Recipes: Pearl Millet Crackers With Dukkah and Fresh Rosemary Cheese

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Well I must say, I was slightly anxious about logging on to Eat and Dust today.  It’s been almost 6 months since I’ve been here – I thought the blog police might have snuck in and closed me down on the grounds of extreme neglect!

The fact is, for the past year I’ve been working on a book about Old Delhi, and for the past few months I’ve done virtually nothing else. Anyway, I finally sent off the first draft  last week then  promptly collapsed in a heap. When I  eventually picked myself up again one of my first thoughts was “My poor blog!”

But what to write about?  I’ve hardly left the house recently except to walk the dogs so I have no new street food joints to report (although I intend to put this right very soon).  Also, my own cooking has dwindled to the bare minimum – so no new dinner recipes to suggest.  I have, though, in the interests of staying sane, managed to keep doing a little  baking.

Bizarrely, for someone so keen on sugar, deep-frying and ghee,  I suddenly seem to be thinking healthy  thoughts. Worrying, I know, I’ll be sending fan mail to Gwyneth ‘no carbs’ Paltrow next!  Anyway I’ve been experimenting with all the wonderful grains that are available in India and I have to say it has been a revelation.

According to my husband, whose job it is to pronounce on such things, this recipe for pearl millet crackers with dukkah may well be my best yet. I’m not sure how I feel about that as these crackers are little more than a dinner party twist on what food historian K.T. Achaya once dismissed as the “staple dietary item of the common folk”, bajra ki roti.

Yes, pearl millet may well be the main form of nutrition for over a third of the world’s population and in India, where it is known as bajra, it is widely used to make warming winter rotis but it rarely, if ever, attracts superlatives. And although millet has been around for over 10,000 years, I’d never used it in my baking before.

But it turns out bajra, or pearl millet, has a delicate sweet, earthy, nutty flavour which made me wonder where it had been all my life. A few minutes in the oven and a sprinkling of the wonderful Egyptian roasted nut and spice mix called dukkah transformed it into total deliciousness.

Incidentally, I’ve become completely addicted to Dukkah recently – my favourite winter soup this year, during the dark days of the first draft, was a roasted carrot soup with a sprinkling of dukkah and yogurt.  It’s worth keeping a tub of it in the freezer – I can’t think of many things that wouldn’t be improved by it.

I was so excited I also decided to make a simple cheese to go with the crackers, a sort of firmed-up ricotta made from milk and buttermilk (chaach).

Just making these recipes made me feel gratifyingly rustic, as if I’d just spent the morning on a farm, especially when I used the whey from the cheese to bind the crackers. But the flavours were a revelation and the combination of spicy, nutty crackers and creamy, herby cheese was, as my husband will testify, anything but home-spun.

Bajra and Dukkah Crackers

Makes 16-20 crackers
Ingredients
200g bajra flour
100g maida (plain flour)
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp salt
½ tsp baking powder
30g butter
Approximately ¾ cup (about 200ml) whey or water
Dukkah to sprinkle on top of the crackers
Method
Preheat the oven to 200 degrees Celsius. Sprinkle a baking tray with flour.
Sift the flours, sugar, salt and baking powder into a bowl. Add the butter and rub it into the flour with your fingertips. Add enough of the whey or water to make a soft but not sticky dough.
Lightly flour a clean work surface and rolling pin. Then divide the dough into walnut-sized pieces and roll them out as thinly as possible, no more than 1mm thick. Keep checking the dough isn’t sticking to the surface and sprinkle a little more flour if necessary. The pieces don’t need to be neat—in fact they look nice rugged and rustic. Carefully lift the rolled out dough on to the baking tray. Brush a little water over the surface of each piece and sprinkle on the dukkah (although you could also use sesame or caraway—I made a couple with dried pomegranate powder). Bake for 6-8 minutes until the crackers are lightly browned and crisp. The crackers keep well for a few days in an airtight container.

Dukkah

Ingredients
½ cup hazelnuts
2 tbsp sunflower seeds
2 tbsp sesame seeds
2 tbsp coriander seeds
1 tbsp cumin seeds
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 tsp white peppercorns
1 tsp rock salt
Method
Put the hazelnuts in a heavy frying pan and roast over medium-low heat for a few minutes until a little browned, then add sunflower seeds and roast for a few more minutes. Tip them on to a plate to cool, then add the sesame, coriander, cumin, fennel seeds and peppercorns to the pan and heat until fragrant and popping. Be careful not to let any of the nuts or seeds burn.
Put the nuts and seeds into a pestle and mortar with the salt and grind gently—you want to retain a range of different textures. Store for up to a month in the fridge or longer in the freezer. Dukkah can pep up almost anything—salads, hummus and lentils, but my favourite winter lunch this year has been a roasted carrot soup sprinkled with dukkah and a good dollop of yogurt.

Fresh Rosemary Cheese

Makes a small cheese approximately 12cm wide
Ingredients
1 litre full-cream milk
1 litre buttermilk (chaach)
Juice of half a lemon
1 tsp salt
A small bunch of fresh rosemary, chopped
Method
Heat the milk and buttermilk in a large pan until it just reaches boiling point. Stir in the lemon juice for a minute or so until the mixture separates into white curds and greenish whey. Tip it all into a sieve (but keep the whey for bread or cracker-making!). Put the curds into a bowl and stir in the salt—you could also add other flavouring like toasted cumin or cracked pepper.
At this stage, the cheese is ricotta and could be served as it is with the crackers. If you want a firmer cheese, either wrap the curd in a piece of muslin or put it in a perforated metal paneer (cottage cheese) mould. Put the muslin or mould on a plate, then weigh it down with something heavy to press out the liquid. Leave it in the fridge for a few hours. When the cheese is as firm as you want it, take it out of the mould and sprinkle it with the chopped fresh rosemary. The cheese will keep for a few days in the fridge.

Eid ul Azha Prayers at Old Delhi’s Jama Masjid

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Recently, I’ve spent way too much time sitting at my desk writing about Old Delhi, and not nearly enough time doing what I love most – actually being in Old Delhi.  But yesterday, a couple of friends and I decided to try and catch the Eid ul Azha prayers at Jama Masjid .

Thinking the prayers would be the first  of the day, we dragged ourselves out of bed at 4, only to find the mosque closed.   A policeman suggested we come back at about 8.  A difficult moment.  I’m not going to lie – at this point, still half asleep, staring at the locked gates of the Jama Masjid, the temptation to head straight back to bed  was enormous.  It was a very close call but  somehow we forced ourselves to stay, and I’m so glad we did.

Of course every walk in Old Delhi is an adventure but there’s something particularly special about watching the city wake up. First, though, we needed to wake up properly ourselves.  We wandered down into a very dark and  almost deserted Matya Mahal and found a tea shop.  Several sweet chais and omelettes later,  and after quizzing every Muslim customer about the exact time of prayers, we were ready to take a stroll.

We found many stalls starting to set up including this splendid young man taking care of the pre-dawn Kachori business

The beautiful emerging light showed off the dazzling sweet displays which people would later give as Eid gifts.

At the junction of Chitli Qabar lines of prayer mats were being laid out for early prayers, stretching back along the lane from a mosque in Churiwalan

The soft, barely audible sounds of the mosque and  gentle rhythms of the prayers were mesmerising.  As the line grew and we were pushed further and further down the street, we realised we couldn’t get back to the Jama Masjid without disrupting the men’s prayers so we looped back through the tiny back alleys, where  we joined hundreds of men in  fresh white kurtas all heading in the same direction.

Eid ul Azha, which is also known as ‘Bakra’ (‘goat’) Eid is one of the most important dates in the Muslim calendar.  It commemorates   the moment the Prophet Ibrahim’s faith was tested when Allah asked him to sacrifice his son Ismail.  Allah replaced Ismail with a goat at the last moment hence the tradition of sacrificing  a goat immediately after the Eid prayers.  The meat is then distributed among family, friends and the poor.

At the mosque we were shown into the ‘press gallery’ a raised platform with the best view in the house.

The mosque was full (it can hold up to 25,000) and even beyond the walls, every bazaar and piece of open ground was filled with neat rows  of worshippers.

When the prayers started, everyone, inside and out, moved in a single wave.  Sitting high above the bazaars, it felt as if  the soft prayers had the power to silence the city.

At the end of prayers, everyone turned to their neighbour and embraced. Eid Mubarak!

As everyone exchanged Eid greetings, I looked  out over the Meena Bazaar side of the mosque. The early morning mist  seemed to blot out everything beyond the Old City.  It felt as if, for a few moments, there was, again, nothing but ‘Sheher’.*

A good feeling.

* ‘Sheher’ means ‘city’ and is the name for Old Delhi used by residents and former residents.  It refers back to time when Shahjahanabad was the only city and everything beyond the city walls (where New Delhi now lies) was wild jungle and primitive villages.

A Syrup Steamed Pudding for our Daughter Leaving Home

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Tissues at the ready – here’s last week’s sad Mint column to mark  my daughter leaving home along with a recipe for her favourite pudding…
By the time you read this, our daughter will be looking back on her first week of university in the north of England, probably relieved that the initial few terrifying days are behind her; hopefully starting to settle into her course and make new friends. Meanwhile, back in Delhi, her parents are still stifling a sob every time they pass her empty bedroom and marvelling at how one family member can take with her 60% of the household noise.
For us, of course, this moment has come too soon but then our little girl has always been in a hurry to get on with life. She arrived suddenly and dramatically while her father was still filling up the birth pool; she talked before she could walk and is now cracking on with her dream of studying acting at the tender age of 17.
As the East Riding of Yorkshire starts to wonder what’s hit it, we’re wondering if we’ve done enough to prepare her for the rest of her life. After seven years of living in India, we worry whether she’ll ever get the hang of using a washing machine, shopping in supermarkets and the Green Cross Code (a 1970s British road safety initiative—“Stop, Look, Listen, Think”).
The only thing I know for sure is that on the night before she left home, she ate all of her favourite foods, choosing pakoda-like cauliflower fritters, spicy chicken couscous and a steamed syrup pudding. Steamed puddings are traditional British fare, essentially a cake mixture which is steamed in a bowl rather than baked in a tin. There are many versions, including Christmas Pudding and Spotted Dick, but in our family the syrup variety is the only one we ever make.
One of my own earliest food memories is of the unbearable anticipation of the sound of the pudding basin rattling away for hours on the stove. The soft, sweet, sticky taste is like a great big hug on a cold wet day—guaranteed to soothe away most of life’s little disappointments. So far, the only thing I’ve found it hasn’t worked for is Empty Nest Syndrome.
 Syrup Pudding with Fresh Vanilla Custard
Serves 5
Ingredients
For the pudding
4 tbsp golden syrup
100g butter, plus a little extra for greasing
100g caster sugar
100g plain flour
2 level tsp baking powder
2 eggs
2 tbsp milk
For the custard
500ml single cream (or 250ml thick cream and 250ml milk)
1 whole vanilla pod, split in two
5 egg yolks
2 tbsp caster sugar
Method
You will need a 1-litre pudding basin with a tight-fitting lid (mine is plastic with a plastic lid but my mother used a glass bowl covered with greaseproof paper tightly tied on with string). Fill a kettle and when the water has boiled pour about 2 inches into a large pan and place over a low heat.
Lightly grease the inside of the pudding basin. Spoon the golden syrup into the bottom of the basin.
In a large mixing bowl, weigh out the butter, sugar and flour, then add the baking powder, eggs and milk. Beat together with a hand-held mixer until completely smooth, then pour into the basin on top of the syrup. Smooth the top of the mixture and put on the lid—this has to fit snugly so that no water gets into the sponge during cooking. Carefully lower the basin into the simmering water, cover the pan with a lid and let it bubble away for an hour or so. Check every so often to make sure the water hasn’t evaporated—if it’s getting a little low, add more hot water from the kettle.
To make the custard, first separate the eggs and put the yolks in a large bowl with the sugar. Mix the two together well. Put the cream into a thick-bottomed saucepan, scrape the vanilla seeds in, add the pod and bring to the boil. Take off the heat and leave to cool slightly. Then pour the vanilla cream into the egg yolks, sugar and whisk well. Clean and dry the pan, then pour the custard mixture back in.
Over low heat, and whisking constantly (to avoid lumps and curdling), bring the custard to boil. It should be perfectly smooth and in no way resemble sweet scrambled eggs. If you think the mixture is in danger of curdling, take it off the heat and place it over a bowl of ice, then whisk like fury.
When the pudding is ready, lift the basin out of the water and remove the lid. Place a large plate on top and flip the pudding over on to it. It should be golden and sweet smelling with a little puddle of syrup.
Serve hot with the fresh custard.

Chocolate and Pear Tart with Lime Syrup

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With a general preference for all things sweet, buttery and if at all possible, deep-fried, I don’t think I could ever be accused of pushing a health food agenda. It is nonetheless gratifying when the two coincide. If recent reports are to be believed, for instance, the key to eternal life is eating vast amounts of chocolate.

First there was that dream newspaper headline: “Chocolate ‘may help keep people slim’”. I wonder how many people read no further before rushing out to gorge on brownies? If they had they would have seen that while chocolate is also thought to be good for blood pressure and cholesterol levels and jam-packed with antioxidants, it is also full of those enemies of eternal life, fat and sugar.

 

Now—and this is particularly heartening for someone who has started putting her glasses in the fridge and forgetting the names of close relatives—we learn that a diet high in a bedtime cup of cocoa can ward off dementia. Apparently, the flavanols contained in good-quality chocolate are believed to reduce the risk of dementia by protecting brain cells from damage. Sounds promising, but before we all jump for joy, I should point out that the research was funded by Mars.

Today’s recipe, therefore, may or may not help you live forever but it is pretty, delicious and redolent of the chocolate limes of yore. And those never did us any harm, did they?

Incidentally, I have a tart tin crush at the moment—I bought this fluted oblong tin recently and I have to say I don’t think my pies ever looked prettier.

Step-by-step

Chocolate and Pear Tart with Lime Syrup

Serves 6

Ingredients

For the chocolate pastry

150g plain flour (maida)

25g icing sugar

25g unsweetened cocoa powder

A pinch of salt

125g cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes

1 egg yolk, mixed with 1 tbsp cold water

For the pears

3 ripe pears

Juice of 1/2 lime

1 tbsp caster sugar

For the almond filling

100g butter, softened

100g caster sugar

2 eggs

100g ground almonds

50g plain flour

1/2 tsp baking powder

Zest of 1 lime

For the lime syrup

The juice and zest of 2 green limes

250ml water

150g caster sugar

You will need a fluted tart tin, 35x12cm

Method

First make the pastry. The pastry shell can be made ahead and stored in an airtight tin until needed. Sift together the flour, icing sugar, cocoa powder and salt. Rub in the butter until it resembles breadcrumbs. Add the egg and water and stir with a knife until combined. With your hands, gently and quickly (don’t handle the pastry too much) form the dough into a smooth ball. Wrap in cling film and leave to chill for 30 minutes in the fridge.

When the pastry has rested, it needs to be baked blind—to avoid what the great British baker Mary Berry calls “a soggy bottom”. Preheat the oven to 160 degrees Celsius. Put the chocolate pastry on top of a piece of baking parchment paper, then put another piece of parchment paper on top of the pastry (using parchment paper makes this quite sticky pastry easier to pick up once it’s rolled out). Roll the pastry out a bit larger than your tin, unpeel the top layer of parchment, quickly lay the pastry on top of the tin, about 2-3mm thick, and unpeel the top layer of parchment paper. Gently press the pastry into the tin, patch up any cracks that appear and neaten the edges. Take a piece of parchment paper a bit larger than the tin and lay it over the pastry. Then pour in either some baking beans or dried pulses (this is to stop the pastry puffing up in the oven). Bake the pastry for 15 minutes, remove the paper and beans, then bake again for 5 minutes. Remove from the oven and leave to cool.

Peel, core and cut in half the pears. Squeeze lime juice over them to stop them going brown. Heat a non-stick frying pan and sprinkle the sugar in. Add the pear halves, cut side down and heat until the sugar turns into a pale caramel. Remove the pears from the pan.

For the filling, beat together the butter and caster sugar in a large bowl until light and fluffy, then beat in the eggs, almonds, flour, baking powder and lime zest until the mixture is combined. Spoon the mixture into the chocolate pastry case, then gently lay the pear halves on top. Bake at 160 degrees Celsius for about 20-25 minutes until the top is golden brown and a skewer comes out clean.

While the tart is baking, make a syrup by putting the water, lime juice, zest and sugar into a small pan. Bring to the boil and simmer for a few minutes until thickened. Remove from the heat and cool. Let the tart cool slightly before serving, drizzled with the syrup or a good dollop of cream.

Gingery Plum Crumble Traybake

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Image

I noticed two things at home over the summer. First, the London Olympics have brought about an optimism (some would say misplaced) not seen since Tony Blair won the general election in 1997, and a level of national pride not seen since, well, let’s just say, not in my lifetime. For the first time in ages we have something to feel good about and it’s been difficult to keep the lip entirely stiff. From Danny Boyle’s Olympic opening ceremony reminder that we’re a strange little nation that does some things incredibly well, to the sight of Jessie J. standing in for Freddie Mercury, not to mention our astonishing athletes, I’ve been on the verge of tears the best part of a month.

The second thing I noticed, and this too could be a sign of a country with nothing much to feel cheerful about, is a wave of wanton cake-eating. Of course, long before we realized we were capable of 29 gold medals, we knew we were champion cake-makers, but recently it seems as if every other shop is a tea room, stuffed full of people seeking brief, sugary respite from joblessness and a crumbling welfare state with a plate of scones and a tray bake.

A tray bake, of course, is good for whatever ails you, as we say in Scotland; a hugely comforting category of goodie that covers everything from chocolate brownies to millionaire’s shortbread. They are usually baked in a rectangular tin and sliced into squares; they can be chocolatey, fruity, nutty, they’re infinitely sliceable and shareable, and cheerfully appear at village fêtes, school fund-raisers and family gatherings.

And so it was that I found myself eating this particular tray bake at 4.30 in the morning on 13 August, at the end of the closing ceremony when I had to face the painful truth: No. More. Olympics. With its almond sponge base layered with gingery Himalayan plums and topped with a buttery crumble, it provided some consolation. It won’t replace Bradley Wiggins and Jessica Ennis but it might keep our chins up for a little while longer; it might just keep us going until the Paralympics.

Gingery Plum Crumble Tray Bake

Serves at least 8-10

Ingredients

Cake

200g unsalted butter, softened

200g caster sugar

3 eggs

150g plain flour (maida), sifted with 1 tsp of baking powder and 2 level tsp ground ginger powder

50g ground almonds

2 pieces preserved ginger, finely chopped

2-3 tbsp milk

Gingery Plums

500g plums, stoned and quartered

4 tbsp ginger syrup (from the preserved ginger)

2-3 tbsp caster sugar

2 tsp cornflour

Crumble topping

100g plain flour

75g cold unsalted butter

75g demerara sugar

Method

Line a rectangular baking tray about 20x30cm. Preheat the oven to 180 degrees Celsius.

First prepare the fruit. Put the plums in a pan with the sugar and heat gently. In a bowl, mix together the syrup and cornflour, then add to the plums. Let the fruit bubble away for a few minutes until the plums are soft. Leave to cool.

For the crumble topping, rub together the flour and butter until the mixture looks like breadcrumbs, then stir in the sugar. Set aside.

For the cake, beat together the soft butter and sugar until pale and fluffy, either with a mixer or a wooden spoon. Gradually beat in the eggs along with a little flour. Stir in the flour/baking powder/ginger mixture. Lastly, add the chopped preserved ginger, almonds and milk. Mix well, then spread half of the cake mixture evenly at the bottom of the lined tin. Cover with half of the plums, then another layer of cake mixture and the rest of the plums. Finish by sprinkling with the crumble topping and splash the top with a few drops of water.

Bake for about 30-45 minutes until a skewer comes out clean and the crumble topping is nice and brown. Serve warm or cold.

Kishan Lal Halwai – the rock god of Old Delhi sweet makers

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Narender Lal, rock god

I’ve been putting off posting about this recent Old Delhi find because the pictures I took are so terrible. Like this…

Not an illegal poker game, a sweet shop

and this…

Literally throwing money at the guy

Then it occurred to me.  The reason the pictures are so bad is that the food is just so good and the crowds so mental that it’s impossible to get a shot without  being trampled in the crush.  How could I not pass on such treasure?
The chaotic scene you see above is played out every evening on Chandni Chowk and if you didn’t know any better you’d think it was a high-stakes illegal poker game.
In fact it’s possibly Old Delhi’s most popular sweet shop.
Actually, it’s not even a proper shop, more of a nightly pop-up event in the doorway of what during the day is Bishamber Dass Prannath Jewellers.
Whatever you want to call it, Kishan Lal Halwai make some of the best sweets and samosas you are ever likely to taste.  The proof:  the trays of freshly made Sev ki Barfi, Karachi Halwa and samosas which are carried in at about 7pm are gone within an hour.
As you can see, above, people are literally throwing money at the poor guy whose job it is to weigh the sweets out.
Despite its seeming impermanence,  this is no fly by night operation.  The family have been in  business for over 50 years; the founder,  Kishan Lal, used to sit outside the Mercantile building on Chandni Chowk.
The business is now run by the founder’s son Narender who I imagine must feel like the rock god of halwai  every night in life.
They also have a shop in Sitaram Bazaar  which I later remembered visiting a couple of years ago  during monsoon when they make stunning ghewar.  I didn’t manage to get any good shots then either…

A sweet maker at Kishan Lal in Gali Shankar

Ghewar, although not Kishan Lal’s

The sweets I sampled, Sev ki Barfi and Karachi Halwa, are some of the best, and certainly the freshest, I’ve ever eaten.  Sorry there are no drool-inducing close-ups – you’ll just have to take my word for it.
A huge thanks to my high-energy companion for the day, Surekha Narain, for pointing out Kishan Lal’s spot in Chandni Chowk.
How to find Kishan Lal:  The stall is at 1210 Chandni Chowk and is directly opposite landmark shop  Chhabra 555 which is roughly halfway down Chandni Chowk on the Gurudwara side.
Arrive before  8, though!
To find their Sitaram Bazaar workshop: from Chawri Bazaar metro walk almost to the end of Sitaram Bazaar, then turn right into Gali Shankar.  Ask for Kishan Lal Halwai

A Sunday Brunch Breakthrough: Home Made Pav Rolls

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Old-time recipes: Enjoy freshly baked rolls with bhaji

 

 

 

 

 

I’m so excited about this recipe – it represents a major  breakthrough in the brunch department.  I love, love, love street dishes like Pav Bhaji and Vada Pav but the pav available in Delhi is so disappointing it’s almost not worth eating. Here, I’ve hit on a solution – authentic,  homemade soft fluffy pav.  Incredibly, it’s based on a very old recipe for Scottish morning rolls, and really easy to make.  Give it a go – I know what I’ll be making for brunch tomorrow…

A Very Scottish ‘Pav’

(first appeared in Mint 12th May)

I live in two parallel culinary universes. In one, I spend abnormal amounts of time thinking about or making cake, biscuits and bread. The other is where I tramp around the back alleys eating street food, pestering vendors for recipes in a bid to replicate the dishes at home. Occasionally the two worlds collide and today’s recipe is a good example.Pav bhaji, beloved snack of millions of Mumbaikars, is one of my favourite street foods but I only like it with the pukka soft, pillowy pav available in Mumbai and Goa. The pre-packed pav available in shops in Delhi just won’t do.

I recently came by a great recipe for vegetable bhaji but have yet to find someone to share pav know-how, despite repeated stalking of bakers in Goa and on the Konkan coast. Then, on a recent trip back to Scotland, I had a thought. I realized that pav, despite its Portuguese heritage, is almost identical to what we call “morning rolls”, the vehicle for our so-good but definitely artery-clogging “bacon butties”. All I had to do was find a recipe for morning rolls and I could be serving up pav-bhaji brunches in no time.

I needed to look no further than one of Scotland’s oldest cookbooks, The Scots Kitchen, written by F. Marian McNeill in 1929 (I inherited my mother’s 1976 edition). It is, incidentally, a wonderful compendium of long-forgotten and evocatively named recipes, like Cabbie-Claw (salted and dried cod) and Parlies (a type of gingerbread made for members of Parliament). In fact, this gem of a book always reminds me that Scotland once had a cuisine as rich as any in Europe—in the early years of the 20th century, there was even a Scottish version of Ile Flottante made with quince, egg whites, cream and wine. Although now most Scots buy pre-sliced, factory-produced bread, we were once particularly well-endowed in the artisan bread department—the Aberdeen buttery could have given the croissant a run for its money.

Scottish Morning Rolls, the softest, fluffiest of breads, were once made in every home for breakfast and traditionally known as baps—possibly, the author suggests, “an analogy with pap, the mammary gland, on account of its shape and size”. I see no good reason to deviate too far from McNeill’s recipe, except to bring the measurements up to date and introduce fast-action yeast. And, of course, to point out that the bap does a great impersonation of pav.

Pav/Scottish Morning Rolls

Makes 12

Ingredients

450g all-purpose flour (maida)

2 tsp salt

1tsp sugar

1 sachet of fast-action yeast

50g butter

150ml of cold whey—I always have whey in the kitchen from paneer-making but if you don’t, use water

150ml hot milk

A little extra cold milk for brushing

Method

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, salt, sugar and yeast. Add the butter and use your fingertips to blend it into the flour mixture. Pour in the milk and whey/water mixture and mix to form a rough dough. Cover the bowl and leave for 10 minutes in a warm place (not too difficult to find at this time of year in India). After 10 minutes, you will see that the dough has already started to seem more elastic—the yeast has done its work without any arm-numbing kneading.

Scottish Morning Rolls are traditionally known as baps

 

 

 

 

 

Scottish Morning Rolls are traditionally known as baps

Turn the dough on to a lightly floured board and knead gently for about 10 seconds until you have a smooth ball of dough. The dough should be very very soft but not too sticky. Put the dough into a clean, lightly oiled bowl, cover with a tea towel and leave for about 1 hour until it has doubled in size.

Take the dough out of the bowl and knock the air out, then cut into 12 pieces. Knead each piece into a smooth ball, then place in a lightly oiled tin. Cover again and leave until the pavhave doubled in size—this will vary according to how warm your kitchen is. Thepav would have stuck together as they expanded. Brush the tops of the pavwith a little milk.

Preheat the oven to 220 degrees Celsius. Bake the pav for about 15 minutes until the tops are brown. Let the pav cool slightly before tearing into them.

Baps/morning rolls/pav don’t keep well. They’re at their best soon after they emerge from the oven so make sure your bhaji or vada is ready and waiting

Hot Cross Buns for Easter

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It’s Easter next weekend and for me you can keep the chocolate eggs and shower me with hot cross buns, the traditional way for Christians to break their Lenten fast.  This recipe is so easy – it doesn’t  even need any arm-numbing kneading – you’d be mad not to give it a go.  I guarantee they’ll be better than anything you ever bought in a shop.

There was a time in Britain when the monarchy was given to interfering in the baking habits of its people. In 1592, Queen Elizabeth I of England issued an extremely stern edict forbidding the consumption of spiced buns except on certain days:

“That no bakers, etc., at any time or times hereafter make, utter, or sell by retail, within or without their houses, unto any of the Queen’s subjects any spice cakes, buns, biscuits, or other spice bread…except it be at burials, or on Friday before Easter or at Christmas, upon pain of forfeiture of all such spiced bread to the poor.”

Perhaps Britain has become a nation of Republicans or maybe the Brits just can’t resist a spiced bun, but hot cross buns, once only eaten over the Easter weekend, are now available in every supermarket all year round. Though a long way from being a royalist, I resolutely only make hot cross buns at Easter, enjoying the once-a-year treat and the Christian symbolism in my baking. The start of Lent is marked by using up all the rich ingredients (sugar, milk, eggs) in the kitchen to make pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. After 40 days of abstinence, people would celebrate by eating buns crammed with good things. The buns are made from a soft, yeasted, sweet and spiced dough and marked with a pastry cross to symbolize Christ on the cross. The first record of a bread marked with the sign of the cross is thought to be in the time of Pope Gregory IX when St Clare of Assisi blessed a stale loaf and a cross appeared on it. It is also thought that the spices in the bun represent the spices Jesus was wrapped in the tomb.

There is nothing better (but only at Easter!) than a thickly buttered hot cross bun. They’re also lovely with a slice of mature cheddar—though I wonder what Good Queen Bess would have made of that.

Bake heaven: The buns are best fresh out of the oven. Photo: Priyanka Parashar/Mint

 

 

 

 

 

Photo: Priyanka Parashar/Mint

Hot cross buns

Makes 12

Ingredients

450g strong bread flour or plain flour

7g (1 sachet) easy blend dried yeast

1 level tsp salt

50g caster sugar

2 tsp mixed spice (see note 1)

50g butter, cut into small pieces

100g currants

200ml lukewarm milk

2 eggs

For the crosses

75g flour

80ml water

For the glaze

2 tbsp milk

2 tbsp caster sugar

Method

Grease a large baking tray. Gently heat the milk to lukewarm temperature, then beat in the eggs. In a large bowl, mix together the flour, yeast, salt, sugar and mixed spice. Add the butter and rub into the flour mixture until it looks like breadcrumbs. Stir in the currants. Make a well in the centre of the mixture and pour in the warm milk and eggs. Incorporate all the flour into the liquid until you have a coherent, soft dough. If the dough is too sticky, add a little more flour.

On a floured work surface, knead the dough gently for 10 seconds, then put back in the bowl and leave for 10 minutes. Knead the dough again for 10 seconds, cover again and leave for about 1 hour (these timings are not a misprint—try it and see). When the dough has doubled in size, knock out the air and divide into 12 pieces. Knead each piece into a smooth ball. Put the buns on to the greased tray, place the tray in a large plastic bag and leave until the buns have again doubled in size.

Heat the oven to 200 degrees Celsius. Mix the water and flour to make a stiff paste for the crosses. Put the paste into a piping bag and pipe on the crosses. Alternatively, and quite traditionally, you can simply cut a deep cross on top of the buns. In fact, although I love the aesthetics of the cross, I prefer the taste of the buns without the chewy pastry on top. Bake the buns for 15-20 minutes (see note 2). While the buns are baking, make the glaze by heating the milk and sugar until the sugar dissolves. As soon as the buns are a rich brown colour on top, take them out of the oven and immediately brush with the glaze. Eat the buns warm, buttered on the day they’re made. If there are any left the next day, they are beautiful toasted and buttered.

• Note 1: Ready-made mixed spice blends can be bought but I usually blend my own using these proportions:

1 tbsp ground allspice

1 tbsp ground cinnamon

1 tbsp ground nutmeg

2 tsp ground mace

1 tsp ground cloves

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp ground ginger

• Note 2: Using an electric surface-top oven, I kept the top and bottom elements on for 10 minutes, then turned off the top element for the remaining 5-10 minutes.

Gorgeous Goddesses and Lashings of Aloo Puri in Old Delhi

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Saturday was Ashtami, the 8th day of the nine-day Hindu fasting period known as Navratri  (literally, ‘nine nights’) during which the goddess Durga is honoured.

Food, as ever, plays an important part.

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