Suvir Saran

DIWALI It was an evening in mid November, a few weeks after the end of daylight savings time when overnight the dark of winter gets the upper hand and night seems to fall all at once, like the blackout of ‘66. It was raining hard and it had been since the day before. The gutters were choked with leaves and the flooding was so bad that you couldn’t cross some streets without getting your feet wet almost up to your ankles. Geoff was sitting in the corner of the couch in the living room of his and Kabir’s apartment. The room was dark except for the lights that glowed from inside the two large aquariums standing against the fireplace wall. The lights gave the room a kind of watery bluish cast as if it were under water like the city outside. Geoff was alone, hunched over a box of slender, cream colored candles. He was ripping off the plastic wrappers and laying the stripped tapers on the table next to him. When he looked up to say hello, his face looked stony and impenetrable as if the time change had sapped him of sunlight, as well. “Hi,” I said, pulling off my coat, the fabric heavy with rain, and hanging it on the coat tree in the hall. I walked into the living room and took a quick look into the kitchen on the way in, then sat down next to him on the couch. “Where’s himself? I was expecting to see him in the kitchen, still knee-deep in pots.” I palmed a couple of candles from the pile and began to unwrap them. Geoff grimaced, not meeting my eye. It looked like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it. In the end, he just nodded his head towards the bedroom and said, “He’s in the shower.” We worked in silence. I didn’t know what was bugging him and I didn’t spend time trying to figure it out. If this had been Kabir sitting next to me, he would have given me the whole story, whatever it was, right up front, without my even asking. But I knew Geoff. He was a man who lived according to traditional male virtues like self-containment and self-sufficiency. He would speak, or not, when he was ready and I’ve never had much of a problem respecting that in him. Geoff stood up from the couch and put one of the candles in a holder on the floor to the left of the fireplace. “You want to help me with this?” he asked. “Put the tapers in holders wherever you find them. There are some pillars here that don’t need holders – just put them wherever there’s space, all around the apartment.” The two of us walked through the rooms, setting up the candles. We must have set up 25, all told. We put some oil lamps out on the deck, too and Geoff put one on the table in the hall outside the front door. When he came back into the apartment I moved to close the door behind him but he motioned me to leave it open. Then he pulled out a lighter and began lighting the living room. I sat down on the couch to watch the show. As the tiny flames caught, the room fell into shades of light and dark, brightness and shadow. We sat together in a rich silence in which time slowed and widened around us. I turned to see Kabir walk into the living room. He was dressed completely in white: linen pants and a short sleeved, button down shirt, tails out. He didn’t usually wear white and it struck me that in this outfit it looked almost as if he were wearing a costume. A memory of something he’d said to me once about white ceremonial clothing started to come into focus but then I was distracted by the sound of his hands clapping. “Wow!” he said. “Geoff! It’s so beautiful!” He looked over at his partner, a smile of open delight on his face. Geoff met his eyes for a moment with that closed up look he was wearing and then he turned away. I saw Kabir wilt. He looked young and vulnerable, standing alone in the middle of the room. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “You’re angry at me.” Geoff looked up at his partner. Irritation and frustration played across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest like he could wait a while, if need be. “Yeah.” I could see that he was enjoying making the younger man squirm. “So what have I done?” “What do you think?” Geoff responded in his driest voice. “It’s, Diwali, your New Year’s Eve festival. What have you done to prepare? Almost nothing. You celebrate everything so extravagantly. Why not this?” It looked for a moment like that was all he had to say. But he went on. “You think I don’t know you? You think I don’t know that this holiday, this celebration of hope and new beginning that is one of the most important Hindu holidays, is important to you? That makes it important for us, too. But no, you’re too depressed to celebrate it because you’re living here in America. What a jerk. So don’t tell me the room looks great – if you’re not going to help me honor your tradition, I’m not interested in your gratuitous approval.” “And what about Christmas?” Kabir threw back at him. He was mad now. “You’re so cheap you won’t even celebrate your own holidays. So I do Christmas for you every year, buying presents for everyone, making sure we have all the special foods we like. I think you do Diwali just to get even with me. This is so American of you. You can’t just be generous. You have to keep score. Excuse me. I’ve got to go check on the food.” Kabir walked out, furious. I was going to say that watching them made me sad but it didn’t really. What they were doing was a waste of time and wasting time doesn’t make me sad. Mostly it annoys me. Here they were, the two of them, each refusing for some reason to celebrate his own holiday. Instead, each had gotten the other to celebrate it for him. And then the two of them got angry at each other about that. I didn’t know what they had going about their holidays but it was clear that each had some personal internal conflict. They’d just managed to set it up so that they fought with each other rather than sort their conflicts out for themselves. And like I said, that’s a waste of time. Geoff got up to put some music on. I followed Kabir into the kitchen. He was setting the small table for three with fancy, gold rimmed china and stemware. The elegant tableware looked incongruous in the workaday clutter of the kitchen but I’d gotten used to that peculiar marriage of formality and chaos that is typical of Kabir. I walked over to the stove to put my nose into the various dishes and pots assembled there.

I never remember this event. I am home sick around this time. I crave India around Diwali. I miss the parties, the taash (card games) and the mithai and pakwans (sweets and savory treats) and of-course the beautiful lights that illuminate all homes (rich and poor, pretty and ugly) and transform India into a shimmering beauty that may never be seen but that night.

Thanks Simon! That sounds yummy.

Same for me.

Please do refrain! Seriously, WOW! Thanks Toby. I can well imagine how much effort you put into it. Not what you did with your knowledge, but also of your time and patience. You are very kind.

Thanks Sandra! You are as usual, very kind. I did wonder what Lesley had to say about that to an amateur dessert chefs like me. Wondered if her experience as a pastry chef would make her understand it differently than what I have learned through reading cookbooks.

Care to explain the ribbon stage?

Kakori Kebab 2 lbs. Minced lamb 1/2 cup canola 1 cup chopped onion (1/4 cup of it should be caramelized) 1 inch fresh ginger, very finely minced 1/4 cup finely grated raw papaya, optional 1/4 cup Indian poppy seeds 1 1/2 teaspoon garam masala 1/3 cup chickpea flour, roasted 1/4 cup cashewnuts, processed as fine as you can without turning into butter 1 teaspoon cayenne 3/4 teaspoon black peppercorn 1/2 teaspoon cloves 16 green cardamom seeds, peeled and seeded (in a pinch you can use a teaspoon of store bought powder but it is not the same. In the US the powder has cardamom peels ground as well and so the aroma is diminished, sad but true) 1 teaspoon saffron, gently toasted and ground 1 tablespoon milk In a cuisinart blend the minced lamd with the oil, onion (chopped and caramelized), ginger, raw papaya, and garam masala. Marinate for a half hour. In a spice grinder process all the spices and cashewnutes into a fine powder. Add the chickpea flour and the ground spices into the mince and marinate another 15 minutes. Add milk to the ground saffron and blend into a paste. Add to the lamb, mix well and shape into sausages and cook in oven or layer around skewers and cook in the tandoor or grill. Midway through cooking baste with butter and cook till done.

"Toblerone" ?? If you got to go 'Swiss' , at least go "Lindt Halbbitter" If I have to have candy, I am happy being tacky or mass market.... Toblerone is just so perfect for some of my moods... I can eat a lot of it.. A LOT. I am sorry if I offend those that love fine chocolate by having this love of Toblerone, but I do love it. I eat it more when traveling to other parts of the world. I buy it at the airports in Europe and travel with it to farther places east.

This batch I made last night is even more gooey inside and certainly has a nice cracky outside. Thanks for this recipe Lesley!

Care to share that recipe? It sounds fantastic.

Dont blame you... that is bad stuff..... Even I, one that loves all things sweet, finds it terrible.

why is that???

another late dinner... Thursday night Shitake Mushroom and Caramelized Onion Tart Goat Chees, Tomato and Basil Tart Roasted Potatoes Vanilla Coke Best-Ever Brownies

These are the times I think I should learn how to drive and get a car. Thanks for the information. Do start a thread on Angan as and when you get there. Would love to hear from you about the new location and if it is still as good as you remember it from the past.

Would you be willing to share your recipe ? As a co-ex-colonial (?!?!!?) I'm drooling just thinking about a good fruitcake. I've never understood why they're so much maligned here in the US. - S I will think about it... or I can PM each of you privately.. and maybe you can honor my request to not publicly post it anywhere. Would that be fair? Or am I not being generous? Aunt Susan runs a baking business in New Delhi and she gave me the recipe to only ever publish in my own cookbook. That is the dilemna I have... I am sorry...

I love those corners too.... yummmm Definitely agree! Corners rule! Luckily my kids go straight for the middle. Can I adopt your kids and send you my adult friends? At least when I bake brownies?

Toblerone.

I used to love the Cadburrys malt ball sold in India. Nothing has ever compared and come even close. Also they sold an item called "Nutties" , it was my favorit sweet.

I'm sure you noticed that I addressed the issue of some dishes not being hot and gave our thoughts on why it happened. Do you think our theory is correct? Was your food actually cold, or more like tepid as ours was? Did you consider sending it back? Again, thanks for your interest. I think you are accurate in your guess. So, again, it makes me think you are savvy and smart. I am always surrounded by other chefs, owners or friends who are reviewers when visiting Indian restaurants. These are the only times I visit an Indian restaurants (To eat Dosa, lentil and rice crepes, I can go miles), and so most often I have to behave. The chefs would not want to insult the owner or the chef; the owners of another restaurant cannot seem arrogant at another’s. And restaurant reviewers have me for my expertise but not for me to make a call like that. I would have loved to send the dishes back. But that was not an option I could exercise. I am again, thankful that you posted about your experience. I hope you would start a thread on your neighborhood and favorite Indian restaurant soon. It seems wonderful.

I have found that the Mulligatawny soup served in our local Indian restaurant has always been excellent. Whether its flavor is "authentic" I couldn't say since it's the only place I have ever had it. I wonder if most Indian chefs or not know themselves what an authentic Mulligatawny soup should be. It is not a dish that has much connection to its original roots. Malaga (pepper) Tanni (water) so what would have originally been called malagatanni is hardly ever prepared outside of homes today. Some restaurants in Southern India serve it as it should be. Some cookbooks must have the recipe. But hardly any restaurant ever serves that authentic version. So what you had is certainly fine. It is just another variation of the original and like all variations of that soup, it too is very far from the original. Malagatanni is a very water and spicy soup. I believe I give a recipe for it in my cookbook. Now I have to go check on that detail. If you like what your local Indian restaurant serves, I am sure it is good and you should enjoy it. My guess is that it is certainly no less authentic than most of the versions of mulligatawny I have had.

Re: the onion-stuffed Nan at Moghul. There was something about the flavor of the onions that did not appeal to me, though what exactly it was that put me off I couldn't say. The only other Onion Kulcha I could compare it to is the one we have had when we have gone to our local Indian restaurant, and that one I like very much. And the funny thing is that my husband, who isn't anywhere near as picky about food as I am, also had the same reaction. Funny! I am like you about Onion Kulcha. I hardly ever find one I like. The onion flavor is almost always off. Similar to my dissapointment in most Middle Eastern restaurants with their sliced onions. I believe that some chefs chop onions at least several hours before a shift and at times even a couple of days in advance in some of thes smaller ethnic restaurants. Onions really do need to be fresh and for some reason they do not do well when sliced and sealed in boxes or zip loc bags in refrigerators. The onion flavor gets too intense and the exciting bite that fresh onions have is lost and it becomes overwhelming and smelly. Maybe that is what may have happened. I am sorry. I am with you on that one. I hesitate before ordering Onion Kulcha at most any restaurant. Your husband and you are savvy diners. It is apparent in your sensitive taste buds for onions.

I am flattered knowing you are flattered. I am not everything Tommy makes me out to be. What one thinks of a cuisine or food they eat is all that matters. Who cares what the experts think and know of the history of that dish, ultimately it is our own palate that needs to find a willing companion in those things we eat and enjoy. So, your experience matters much more in this equation than anything else. It was amazing to me to see someone spend as much time and thought on a post about an Indian restaurant and meal as you did. I was flattered and my Indian ethnicity was entertained more than I imagined it ever needed. Thanks for taking time to write about the foods of my people. What is the name of your immediate vicinity Indian restaurant? Maybe you ought to share more about than on another thread. It seems like you enjoy it consistently and often and that means a lot. I would love to know more about it and make a trip to it.

If you have answered the last two posts... I can help you Tommy.

If you have answered the last two posts... I can help you Tommy