Cauliflower chops

Cauliflower chops | Saravana Bhavan style

I suffer from what I call the “adjacent table dilemma” (pakkathu table dilemma) in restaurants. Let me explain. I am at Saravana Bhavan. I am torn between ghee roast and mini idli sambar. Others have made up their minds. I am struggling. Idli is classic. But ghee roast is always a restaurant special. Piping hot tiffen sambar tips me towards idlis. But the sheer amount of fragrant ghee beckons me the other way. I am not sure if I want to go the slurpy route or the crispy crunchy route. The waiter has come back for the second time. I have to get it right. Jagan glares at me. Me: “If I order two tiffens will you share with me?” Jagan: “No” Me: “What do you suggest for me – mini idli or ghee roast” Jagan: “Mini idli” I turn to the waiter and say “Ghee roast” Jagan again glares at me. We wait for the dishes to arrive. The ghee roast arrives crispy, golden and crunchy heady with the aroma of ghee. I feel convinced I’ve made the right decision. When I am about to pop the first piece of dosa into my mouth, Idiyappam and Cauliflower chops arrives at the adjacent table. It looks like the best combination of steamed goodness and fragrant masala. I want that. I am back to scene one. It was Idiyappam and Cauliflower chops that I’d wanted all along. It looks like I should also discuss with the adjacent table folks before I order. I came back home with a longing for the adjacent table’s Idiyappam and cauliflower chops that wouldn’t go away. The next week I decided to rectify things. I made Idiyappam and cauliflower chops at home. I don’t trust myself to order right at restaurants. I am a fan of the cauliflower chops at Saravana bhavan. It is this incredibly fragrant, rich luscious gravy that is cooked to perfection. This cauliflower chops is in between a kurma and a regular onion-tomato gravy. It’s a hybrid. This cauliflower chops is also great with Chappathis. I attempted the cauliflower chops and I am happy to say I got almost 90% there. I am sure it won’t disappoint you. Do try and let me know how you like it! Enjoy! If you liked what you read, you can like Foodbetterbegood on facebook and instagram to get all the updates. You can also subscribe...
Vegetable kurma restaurant style

Vegetable kurma – restaurant style

I am trying to mentally note down little pieces of dialogue that kids happen to say, to narrate later. Over weekends, I am adjusting the web-cam to fit everyone into the skype window or scouring the country’s Amazon website for the best deals that I can get without shipping and exchange rate overheads. I do what a wife-of-frequent-traveller-husband does best. For a short period, I live a slightly lame bad-ass, almost-single-but-with-kids-and-domestic-duties kind of life. I while away weekends, play loud music, defraud dinner, read the day’s papers first, in its original folding from the living room instead of the toilet, get around to my long-lost to-do list & re-do that list and command kids freely.   I schedule my best laid plans for the husband-away days. Finally I have the remote, but I’ve lost touch. So TV remains off. The Bose player is on throughout starting with M.S. Subbulakshmi’s Suprabatham in the morning to “Saathi Malli poocharame” in the evening. I plan my vathal and pickle learning sessions, parlour appointments, family visits, pondy bazaar shopping trips and meetings with friends during these times. I make Mor Kuzhambu, keerai masiyal, dal and rice with abandon. No Mor Kuzhambu opposition party to accommodate. I read into the night in full glow of the CFL. I write through the night, I’d like to think. I am staring at the blank document, watching cake decorating tutorials on youtube, staring at the document, scrolling facebook and staring at the document. I make vegetable pulav, vegetable curry and order vegetarian pizza because Jagan is a strict non-vegetarian. I make different iterations of vegetable kurma (This recipe is from the canteen maami. Thank you!) I test and re-test. I make again till it tastes like this. It is hot and heady aromatic pulling you from wherever you are to the kitchen, is full bodied enough to scoop with a piece of roti or mop up with some idiyappam and you eat an extra roti/idiyappam for the kurma. That to me is a true tribute to the kurma. This vegetable kurma is that kind of kurma. Enjoy!  

White vegetable kurma

I had my dream holiday a couple of weeks back – alone at home, husband away on a business trip, kids off to school and everybody else in the family away on a trip. Whoa! One entire kitchen all to myself, nobody to defer to on the menu, no one to please, no one to cook up a competing second menu, no one to fill up the fridge. I was king. It was too precious. I couldn’t afford to waste even a minute of it. I had to plan well. I couldn’t be making sambar nor lemon rice. I had to do all the things I could never do. I could make any crazy, wildass dish I wanted and not have to explain and not fret that no one ate it. I wanted to slowly doze off into an afternoon nap while reading a book and sleep un-disturbed without kids climbing over me, without anybody waking me up for filter coffee or oreo. I also wanted to straighten out all my cupboards. I wanted to change the curtains, hang up a chalkboard on the kitchen door, revamp the garden, clear out the lofts and lose 5 kilos weight – in one week. I was getting ahead of me. First things first. I emptied the fridge, the dining table and the counter top of ages old murukku, disfigured pomegranates, teeny tiny portions of sambar, kuzhambu, chutnies and assorted poriyals. The chickens in our backyard (we have real chickens in our backyard), thought I was crazy. They got half the loot. The rest went into the bin. The first day I made spaghetti in a creamy alfredo sauce with green peas, corn and mushrooms. That was the craziest wildass dish of the week. I made other memorable, lazy ass meals that Hasini, Yuvi and I enjoyed that week. They’ll always be special. Then I did what I didn’t believe I would. I made rava kheer, sambar, vadai, rice and poriyal that week when I noticed that it was Yegadesi that day. I thought to myself while frying the vadais that my maamiyaar’d be thinking I’d miss it, that I am a lazy ass, that I probably made something as blasphemous as lasagne and how I had proved her wrong. And when I very proudly recounted later to my maamiyaar when she returned, she simply replied that she never considers Yegadesi during theipirai...
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