Puri story

Crossing continents has meant adapting to new ways. And for the most part this has been fairly painless. But sometimes I do miss the most ridiculous things. Like tea-time. Not because tea-time is ridiculous, oh no, far from it. It’s ridiculous because I wasn’t much of a tea-drinker back home and yet, I feel a twinge of nostalgia thinking of it. Or maybe that’s just that horrible cup of yoghurt that I ate for lunch today. (Raspberry yoghurt can’t be blue, I tell you!)

Food-minded as I am, I liked how the day was clearly marked into meals, breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner. Without tea-time there just seems to be too long a time between lunch and dinner. You see all kinds of food products and fast food vying to be your ‘in-between go-to food’. But then of course, they are promoting the wrong fourth meal. Tea-time is where it’s at. And the reason I was so fond of it was while everyone else savoured their tea, I loved the snacks that went along with it.

If you are thinking along the lines of delicate madeleines and cucumber sandwiches, let me stop you right there. That’s not what tea-time is about where I’m from. Bring out the Nan khatai (yummy shortbread)  and the khari biscuits (a rough kind of puff pastry biscuit that’s heaven dipped in a cup of tea) and Parle-G. Sometimes it was stuff you got in stores. Sometimes it was home-made, like this recipe I’ve mentioned before. But that’s the stuff you had on an ordinary day. When it was a special tea-time, (which in case you’re interested could be anytime between 3 and 5 in the afternoon), the day we had guests, especially a collection of her friends, tea was an absolutely special meal. Such times were also known as the days my mom lost her sense of humour.

Mummy and her friends all met together once in a month or so. They didn’t even consider meeting up in a restaurant, such a frivolous notion around such seasoned cooks. So they always met at the house of each one on a rotating basis and would make a day of it, lunch and tea being on the menu. Mom would start planning days in advance. Vegetables and groceries would arrive a day or two ahead. The house would be scrupulously shiny and clean, a mini spring-cleaning ritual in itself.  She tried to prep everything she could the night before. But inevitably, tons would be left for the day itself. As a result, on the big day, my mother always gave the impression of a ponderous stampede. She would rise early, wake us up early to be done with giving us breakfast and then rush around for the rest of the day; tugging a pillow upright, furiously shaking my younger sister awake, my elder sister off the phone or snatching my book out of my hands, alternating between mumbling incoherently under her breath and prodding us loudly to “Get off the sofa!” or “Don’t eat that, it’s for later!” or “Don’t try to feed your cereal to the cat!”.  Try as we might to be sanguine about what, after all, wasn’t our friends coming over, me and my sisters couldn’t help being swept up in her frenzy and as a result at the end of the day, we all felt like we’d run a marathon. This and the incessant errands made us dread these days, but only just a little. Because we’d put up with a lot for the food that came with these days.

Friends arrived for an early lunch and everyone tucked in. Then we tried our best to let mom enjoy her friends’ company as we gave our best imitation of model children and cleared the table and dishes. But she’d be up on her feet in a little bit to get tea together. For me this was the best part really. It was like the second scene of a really good play. Lunch-lite. And of the several things she made over the years, my favourite times were the ones she made sev-puri.

Sev puri is snack food heaven in my world. In the real world, it is the snack that can be seen in similar forms in several cuisines. Tacos have a lot in common with sev puri. The concept is similar, corn chip becomes a flat flour cracker-type shell called a puri. Couple of chutneys take the place of guacamole and salsa. Add onion and potato for the bulk and sev instead of cheese. Voilà!

Sev Puri

Hard Puris for the base (in a pinch you can use Kettle Chips Black Bean Tortilla chips)
Thin yellow sev
Potatoes – 3 large, boiled in salted water and mashed on cooling
Red Onion – 1 large, finely diced
Cilantro -few chopped leaves

Chutneys:
> Sweet date and tamarind red chutney
Seedless dates – 10 to 12
Tamarind paste – 2 tsps
Red chilli powder – 1 tsp
Cumin  powder -1 tsp
Coriander powder – 1 tsp
Salt – 1/2 tsp
Asafoetida – a pinch (optional)
Jaggery – a couple of 1/2″ pieces

- Boil the dates with enough water to just cover them. Then move off the heat and cool them down.
- Add the dates into a food processor or blender with the rest of the ingredients and blend into a smooth puree.

> Spicy cilantro and mint green chutney:
Cilantro – 1 bunch
Mint – 1/2 bunch, leaves picked
Green chillies – 2
Onion – 1/4
Lemon – 1/2, juiced
Butter – 1 tbsp
Salt

- Add all ingredients into a food processor and grind into a fine puree, adding water only if required.

To assemble the sev puri:
- Start with laying out the puris on a plate.
- Next add about 1/2 tsp of mashed potato on top.
- Add about 1/2 tsp each of the sweet red and spicy green chutney
- Top with a little bit of diced onion on each puri.
- Liberally pour the sev on top of this.
- Sprinkle some coriander leaves (cilantro) over the dish

Serve along with the chutneys so that people can top off with more if they like.

Cook’s notes:
Jaggery is made from sugar cane and is often used as a sweetener for many an Indian dish. If you can’t find it, I would use plain honey as a sweetner, sugar may not work here. In India, in the summer, this dish is topped off with diced raw mango which adds a wonderful layer of flavour. But it’s not crucial to the dish. The tortilla chip alternative I’ve noted here works, though the chips are quite a bit more salty than puris are, so adjust the salt accordingly. The puris used here are small and hard versus the large and soft kind that come to mind when you think of them. Sev is made from gram flour and is a key ingredient here. Both ingredients are easily available at Indian stores.
It’s hard to quantify this recipe. The quantities here should easily make 20 to 25 puris, with a little bit leftover in case you need more. The chutneys described here can also accompany other snacks. The spicy green chutney is yummy slathered on bread for  quick and easy sandwich. The sweet chutney can take the place of ketchup in many an instance. They will keep well in the fridge for a week and can be frozen almost indefinitely. Butter is added to the green chutney to slow down the oxidation process. Adding it will prevent it from going black. Sev Puri never fails to remind me of large gatherings and wonderful tea-times.

Bombay beats

There are probably very few cities in this country where I could live without pining for Bombay very often. In San Francisco, I know I have found one of them. The easy access to many things Indian is icing on top of the fabulous cake that life in these wonderful climes is. But then suddenly, a random fragrance or vivid colour will send my mind spiralling back to India. Especially where I grew up. Bombay. There is quite literally no other place like it. Hustle and bustle take on an entirely different meaning in this city that truly never sleeps. It was a big city even back then, the Bombay I knew, loved and grew up in. Though it was immense and teeming with life of all kinds, not for a second did I ever feel unsafe in it. It’s true we don’t have largely famous forts or gorgeous old temples, but we have our very own rich history, written and perpetuated by the people who lived there and carry a piece of it wherever they go, as I do. The attitude of Bombayites (or Mumbaikars as they are now known since the city was renamed Mumbai) is unique in India. There is at once a sense of openness with a strong background of tradition behind us. And it is the eternal dream city. So many people from all over the country aspire to live there. The city is always assimilating yet keeping true to itself. And the cultural influence has helped Bombay develop a cuisine in which you will recognise many things from many places It is a veritable melting pot.

It is ridiculous but also very cool, how food minded this city is. Throw a stone around from anywhere in it and you are liable to hit at least three food establishments. Granted, one of those ‘establishments’ may very well be a guy with a tokri (large woven basket) selling peanuts or raw mango laced with salt and chilli (slurp!!). But you will never, ever want for variety in food in this city. When I lived in it, there were enough food joints that you couldn’t try each and every one in your life time. Today, you could probably make that a few life times. Globalisation has brought with it all kinds of food and India as a whole is happily enjoying the boost to the palette. Thai, Japanese, Mexican, you name it, and you will find it there. You may not recognise it, because of course just as there is the adaptive General Tso’s chicken here, there is the Maharaja Mac and McAloo Tikki there. We’ve always been great at taking things and adapting them to make them our own. India’s history is filled with foreign elements vying for dominion. They didn’t last but the things they brought with them stayed with us, several of them in our food. It is hard to imagine that some four hundred years ago, the Indian foodscape would have looked very different in the absence of, among other things, the potato, the tomato and what so many people automatically associate Indian food with, the chilli peppers.

It is true that there are probably more restaurants in Bombay per five square kilometer radius than there are people in some parts of the world. But just as the heart of Bombay is in its streets, its power house is its street food. Practically every feasible corner will have a little shop that seems to grow out of the wall it is leaning against or a cart that has seems to have taken root. There will be a blackened, soot covered kadhai (wok) busy frying up samosas or a knife furiously powering through the vegetable it is cutting, to attacking a block of wood it is on. Tomatoes and potatoes are sliced impossibly thin and bread is covered in just the barest quantity of butter or chutney to make a sandwich. Or, if you’re really lucky, your first experience of Bombay street food will be pav-bhaji.

The Portuguese brought with them baked bread. We in India liked it so much, that we whole-heartedly adopted not only the bread but also their name for it. Paõ in Portuguese became pav in Bombay and Goa where the Portuguese stayed for a while. The bhaji in ‘Pav-bhaji’ is basically what we call vegetables. But this vegetable is specific. It has its humble beginnings in the quick meals that the working class spiced up and ate as an inexpensive yet filling meal. Today it is in a class all its own. Typically it is made on a large, circular, edgeless griddle of cast iron or steel, on which the vendor will start with butter, onions, tomatoes and maybe garlic. To this, he will keep adding layers of vegetables, mashing them all the while until the entire mixture is an individually unrecognisable yet completely homogeneously and supremely delicious vegetable dish. He will top it with onion and cilantro. Other toppings like grated cheddar may be added to make cheese pav-bhaji. Or shredded paneer for paneer pav-bhaji. Sometimes even pomegranate or dry-fruits are added (not my kind of pav-bhaji). In my opinion, it is best enjoyed in it’s basic form, which as you will see, is not quite all that basic.

Pav Bhaji
Serves 6-8

For the vegetable (or cooked ingredients):
Potatoes – 4 large, peeled
Cauliflower – 1 small, broken into florets
Carrots – 4,peeled and sliced into rounds,
Green Peas – 1 cup
Green beans – 1 cup, pieces cut
Pepper strips – 1 cup
Broccoli – 1 cup florets
Red Onions – 1 cup, diced fine
Tomatoes – 4 large, quartered
Garlic – 8 to 10 cloves, minced fine
Ginger – 2 inches, minced
Pav Bhaji Masala – 2 to 3 tbsps
Red chilli powder – 2 tsps
Garam Masala – 1/2 tsp
Cumin seeds – 1 tsp
Butter – 2 tbsp
Tamarind paste – 1 tsp
Salt to taste

For garnishing (or uncooked ingredients):
Red Onions – 2 cups, diced fine
Cilantro -  couple of handfuls, chopped.
Lemons – 1/4 wedge per person
Butter – 1 tbsp

Pav (or sourdough bread rolls) to serve alongside, toasted on a buttered griddle

- In a food processor, put tomatoes, tamarind paste, ginger and garlic and give it a whizz until the ingredients form a fine paste.
- Boil all the vegetables together, except the onion,  tomatoes, ginger and garlic. Once boiled, allow them to cool and then mash them.
- Heat a large pan or griddle and add 1 tbsp butter. When the butter melts, add cumin seeds.
- When the cumin starts to splutter, add 1 cup onions and fry until soft.
- Add the tomato-ginger-garlic paste. Fry for a while until the butter separates.
- Add the mashed vegetables to this. Mix thoroughly.
- Add the pav bhaji masala, chilli powder and garam masala. Add a little water if the mixture is not workable. (See cook’s notes)
- Add salt to taste. Mix and turn up the heat to bring the mixture to a boil.
- Then turn down the heat to let the dish simmer. Cover with a lid and let it cook for about ten minutes.
- Remove the lid and add 1 tbsp of butter to it. Allow to melt, then mix.

Slice the bread or roll lengthwise to form two halves. Toast them on a buttered griddle or pan.
Ladle the vegetable on to a dish and add a tiny dot of butter on top. Add a liberal helping of diced raw onion and cilantro leaves. Place the bread and lemon along side to serve.

Cook’s notes:
You’ll never see that street vendor in Bombay who makes pav-bhaji for a living use a food processor. He is also never likely to use tamarind ( a tip from Amey’s mom) or boil anything except the potato before hand. These professionals work with high heat and wonderful knife skills to get the vegetables so fine that cooking and mashing them on high heat becomes a super easy and quick proposition for them. While the street vendor is likely to hand you your pav-bhaji within minutes of you placing your order, the one you make at home will take decidedly longer to prepare. Chalk it up to the fact that things are just slower with residential burners and average knife skills. But the effort is totally worth it.

Like other masalas or spice mixtures I’ve mentioned before, Pav-bhaji masala can be bought ready-made at any Indian grocery for a couple of bucks. If you feel strongly about grinding your own spices, go ahead. But I’d like to say that even my grandmom never thought of doing that, she quite contentedly used the packs available. And if you think that the list of ingredients here is long (its probably the longest I’ve ever put down here), your eyes will start swimming reading the individual spices that go into the spice mixture. This dish truly takes in a little bit of everything but tastes like nothing else. Be generous with the onion and cilantro. I call it a garnish because it goes on top uncooked. But it’s as important as the cooked ingredients and you can’t taste real pav-bhaji wihout it. Add it on top and then mix it in before you start to eat. Take a piece of bread and dip it in the vegetable to eat or dollop a good amount of vegetable on the bread and take a large bite. Mmmm!!

It may seem like there’s an awful lot of butter involved but remember that this recipe serves several people. The butter is integral here. Don’t try to substitute oil for it. It makes a kind of difference to the dish that you don’t notice until it isn’t there. Even better if you can get your hands on some lovely Indian butter. Halving the recipe to reduce quantities will work just fine, but its almost the same amount of work as this quantity. We generally make a large batch and then eat it at different times over a week. The vegetable lasts very well in the refrigerator. Also, we don’t necessarily always find all of the veggies listed here, in which case we make do with what we have. I would say you definitely need the onions, tomatoes and potatoes. The rest of the vegetables can be used in different quantities or traded for portions of other vegetables. As long as the veggie has bite and can be hopelessly mashed, it can be used here.

Indian stores in the US sell the bread too. It’s a white bread that isn’t sweet and is sold in a laadi or slab in India, in packets of 8 to 12 here. We’ve found that sourdough rolls make a fair substitute. Toast the bread till the cut side browns on the buttered griddle and you’ll love how well it pairs with the vegetable.

This dish is quintessentially Mumbai. Once Bombay has you under her spell, it’s hard to leave her. Forgetting her is impossible. Especially if you love the urban life as I always have and probably always will. This dish always helps bring us a slice of the city, oh-so-far away.

Postcard from Italy

There was a time right in the beginning when I wasn’t as enamoured of San Francisco. While you stifle shocked gasps, allow me to explain. I arrived here from the bright sunshine and scorching heat of Texas in the month of June. Right away it felt like the world as I knew it had turned topsy-turvy. It was bleak and gray and cold….brrr..warm jacket cold, in summer! My first glimpse of the city was Tenderloin, which as anyone can tell you is an acquired taste, and certainly shouldn’t be the first thing you see in San Francisco. As I shivered in a friend’s tiny studio apartment and wondered where the sun had gone, the weather seemed to mirror the greyness in the soul of my then just graduated jobless self. It was the last recession. Another friend Viral was very surprised to learn that I didn’t like San Francisco right away. Having lived here a couple of years, he already loved it. And as I found a job, stayed here and learned to love it very quickly, his quiet confidence that I’d been mistaken in my first assessment stuck with me.

Viral is at once a charming and easy person to like. He’s an architect who is a study in contrasts. While he loves to meet people, he also enjoys being on his own. While we have a lot in common, like where we grew up, our profession and college, that is one thing I have in common with him that I don’t often have with many people. He’s a good friend and a good guy, kind and helpful. And its been a long year for him too, like it has been for so many of us. So I was thrilled for him when he got a chance to take a vacation in Europe last month. It is fun living vicariously sometimes and couldn’t wait for his stories when he got back. But he did me one better by sending me this charming postcard on my birthday. With his birthday wishes was a brief glimpse at his Italian experience. Gazing at the beautiful Piazza Navone and the fascination of Rome got me thinking about the beautiful country of Italy and invariably, its food. I went through my cookbooks book-marking all kinds of Italian-base recipes. But last night Amey beat me to the punch, by very neatly adapting a risotto recipe from Jamie Oliver’s book.

I love Italian food, but I have to say risotto is not high on my list of favs. Can’t really say what it is exactly. Individually, I’d probably like all the components that make it up. But somehow together they don’t work for me. I love rice but don’t really care for what happens to it in risotto. I love vegetables but they seem to lose a little something of themselves in risotto. There is a good degree of blandness involved all around. And don’t even get me started on the texture. Even so, I can’t stop giving it yet another try, hoping all my unknown issues with it will magically disappear. It’s sort of the same reason I keep returning to the Twilight books, hoping that I will learn to ignore the author’s strange writing style that’s not to my liking, so I can completely love the otherwise enchanting tale. It hasn’t happened yet with the books, but yesterday I finally met a risotto that I can honestly say I loved.

This dish is an intense reminder of blue skies and bright sunshine. The lemon here simply sings and combined with the mint, you can undeniably taste summer.

Asparagus, Mint and Lemon risotto
Adapted from Cook with Jamie by Jamie Oliver. Serves 4.

Arborio rice – 2 cups
Lemons – 2, zest and juice
Onion – 1 medium or 1/2 large, diced
Celery – 2 stalks, diced
Garlic – 3 cloves, smashed
Mint – 2 handfuls of leaves, finely chopped
Asparagus spears – 1 bunch, cut into small pieces
Riesling wine* (or other white wine) – 2 cups (See cook’s notes)
Water (or chicken or veggie stock) – 4 cups
Olive Oil – 2 tbsp
Butter – 3 tbsp
Parmesan cheese – 1/2 cup, grated
Salt and pepper to taste

- In a pan, add half the butter. To this, add the smashed garlic and heat gently.
- Add asparagus and saute till soft. Season well with salt and pepper. Remove the garlic out of the asparagus and keep aside.
- In a large pan, add the oil and saute onion and celery till softened.
- Add the arborio rice and stir in well with the veggies until well-mixed. Fry for 3-4 minutes.
- Add the remaining half of the butter and mix until butter melts.
- Add the wine and stir until the alcohol has evaporated.
- Add the water or stock and salt and pepper. Keeping stirring uniformly until the liquid is mostly absorbed. At this point, it is about three-quarters cooked.
- Add the contents of the pan with the asparagus to the risotto and mix in. Add the zest and juice of the lemons.
- Mix in the mint leaves and half of the Parmesan. Season with more salt, if required.
- Mince the previously sauted garlic and sprinkle over the risotto.
- Cover the pan and move off the heat. Let it rest for a couple of minutes.

Serve with plenty of parmesan grated over it.

Cook’s notes:
A layer of flavour comes from the fresh ingredients, and the nuances I found lacking in risotto before fade away and make this an intensely satisfying dish. Stirring the risotto consistently once the liquid is added and not letting it rest and stick is key to making good risotto. At the three-quarter point, the arborio rice should be able to hold its shape and still be a little al dente, cooking a little bit more through the rest of the process. We used water since there was no stock in the house. Despite water bringing no additional flavour to the dish, we didn’t find it lacking. I’m sure stock of any kind would only elevate the flavours. Amey also significantly dialed down the amount of fat used here to make a leaner risotto. Still, there is no lack in its final creaminess. I guess a little more butter would have lent it a lovely voluptuous tone. I use Riesling because that is one of the very few white wines I like. Jamie Oliver suggests a very dry white wine. I thought it would be better to use what I like rather than follow his lead, and it paid off. I know this is a recipe out of a British chef’s book, but the ingredients are similar enough to believe that it is inspired from something more authentically Italian.

We’ll make this dish again to share with Viral when he returns. It seems indicated somehow. He had shared the shepherd’s pie with me and then bravely tackled a beef version of his own, which I’m sure tasted great. He’s good at stepping out and trying different things, like the more involved cooking in this case. I’d love to cook this dish for him and have him try out a variation for himself. As for now, I await the stories from Italy and the rest of his European stint and all the chocolate I made him promise to bring from Switzerland.

Snack attack

I woke up with a start today, completely disoriented, something that hasn’t happened in a long time. Today was like coming out of a mental fog. There was no clarity of day or time. Was I late for work? Had I missed a test? (Yes, it must be only me who deliberately picks eight o’clock for all her exams when she could pick absolutely any time. This way it gets over and done with faster, you see.) But then, just as suddenly, the eerie-ness of it all faded. It was my Friday off. My next test is at the end of a month. There was a moment of quiet calm. And then it was effectively shattered by a sharp and precise thwack-thwack-thwack of a hammer. Construction workers don’t have Fridays off.

The renovation of my apartment building continues merrily on. It inevitably figures in my conversation because these days it is over on my side of the building. And at times, it is cacophonic. There is a strange desperation that claims your life when your home is no longer your refuge, when the simple act of reading a book or listening to music could be summarily interrupted at any time by loud noises and vibrations that has utensils bouncing off the dish rack. The situation also has the odd air about it of bringing my work home with me. The noise doesn’t consciously bother me unless it’s very close, but every time there is a new, different noise, part of my brain automatically engages in trying to figure out what machine it is, what phase of work is going on. Probably normal given my profession, but certainly not something I want to do on an off-day. Fortunately this is San Francisco. There is no dearth of places to be. So we packed some snacks and decided we’d be somewhere else.

There is an amazing array of food that could pass as snacks in Indian cuisine. Some of them just as easily become a side dish in a meal. Bhajjis (or bhajiyas or pakoras) are one such snack. They are the Indian version of fritters. They just use a different flour for batter and are principally made of vegetables. The flour here is chickpea flour, way tastier than most flours are. There is a basic and very simple ‘no yoghurt or buttermilk’ batter with a one time dipping given to the veggies. The veggies can be practically anything large enough to hold, dip and fry.

Potato & Onion Bhajjis

Yellow or red potatoes – 2, medium, sliced into 1/4 inch discs
Onions – 2, sliced and slivered
Chickpea flour – 2 cups
Red chilli powder – 1 heaped tsp
Asafoetida – 1/4 tsp
Salt – 1 tsp
Turmeric powder – a pinch
Water – to make the batter
Canola oil – for frying

- Heat about an inch of oil in a deep vessel or fryer.
- In another vessel, mix the chickpea flour, chilli powder, asafoetida, turmeric and salt
- To this dry mix, add water little by little until it forms a very thick batter, almost a paste or add more water to make a thinner batter depending on veggies used. (See Cook’s notes)
- To gauge the temperature of the oil, drop a tiny bit of the batter in. If it sizzles and rises to the surface immediately, the oil is at the right frying temperature.
- Spoon a few drops of the hot oil into the batter and quickly stir into it.
- Toss the veggies in batches to coat completely in the batter and drop gently into the oil.
- Fry until they turn a deep golden brown (about 7-10 minutes).

Serve with chutney or ketchup if serving as a snack or as a side dish if serving with a regular meal.

Cook’s notes:
There is a slight difference in the quantity of water involved for a relatively smooth-textured veggie like the onion and the rougher-textured potato. That’s why when you are using a mixture of vegetables, separate them by texture. The smoother ones will need to be cooked first. This is because they need a very stiff paste-like batter. For the onions here, several long slivers were bunched and tossed together into the batter. They are the more gnarly looking ones in the photos. Once they were cooked, the batter was thinned out a bit for the potatoes. The onions being smooth grab on to just enough thick batter. If the potatoes were tossed into the same thick one, they’d grab on to too much. And there is such a thing as too much chickpea batter. Less is definitely more here.

This is probably one of the rare times I’m specifying an amount of salt. That’s because this is the absolute minimum this batter will need. The batter should taste slightly extra salty than you would like your fritters to taste. The vegetables and the frying process will even out the salty taste. Practically any veggies can be used. Smoother textures like pepper and eggplant work with the thicker batter. Rougher ones like cauliflower used the thinner batter. Even leaves like spinach be individually fried. Of course, the fry time is much quicker. Isn’t it amazing how food around the world has counterparts? Change the flour & batter and this would be tempura in Japan and fritters in the West.

We had a lovely day at the beach with our fritters. And a wonderful, peaceful evening at home. Here’s to a weekend where I can sleep in and wake up to dulcet tones of tow trucks and fire engines instead of jarring hammers!

Busy food

Life’s been so busy since  some time before my birthday that there’s barely been any time to cook, let alone write about it. It’s like being caught between a multitude of rocks and hard places and having to move around with them slowly squeezing my breath out of me. Only today do I feel like I could come up for air. And I’m taking it in, giant large gulps of it.

I wasn’t certain I’d talk about recipes involving ready store-bought ingredients as relative stars of the meal. Not because I’m a ‘you-gotta-do-everything-from-scratch’ snob, but because to tell anyone about it seems a bit like claiming credit for something you didn’t really do. And that can’t be any good, can it? But then sometimes, a combination of stuff bought at the store, a tired brain and a soul desperate for nourishment that doesn’t taste like cardboard can create a good thing.

This combination turned out to be too easy, simple and relatively healthy to keep to myself. And there isn’t anything too difficult about obtaining its ingredients. I had bought some lavash with some vague memories of a recipe I’d read some time earlier. And then, original recipe forgotten, I scrambled to come up with a way to use it before it got past its prime. I’d also run into a sublime Tomato and Basil Hummus in the ready-eats aisle of Trader Joe’s, happily nestled next to the cheese section in which was a little tin of burrata (a fresh Italian cheese made from mozzarella and cream) both of which made it into my fridge and had been barely used.

There couldn’t have been a better way to use all of these things.

Veggie Burrata Wrap with Tomato-Basil hummus
Makes 4 wraps

Broccoli – florets sliced thin, 1 cup
Onions – 1, sliced thin
Pepper strips -  red, yellow, green, about a cup
Mushrooms – a handful of thin slices
Burrata – 1 1/2 rounds, pulled into pieces.
Red Chilli flakes – 2 tsp
Rosemary – leaves minced, 1/2 tsp
Garlic – 3 cloves, finely minced
Olive oil – 1 tbsp
Lavash – 4 breads
Trader Joe’s Tomato and Basil Hummus – 4 tbsp
Salt and Pepper to taste

- Heat the oil in a pan on low. Add the garlic and heat gently.
- Turn up the heat to medium. Add onions. Fry until a bit translucent.
- Add broccoli and pepper strips. Fry for a bit.
- Then add the mushrooms, rosemary and chilli flakes. Saute until most of the mushroom liquid cooks out.
- On a grill pan, gently grill the the lavash on one side.
- Turn it over and smear a tbsp of hummus evenly on the grilled side. Spread with 1/4 of the burrata.
- Move off the grill. Cover with vegetable mixture and fold over once or twice.

Serve by itself or with some pickles on the side.

Cook’s notes:-
This was a great dish for a day when I’d hit a wall on what to cook. Pulling things out of my fridge and making this one up felt great, especially since I ended up finishing all manner of leftover veggies. The tomato and basil hummus went well beyond the normal call of duty adding amazing layers of flavours. It had originally been served with crackers but next time I’ll buy it just for this. I’m pretty sure regular hummus would work too. I’d probably add a few thin slices of tomato to the veggies though or add some lemon over the whole thing before I roll it up. Just a great way to get rid of those little bowls of veggies one tends to save but never gets around to.

We thought the hummus and the burrata combined really well to bring out beautiful flavours in the veggies. Burrata has this luxurious texture that goes very well with dry flatbreads like lavash. I don’t specify what kind of mushroom here because a little bit of practically any fresh mushroom would work here. Or not. But don’t use reconstituted dry ones. They have too much concentrated mushroom flavour that’s wasted here. This was a wonderfully filling meal packed with nourishment. Better than ramen any day.