Creme Caramel Pudding/Eid Mubarak.

It's been 70 days since Eid-ul-Fitr (The Eid that comes at the pointy end of Ramadan). 70 rainy (not all of them, I should hasten to add) days and very few blog posts. It's Eid-ul-Adha already (the one with sacrificial goat).

The idea of putting up harried, uninspired posts doesn't, at all, appeal to me. Recipe cards and Twitter-like reviews of the kick-ass places that have been sprouting around the nooks and crannies of Madras, maybe?
Hm.

Or I could just give up going to the gym and post instead (Yes!) That'll work out well for all of us.

Instead of disbanding the blog altogether (saddening, because it's a product of my rapidly degenerating-but-still brain and my ever-growing love of all things edible-and-halal), I'll drop by when I have something I have to foist on everybody.

Case in point: it's Bakrid today! The festival of sacrifice. I'm going to make one of my most favourite desserts of all time. And then sacrifice it for the ones I love. Or double the recipe and keep a portion for myself. It's still sacrifice, voluntarily giving up dessert and all. It is, OK?

Dessert. I've compiled so many adjectives for the course, I could have a showdown with both Matt Preston and Nigella Lawson, and still win.

Dark Chocolate. Espresso. Peanut Butter. Nutella. Salt. Dark Chocolate. Mint. Demerara sugar. Raspberry. Dark Chocolate. Apple. Cinnamon. Pretty much covers all the dessert ingredients I'd give a passing grade for. However, before going off-tangent, I started like everybody else (we're all inherently good). With Dairy. And loads of it.

Crusty, day-old bread soaked in milk with a teensy sprinkling of sugar and a drop of vanilla. Creamy kheer (one portion I'd have warm, straight from the pot, and one portion, all cold, at midnight, with Friends). Sheer korma. Rice pudding with jam. Trifle with custard, jelly and sponge cake. Coconut-milk based Jaw arasi payasam (sago/tapioca payasam). Pineapple kesari.

Comfort food, all of it is. On a regular day, I'd take a Dark Chocolate Caramel Ganache Tart. On a horrible day which is on its way to Horrible-r lands, I'd take the comfort food.

Topping the comfort food list would be Caramel Pudding. Yes, of the Creme Caramel/Vanilla pudding mix variety that you get in green boxes and can be whipped up in a jiffy. Or the real way of making Creme Caramel, the only one worth trading in your skinny jeans for. I'm sure your granny or your mum has a treasured recipe for it. If not, you'd be happy to know that I'm giving away my family's version. Don't tell my mum. Kidding. Or am I?

This recipe has a lot of eggs, milk and sugar. Not much else; so you can spare me the "where in the world (I know you mean Madras by this) would I find Madagascar vanilla beans  or gold gelatin leaves?" The equipment, if we're getting all technical, would be an aluminium anda or a Rice cooker. No sorbet-crankers or waffle irons. This pudding does originate from a gazillion years back, before newfangled notions like electricity existed/was accepted.

If you like Creme Brulee or a good New York style Cheesecake, give this one a shot.

Creme Caramel

This makes a dense, cheesecake-like pudding. If you want a wobbly, flan-like pudding, reduce the cooking hours of both the milk and the pudding by half!
Ingredients:

Whole milk: 2.5 litres
Eggs- 3 cups (approximately 14 or more)
Sugar (white, granulated)-3 cups
Vanilla essence: 2 tbsp
Sugar for the caramel glaze: as needed.

Method:

Note: The proportions of the thick milk jam:sugar:eggs is 1:1:1, so feel free to play around keeping the ration in mind.

On a low fire, heat whole milk in a heavy-bottomed saucepan.

Make sure the bottom doesn't burn. Stir occasionally.

The milk will thicken and reduce down to less than half of the original quantity. This will take an hour or more.

At the end of the boiling process, you'll get a milk jam (sort of like a thinned-down Dulce de Leche or Confiture du Lait) that'll measure around 3 cups/tumblers.

And it's OK that there are icky bits of malai/milk skin/adai in it, we'll be straining the milk mixture.

Beat with a immersion/stick blender for 10 seconds, so you break down the skin. This step can be skipped.

Add in the sugar and eggs.

With the eggs, I can't give you an exact number since I don't know if you prefer free range, organic or the jumbo variety. Just keep breaking and pouring them out until you get 3 cups worth of egg whites and yolk.

Fold it all well with a spatula. Add in good quality vanilla so that you won't have a eggy smell at the end.
 Don't be tempted to use the stick blender after adding the eggs and the sugar as this will tamper with the smooth silkiness of the pudding. Mix until it forms a cohesive batter.

Next, strain the pudding batter through a fine sieve.

Keep aside the pudding batter.

Making the caramel top:

In a stainless steel or aluminium deep vessel (make sure it's DRY, not one drop of water allowed), add a couple of tablespoons of granulated white sugar so a layer of it covers the bottom.

On a low heat, swirl the sugar around. DO NOT use a spoon or spatula. Just toss the pan around.

An amber to golden caramel base will form.

Keep aside and let it cool and harden. If you pour in the pudding straight away, it'll mix with the sugar!

Pour the pudding batter into the prepared moulds (the bowls in which you've melted sugar into a golden glass-like layer).

Steaming the pudding:

You can use a water bath. Take an aluminium vessel. Fill up to a third to half of it with water.
Position a ring mould in the centre of the vessel. Place your filled pudding mould into it. Cover the pudding mould with a stainless steel lid or aluminium foil. Cover the water- bath with a bigger lid. Let the pudding steam on low heat on the gas range in this manner  for 3 hours.

Using the rice cooker:



This photo was clicked at the end of three hours of cooking time. You'll need way more water for your water bath!!

 Filling a third of the rice cooker with water. Place the ring, then the filled pudding mould. Cover the mould with a stainless steel lid. Cover the rice cooker with its own lid. Let it cook for 3 hours.

At the end of the steaming, it should look like this.

If you feel it needs more time, so be it. Take out the pudding, let it cool for an hour or so.

Unmould it into your plate. Run a knife through the edges before unmoulding if you think it necessary.

Once the pudding is fully cooled, place it in the refrigerator for at least 3 hours before serving.

I know this whole process sounds scary and labour intensive, but it is in fact one of the easiest desserts to whip up. Only the cooking time can be a little weird and prolonged, but it is a special day and for special people, so all things considered? Win.

Especially when the brunt work of it was done by the sister-in-law. Thanks, BV!

Eid Mubarak, you lot. Make sure you eat some extra biryani for me. And dessert. Always the dessert.

Deepavali/Diwali: A Dissection.

Deepavali/Diwali always meant long holidays, fireworks (crackers, really) going off all day and all night and a smorgasbord of sweets sent by neighbours.

Time passes. Diwali meant more prep time for exams, duties I'm required to cover, congested shopping areas with hordes of police-protection and crackers going off all day (bursting them between the hours of 10 PM and 6 AM has been banned. One of the rare useful laws the Government has passed)

However, there are some consistencies in Indian festivals. Things that don't have a shot in hell of ever changing. Read clash-y huge-budget releases (Vijay/Ajith, Vijay/Surya or Rajini/Yeah, right), marathons of sitcoms/"cine" programs on the TV, explosive rise in gold prices...

And yeah. Food and Family/Friends. Not in that order. Mostly.

While everybody wakes up at the crack of dawn for their oil-baths and the like, we sleep in. Wake up to the third cookie-hamper coming from one of Dad's friends. Lounge in front of the TV with a cup of black chai, getting my digestive enzymes ready for a true Tamil-style Deepavali feast.

C's mum's lunches are legendary... things you brave the rain and dangerous, Lakshmi-vedi-filled roads for. I learnt this when I overstayed one evening at their place, almost a decade back and was served piping hot rava kesari, bonda and filter coffee.

Meant to be consumed, sitting on the famous swing:

While being the butt of all jokes. Wait, that's just me.

This time, my little sister joins us for the first time, decked in her pattu-pavadai. She keeps me busy and worried enough... some how, I still get embarrassed. That stays consistent, too.

After catching up on the latest and sipping on preprandial juice, we wait for the last person to join us (with well-deserved guilt plastered all over their faces, anticipation over ours'). File into the dining room. And let the feasting begin.

Cautionary note: The photos, being taken on a stormy, grey day and by someone with zero photography-skills, will not do the food justice. But this practically applies to every post on the blog.
.

Puffy pooris!

Served with chana masala, bursting with plump chickpeas and fresh coriander in a fragrant tomato-onion gravy. Meant to be scooped up with little pieces of the pooris. Not to be eaten in handfuls, like you would with popcorn. Doesn't stop me.

Eid's tamilian counterpart. Brinji/Vegetable biryani with buttery croutons strewed on top.

Fluffy grains of rice, crunchy bits of vegetable are tossed with variety of heartening herbs and spices. Soul-food and sophistication on a plate.

Eaten with a little raita made with homemade curd/yogurt and crunchy onion. And medhu vada.

The logical, human thing to do is to overdose on the extremely-rare-to-come-across and excessively-delicious Tamil-veg food. Experience has taught me better. Always save space for Thayir semiya.

Doesn't look like The Piece de Resistance, does it now?

I'm eating the leftovers (which I unashamedly asked Aunty to pack for me to take home) even as I'm typing this post. It ranks up there, with Nutella, for me. How else can I describe it?

C's mum protests each time I rave over the Thayir Semiya... it's extremely simple and unworthy of high praise, she argues.

But you know what they say about the best gifts coming in brown-paper packages.

This time, the best gift is boiled vermicelli tossed with homemade yogurt, a little milk, salt and pomegranate, basically. It won't taste the same if I make it. I've accepted it, and it's a valid life choice.

Lunch finishes with the best part of the meal (I'm allowed to have up to 4 best parts, right?) That would be the

Dessert! Homemade maavu ladoo, adhirasam (holy yum!), coconut burfi and chocolate cupcakes. This is also the time when you collect your Diwali bounty from all those in attendance: homemade murukku, sweets, foreign-chocolate (notice the Ferroro Rocher!) and gifts to take back in neat little Ziploc bags and boxes.

Calories don't count. Calories don't exist. They're in your head. And in textbooks of Physics. Wear your fatpants. You can believe in them again tomorrow.


The evening ends with introducing my fearless sister to fireworks. Not ones that are products of child-labour. Not enough to pollute the environment and exacerbate an acute attack in any passing asthmatic. Just enough sparklers to match the ones in The Sister's eyes (who randomly declares "I'm so happy!")

So I've realized what Diwali/Deepavali actually means: Tamilian hospitality, good (albeit annoying) friends, great food and grey skies lit with laughter and light.

Thanksgiving.

Homemade Pumpkin Puree. Toasted Masala Pepitas.

If you religiously follow FoodGawker and TasteSpotting, you would have realised one major fact. It's Fall!

Yes, Fall, of the autumn variety. Fall, in my opinion, is the best season, food-wise. Considering the mercury tends to dip a little during these months in Madras as well, indulge in all of the gorgeous apple and pumpkin recipes!

And if you've had enough Apple Crisp and Minestrone soup for a month, try something with pumpkin in it. Don't be dubious. I was. My Vegan Pumpkin bread was received with as much happiness as a batch of brownies, and that totally changed the way I looked at pumpkins.

They can be used for something other than haphazardly carved Jack-o'-Lanterns. Think soups, pastry, pies, curries and a host of other random deliciousness.

Almost all of the aforementioned recipes call for pumpkin puree. Warning: not even the snootiest of groceries at Madras stock these. In fact, they usually have no idea what you're talking of. Instead of harassing your America-based friends on Facebook for tins of Libby's Pumpkin puree... make your own.

Ask your kaigarikaar/sabziwala for Sugar pumpkins, the kind you use for making halwa. If you can track these down: yay, Step One cleared (yes, I'll save the enthusiasm for Step One of the USMLE variety). Let it ripen to the fullest. Cut it open, gut out the insides. Toast the seeds and flavour it with powders and potions of choice. Puree the gloriously-scented pumpkin flesh and use away!

Homemade Pumpkin Puree:

Ingredients:

1 huge sugar pumpkin

Method:
Cut the pumpkin vertically into two halves. I'm tempted to say saggital section.

Scoop out the pumpkin seeds and innards, just like you would do for a papaya.

Cut into smaller sections, leaving the pumpkin peel/skin on.

You can see that I've packed a lot of the wedges in because my roasting tin was too small and I didn't want to bake twice. You totally shouldn't do that.

In a big roasting tray, arrange the wedges, cut-side down. Pour in a little water, so that the water level is about 2 cm.


Bake in a preheated oven (325 F or 180 C) for around a couple of hours. The pumpkin should be blistered on the outside.

Test one piece by digging in with a spoon. It should be soft with no resistance whatsoever.

Scoop out all of the flesh. When cool, blitz it in a mixie or use a hand blender to puree it.

Once pureed, pour the pumpkin into a bowl lined with muslin/cheesecloth or just use a huge-ass tea-sieve. Like you would for making hung yogurt. Let it filter for about an hour... plenty of pumpkin liquid would have steeped down.

Pour the pumpkin puree into a freezer-safe, airtight box and store in the freezer until you need it! Or you can just cling-film it and refrigerate if you're planning to use it in a couple of days.

Oh. P.S. Bonus recipe coming your way, since I post once in a long white.

Who wants to throw away those cute little pumpkin seeds that are bursting with nutrition and guilt-free nuttiness, right? Toast them and make a post-gym snack! Next best thing to them being dunked in dark chocolate and candy-coated, M&M style.

This is also something you can peck away at (my brother did call it bird-feed) while watching random episode of Criminal Minds/Rizzoli & Isles/Jersey Shore. Except that I don't watch Jersey Shore. Not every episode, first telecast and such like.

To change the topic very quickly, I give you:

Toasted masala pepitas:

Rinse the pumpkin seeds so that there are no pumpkin flesh/fibre sticking to it.

Dry them off with a kitchen towel or tissues. Except for scented-facial tissue. Don't ever do that.

Spread the dried pumpkin seeds on a baking tray lined with foil. Rub a small knob of butter onto the seeds.

Sprinkle over salt, red chilli powder/garam masala, garlic powder and tabasco sauce. Or use olive oil, italian seasoning, garlic powder and salt. Soy sauce, chilli powder, butter and tabasco. Whatever strikes your fancy. In various permutations and combinations.

Bake for 10-15 minutes at 350 F or 180 C in a preheated oven. Keep stirring it from time to time, so the pepitas don't burn. Pull them out, see if they're crispy. Cool. Munch away!

I'm so sorry I go Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Geek on you all the time. Give me my random moments? I'll give you true-and-tried recipes, with badly taken photos to boot.

Preferably ones that don't show my unmanicured hands (the dryness is because of living in smelly, powdery surgical gloves. Don't judge.)

Dulce de Leche Cheesecake/Challenge completed.

Next time you pay nearly hundred bucks for a slice of chocolate cake, don't crib. Any cheaper than that, it isn't cake; some brown-coloured concoction made with vanaspati (margarine), more like.

I'm going to do a list (for enriching our collective General Knowledge and Awareness), just like our current CM did during the previous rule. To show you how much more expensive it is to make pastry, than it was 2 years back, since the CM skipped those items and chose to focus on kerosene and paruppu instead.

Cadbury's cocoa powder: Rs. 150 (now), Rs 80 (then)

Amul fresh cream: Rs. 30 (now), Rs. 13 (then)

Bourneville Dark Chocolate: Rs. 85 (for 80 g, now), Rs. 20 (for 45g, then)

I don't have to go on and on about walnuts, butter, condensed milk and so on. And the VAT on "luxury" items. God.

So cheesecake is out of the question, right? A 8-ounce (230 g) pack of Kraft's Philadelphia cream cheese costs about 500 bucks. The rest of the ingredients aren't a bread-and-milk affair, either. I don't mean artisan bread and almond milk in this context.

Three things compelled me to make this cheesecake, though:

1)Britannia now makes cream cheese! Rs. 150 for a 180 g pack.

2)I've been craving Dulce de Leche and I imagined it'd be lovely in a cheesecake.

3)I was challenged by Spica and my Stinson-ian beliefs behooved me to.

I'll just take you through a pictorial play-by-play on the cheesecake, and my method of making Dulce de Leche, which saves a lot of LPG (which has also skyrocketed, price-wise). Oh, and how to make a mock springform pan that you'd ideally need to make an intact cheesecake. To finish it off, how to make a perfect graham cracker crust with Digestive biscuits.

Cheesecake for the Indian Kitchen. Yes. It's possible. Believe in it.

MAKING THE DULCE:

We start off with a gorgeous tin of Nestle Milkmaid condensed milk. I can wax nostalgic for hours on how we all used to eat it by the spoonful, neat. Just like my other love, Nutella.

Pierce a small hole on top with a knife and pestle. Or a clean nail and hammer. This step I chose to do, because I'm scared of unopened cans bursting open and giving me sugar burns and life long scars.

A small amount will ooze out, but it's OK. The chef gets to eat that.

Put the can in a rice cooker or a pan filled with simmering water, the water level being 3/4th of an inch below the top of the can.

Let it simmer on for 3 hours. You'll have to keep replenishing the water levels. Check on it every 15 minutes or so. Once the condensed milk leaking out of the hole you popped is nice and thick, take it off the boiling water. Let it cool down to room temperature. Pop the can open. DONE.

 I left mine on for about 4 hours and this is what I got...

Dulce de Leche. Also known as Liquid Love. Milk Jam. Confiture de Lait. I'm in love. And always will be.

Give it a good stir. There will be lumps, but it just needs some whisking in the hot dulce to dissolve and form a smooth caramel.

Save a spoon for tasting. The rest of it goes into the cheesecake!

MAKING THE GRAHAM CRACKER CRUST:

Pound the digestive biscuits to a fine powder using the rolling-pin-and-bag method. Add in the butter and powdered sugar. Alternatively, you can use a food processor for this.



Mix until you get that wet beach sand consistency.

Press the crumbs into the prepared cheesecake tin (instructions follow)

Bake for 10 minutes until golden brown. Cool before using!

TO MAKE A MOCK SPRINGFORM PAN:

You know how cheesecake needs a cool pan that you can clip off on one side and remove, thereby preserving its wobbly goodness? Turns out you CAN'T find it anywhere in Chennai.

So I googled long and hard and came up with this.

Line the outside (sides and bottom) of the pan with foil. This is the part that will come in touch with the water bath in the oven.

Line the tin with aluminium foil, the size of the foil being much more than the area of the pan covered, so you can have a foil overhang/excess at the sides that enables you to pull out the cheesecake en masse.

MAKING OF THE CHEESECAKE:

The base ingredients of eggs, the milk/gelatin mix, cream cheese and salt get blended together.

Empty the prepared Dulce de Leche. Beat some more.

The batter goes into the prepared graham cracker crust.

And the cheesecake goes into the water bath, and then on to the oven.

After baking for about 40 minutes, it still might not be done even though the top might look all nice and bruleed. Make sure it goes on the middle rack.

The cheesecake should be cooled, uncovered for 2 hours, at room temperature. It then goes into the refrigerator for 6 hours or so, covered, and gets chilled.

MAKING THE CHOCOLATE GLAZE:

Make this two hours before you want to serve the cheesecake.

In a double boiler/bain marie, all the ingredients for the glaze go in:

Keep stirring for some smooth chocolate loving.

With as much self-control as you can achieve, do not eat the whole thing. Instead, pour the glaze over the chilled cheesecake. Smooth the entire thing over the top.

Chill for around 2 hours. Using the foil overhang, lift it out.

Dulce de Leche cheesecake. Told you to believe in it. It'll have crinkly edges because of the foil, but that adds to the rustic charm, I think.

Cut into bars, and eat! I meant, serve.

Dulce de Leche Cheesecake squares:

Adapted from Gourmet magazine:

For crust

• 3 1/2 oz graham crackers or 100g Digestive biscuits, crumbled (1cup)
• 2 tablespoons sugar (powdered)
• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For filling

• 1 teaspoon unflavored gelatin (Baker's Halal gelatin)
• 1/4 cup whole milk
• 8 oz (240 g) cream cheese, softened
• 2 large eggs
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup dulce de leche (from one Milkmaid tin)

For glaze

• 90 g dark chocolate (I used Bourneville Rich Cocoa), coarsely chopped
• 1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
• 2 teaspoons light corn syrup (I used Dabur honey)

Method:

For the crust:

Prepare the tin with foil as directed in pictures. Preheat oven to 325 F or 180 C.

Grind the crackers with sugar and melted butter in a food processor. Or use your hands to make the crust. Press it into the bottom of the tin. Bake 10 minutes, then cool for 5 minutes on the rack.

For the filling:

Sprinkle gelatin over milk in a small bowl and let stand 2 minutes to soften.

Beat together cream cheese, eggs, salt, and gelatin mixture in a bowl with an hand mixer at medium speed until well combined, about 2 minutes, then stir in dulce de leche gently but thoroughly.

Pour filling over the cooled crust, smoothing top, then bake in a hot water bath in oven until center is just set, about 45 minutes. Cool cheesecake completely in pan on rack, about 2 hours. Chill, covered, at least 6 hours.

Glazing the cake:

Heat all glaze ingredients in a double boiler or a small metal bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water, stirring until smooth, then pour over cheesecake, tilting baking pan to coat top evenly. Chill, uncovered, 30 minutes.

Just make sure you wipe the knife after each cut, so that each of pieces will have clear tricolour demarcation: the crust, the heavenly cheesecake and the chocolate glaze. The good people of Gourmet magazine tell me that the cheesecake (minus the glaze) can be stored covered and chilled, for three days.

This was a well-received iftiar dish, which was polished off by the guests. Make it. It really isn't as complicated as it looks.

Challenge completed. *Smugface*