Samar Halarnkar: A wire -fin stew, and the idea of ​​home

Copyright © HT Digital Streams Limit all rights reserved. Goan Caldeirada is a fishing stick. (Samar Halarnkar) Summary journey affects food, and much of Goan food would not be what it is today if scents did not travel to distant lands. The Portuguese affected Caldeirada, a seafood stove, underwent a metamorphosis when it traveled east to the Estado Da India after the conquest would say that I was rootless. I would say that I was rooted in many places. I lived in Bengaluru for 26 years, Delhi for 17. Bengaluru is the place I consider at home, I speak Kannada passionately, and I am deeply attached to the people and the city. Still, I can’t say that I really belong. I never really took to Delhi and his culture, although I speak Hindi properly. Mumbai is always exciting and feels at home for about a week, after which I would rather go home. My marathi is good enough to deceive the residents for a while, and I like to hear my mother’s stories of her life there – it gives me a sense of closeness. To make things more complicated, I feel a strong affinity for the place where my father comes from, even though I only have a rudimentary command from concani. I love the music, I follow roles of musically prone goans – from choirs to school students to old women singing while cleaning fish – and yes, I can sing most of Lorna’s Bebdo. If you don’t know who and what it is, google and know your country better. Whatever my dilemmas belong, one thing that all these places related to my life and memories is that they struggle with ‘development’. I am most bothered by Goa. I predicted a sense of dark when I saw the state’s lush community – the hills, the fields and the forests – sold to the highest bidder. It is depressing, and I admire the bags of resistance that came up everywhere, while citizens try to hold the line against cruel mafias and politicians. I tend to drown my sadness in food, and here Goa shines, miles in front of my other places of belonging. Of course, you can call me biased, but it is food from the heritage of my family that I return again and again – if I am sad, if I am joyful, and if I want to make people happy. I often say that, unlike most Indians, I never carry spices or food from home when I travel abroad, even in the years I lived on the other side of the world. There are always so many more scents to discover. Yet my attachment to the food of my ancestors is so strong that I rarely left Indian shores without kokum, that little, black peel that made almost all the fish purels I have ever made. Last week I thought about how traveling food affects, and I remembered that many of Goan food wouldn’t be as it is today if scents did not travel as much as I travel with them. So I honored Goa’s felt culinary heritage and made a fishing curry without quok. I remembered a Portuguese-influenced stew that one rarely sees in Goa these days, the Caldeirada. It underwent a metamorphosis when it traveled to the East to the Estado Da India. The thin, watery stew got coconut milk and the spices of the concanned crawl. There are many versions of the Caldeirada, depending on who makes it, and I suppose the mood they are in, and what is available around them. This is the beauty of any stew really. I usually take the easy way out and grind the coconut with water and dilute it in the pan to form a curry. This time I did it in the difficult way, grinding the coconut with spices and pushing the milk out of it. The Rawas or the Indian salmon (the Fourfinger wire fin, to use the formal name), which I used is a delicate fish, so be careful not to stir or examine the curry. Some of the recipe I liked the Portuguese original, such as sliced ​​onions and tomatoes; The Iberian way also contains potatoes, capsicum and other vegetables. I further included it through curry leaves and green chillies, despite the fact that – and the red chillies in the ground coconut – it is a soft curry. So there are clear advantages of being free from rootness. I couldn’t be happier about it. Rawas Caldeirada serves 6 ingredients 1 kg rawas fillette 1 teaspoon turmeric 2 teaspoon red chilli or kashmiri mirch powder 200g grated coconut 1 tablespoons seed 2 teaspoon cumin seeds 6 dried red cold 14 garlic garments half-inch ginger 1 large onion, fine, fine, fine, fine, Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, finely cut 1 big tylatie, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine tylate, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine 12 curry leaves, fine drag 1 large tylatie, fine, fine, fine slight 2 green chilli, top and bottom of the juice of the lemon (or two lime) Two-and-a-half cups of hot water 4 teaspoon oil salt to taste the method, marinate the fish in turmeric, red chilli powder, 1 teaspoon of oil and a little salt and set aside for an hour. Grind the grated coconut with 2 cups of warm water, cumin, coriander seeds, 8 cloves of garlic, ginger, salt and dry red chillies to a paste. Strain the coconut milk of the ground coconut, and add the remaining half cup of water if needed. Do this twice to extract all possible coconut milk. Set aside. Crushed and grinding the remaining 6 cloves of garlic. Hot 3 teaspoon oil in a large pan on medium heat. Add the curry leaves, green chilli and garlic and cook until the leaves start to splash. Add the onion and saute until it begins to soften. Add tomato and saute for a minute. Add the coconut milk, reduce the heat until it becomes creamy. Add water if you need to dilute it further. Add the lemon juice. Slip into the marinated fish and cook until done, turn the pan occasionally so that the fish cook evenly. Check salt. Serve warm with rice, sannas or appams. Our daily bread is a column over easy, resourceful cuisine. Samar Halarnkar is the author of the married man’s Guide to Creative Cooking – and other dubious adventures. 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