bit dry. A tablespoon of water can be added. Use your discretion!

 
Knead for 10 minutes with a dough hook or 20 minutes by hand. A smooth ball should form.

Coat the ball and the bowl with a tablespoon or so of vegetable oil. Put the oiled dough into the bowl. Cover with cling film. Let it rest at room temperature for around 2 hours.

Rolling out the phyllo sheets:

Divide the rested dough into 18 equal-sized balls.

Flour a smooth surface generously.

Roll out the dough as thin as possible with a rolling pin. The sheets should get almost translucent and see-through.

 It's OK if a few of them have holes in them. The top two sheets have to be perfect because that is what the eye sees.

Making the sugar syrup:

Place sugar, water, flower water and spices in a saucepan. Bring to boil, stirring to dissolve. Let it boil for a couple of minutes, and take it off the heat. Cool completely before using.

It should be as thick as Gulab Jamun syrup, but not as thin as Rasagolla syrup either.

Making the Muhalabbiya:

 Place milk, sugar, spices, and salt in a sauce pan, with the heat set on low heat. Stir the mix, bringing it a simmer. Add in the semolina slowly, stirring to combine. Let it continue to simmer for around 6 minutes, just make sure it doesn't become too dry. It'll continue to thicken up as it cools.

Set it aside at room temperature to cool completely before using in the Baklava.

Assembling the Baklava:

Preheat the oven to 350 F or 180 C

Melt the ghee or make your own clarified butter.

Grease a 9 inch baking dish with ghee or clarified butter. Place a phyllo sheet. Brush on melted ghee using a pastry brush. I used my fingers to dab the globs of ghee over the sheet.

Repeat with 9 more sheets, brushing with ghee for each one.

Pour in the muhalabbiya (completely cooled) on top of the 9th sheet. Smooth the top.

Continue adding the remaining sheets, adding ghee to each sheet.

Brush the final sheet with ghee.

Cut the baklava into pieces, either square or diamond-shaped.

Bake until the top is flaky/crispy for about 30 minutes.

Pour the cooled syrup over the piping hot baklava. This is the only way to get crispy baklava.

Don't flood the whole thing too much... I found the sugar syrup a teeny bit more than I'd want. 0.4 cm above the level of the pastry, maybe?

Let it soak the syrup in, overnight (8 hours minimum). Do not refrigerate.

Sprinkle chopped pistachios or almonds over the top.

This keeps for about 2-3 days, maximum. And yes, you can refrigerate after the soaking-in process... you have no choice with the notorious heat here in Madras/Chennai.

Would I make this again? Maybe if I find someone who likes scented, syrupy things. The muhalabbiya I'll be making very many times on the rare rainy nights. Like I need more comfort (albeit fattening) things in my life.

Sigh.

Ramadan Kareem. Part One.

Nobody, not one person, loses weight during Ramadan.

It isn't just because of the dip in your Basal Metabolic Rate and your body going into starvation-and-scavenge mode. Don't believe everything a bunch of loser-doctors tell you. It's because of the food, dude.

Every Ramadan, I promise I'm going to be good. Attend prayers, stay away from gossip (until dusk, at least. Let's be realistic), feed the hungry and not call sons-of-bitches, sons-of-bitches. It's post-Dusk, Indian time, now. Swearing is not horribly punishable, just plain punishable, when you're not fasting.

Food-wise, I resolve to eat healthy. It is a sincere, written statement, that I fully plan to adhere to. Deep-fried food only once a week, sweets only twice a week, circuit, low-intensity exercises and so on. I stay on that plan for a good, painful two days.

So, after breaking open my fast with an obligatory date, I start off with the fruit. The smell of bondas filled with meat-and-potato explode in the kitchen, with swishy-frying sounds to boot.

But I have my fruit salad. It has mangoes, bananas, oranges, apples, pomegranate. What more does a girl want?

A girl wants Masala vadai that the neighbours sent. A lentil-cumin-curry leafy masala vadai with a cup of ginger-and elaichi tea.

Oh, no. I'm staying away.

I settle for sugar-free pomegranate juice and keerai (greens sauteed with dried red chilli, coconut and caramelized onions). What more could even the hungriest girl want?

Maybe just a teensiest bit of nombu kanji from the Al Huda Masjid in Sait Colony. Every body loves Nombu Kanji, it's soul food. An almost-khichdi like concoction that is given to every person who drops in for prayer at dusk, along with dates and something fried. My non-Muslim friends bug me for this more than they do for Eid biryani.

I eat my little bowl, and I'm happy that I've stuck to my written statement. Go, me. Right.

Dad pops in with bags of food. Unpretentious little paper boxes and newspaper parcels. You know how they say that the best presents come in brown paper packages?

Thus starts the end of my diet and the quest for Obesity (happy, happy quest). Those parcels are from the food stall near the Walajah mosque at Triplicane. Written statement, off to the bin you go.

Check it.

Shammi kebabs. Lamb and lentils pulsed to a fine paste and deep-fried so that it's crispy on the outside, and tender and juicy and spicy on the inside.

Oooh, yes. A little ketchup, and I'm a fat ten-year-old again.

Little chicken and potato cutlets, shaped into hearts and breaded with seviyan and deep-fried.

A big-boned muslim man in kurta-pajamas, a topi and the gruffest of voices made this, I should think. Weirder things have happened.

Some beef kebabs and onions, I have no space in my stomach for. I manage a bite. Why just one bite of grilled spicy kebabs-and-onions (which with Diet Coke is the best supper I can ask for)?

I'm saving the best for the last.

Haleem. I could marry this.



Hello, lover.



Minced meat, broken wheat, vegetables, caramelized onions, dollops of ghee and lashings of spices are simmered for hours-and-hours, topped with lemon juice, some more caramelized onions and a sprinkling of coriander. Served steaming hot. But then again, I can have it congealed and cold; I love it that much. One teaspoonful fills every crevice of your stomach and every chamber of your heart. Did I mention that I like it-like it?

And as one of my best friends, Z, likes to say, "it's sunnath to eat something sweet at the end". Preachy little jackass, who can justify just about anything in this world. Come back to Madras.

So I have to have this gorgeous baked almond halwa, right? It's baked. That's healthy. Semolina, dairy, eggs, nuts. All of it is healthy. Except that is caramelly and decadent and I make enough pastry to not kid myself into oblivion.

All of the above is available at very reasonable rates near the aforemention masjid at Triplicane. I'm told that it is flooded with men at iftiari (breaking of the fast time), who I'm not sure will take very well to a strange girl coming up and photographing away to glory. You know me, though, I'll be more than happy to scandalize people.

Just not now. After all that meat and sugar, I can't move a muscle. I slip out of my food coma only to let the neighbour from down the road in. She brings in a basket of medhu vada and Mysore bonda. I knew checking her Blood Pressure regularly would have its perks.

I know this post comes right after the one on people starving... but there's no place for guilt here. These are hardworking people, striving in the heat to make delicious food they can barely afford. I'll happily give them the money for smaller portions, I've given more for less tasty food. Or neighbours who want to share their home and heart with you... can't turn that down. I wish I could share all of it with all of you.

What is it about food that makes you miss people terribly?

I wish you were here, Syed Sisters. So you can eat double of what I do and make me feel less guilty.

I wish you could have shared this meal with me, W. So you can lie blatantly that I'm skin-and-bones and that I should eat more and fatten up... and proceed to eat double of what I do and make me feel less guilty. This isn't just the food talking.