Last year was a bad year for peas in Simsbury. There was too much rain and the peas did nothing. Maybe I got one meal out of them. As the snow fell in January, Priscilla and I sat by the fire with a cup of tea and a basket full of seed catalogs. We browsed through the seed write-ups, dreaming about next year’s garden. We tried to imagine which peas, peppers, brussels sprouts, lettuces, or onions would do well in our Connecticut soil. We strategized on how to rotate our crops this year to defy the squash borers or the cabbage moths without using poison. We tried to guess how much of each vegetable our family would want to eat in 2010. Priscilla lives five minutes away and like me she has an organic garden. She spends every available moment during the school year and all summer amidst her tomatoes, raspberries, blueberries and her 1000 heads of garlic. She and I often plant different vegetables or different varieties and then share our harvests.

No matter how we try to plan and prepare, we never know how it will all work out. Anyone who actually thinks they have a leg up on Mother Nature is in serious denial. Last year’s peas were a no go for either one of us. But this year the vines – both snow and sugar snap – are spectacular. They’re strong and healthy with their fanciful, curling tendrils supporting bunches of crisp, sweet, shockingly green peas.

The snow peas were in a perfect state to pick last Thursday night when I stole up to the garden to have a peek. They were big enough to have a satisfying crunch, yet small enough to be sweet and tender. I was leaving for a wedding in Philadelphia Friday at noon. Dilemma. Could I cook them? Could I eat them? I knew I could not ignore them; they were too provocative, too beautiful.

“I’ll make an early lunch. It won’t be too much of a push and we can enjoy them before we hit the road,” I mused. I felt at peace. I took my gathering basket and picked three cups of gorgeous pea pods. I decided to honor them in the best way I know how to honor a pea. I would make Matar Paneer, the North Indian dish made with paneer (homemade cheese), onions, tomatoes, and of course, peas.

In a rare moment it was 8pm and the house was totally quiet. The silence was sensual, enveloping, soft and pregnant with possibility; nothing to disturb my focus or creativity. I imagined my Matar Paneer and what I would need. In my mind I could see the pea pods, floating in their savory sauce of onions and tomatoes alongside those golden cubes of paneer, all sizzling gently in the pan. I checked the pantry: milk and limes for the paneer – yes; tomatoes – yes; fresh ginger – yes; and a special plus, Anjuli’s garam masala.

Anjuli is in Portland now. Before she left Connecticut she made garam masala while I was away traveling in Peru. It touched me to come home and find her ground and roasted spices smelling sweet and fresh and a little astringent all at the same time. I breathed them in, thinking of the matar paneer and how she would have loved to have picked those peas. I felt as if she were there cooking with me.

I washed, stemmed and strung the glistening, emerald-green peas. I got out a big pot, put a little water in the bottom to prevent the milk from burning, poured in half a gallon of whole milk and put in on to boil, thinking about how it would magically separate when I added the lime juice. After it separated into paneer and whey I strung it up in cheese cloth and set the cheese over a bowl to catch the whey. And after it drained I put the paneer, peas, and whey in the fridge in anticipation of making the dish Friday morning. With half the work already done, I felt I could pack in peace and cook the following morning without feeling rushed. I can’t always get it together to celebrate life with gusto. When I can, I always feel proud that I have been able to honor life the way I feel it deserves, just as I honored my peas. -Weezie

Paneer

1/4 cup water

1/2 gallon whole milk

Juice of 1 – 2 limes

Boil the milk. Pour water into a large pot. Add the milk. Bring to a boil over medium low, about 10 minutes. Stir occasionally to prevent sticking.

Separate curds from whey. Once it comes to a boil, add the juice of 1 lime. Stir. If the milk does not completely separate, add the juice of 1/2 of the second lime. Stir. If it does not completely separate into light green whey and curds, add the juice of remaining 1/2 lime. You need enough lime juice to split the milk, but not more or it will taste too much of lime.

	Meanwhile, place a double thickness of cheesecloth over a good-sized strainer which is set over a stainless steel pot or large glass bowl. Note: I also find you can use a piece a cloth on top of the cheesecloth, seen in the photos. Strain the curds. Once the curds have separated, strain the curds, catching the whey in the bowl.
	Hang the curds. Tie up your cheese cloth and then tie it to your faucet and let it drip for 1 hour, catching the whey through the strainer into the bowl.
	Note: Reserve the whey in the fridge. We use it for soaking whole grain, but you will also need some of it for the matar paneer.
	Press the curds and refrigerate them. After the paneer has drained for 1 hour, cut it down and put it a plate, still wrapped in cheesecloth, weighted with another plate on top to flatten it. Make sure there is room on the plate for any remaining moisture to pool. Here I used a cast iron frying pan with 2 quarry tiles as the weight. After 1 hour, unwrap the cheese and put it in a closed container in the fridge until you’re ready to use it.

Matar Paneer Serves 6
Fresh peas or pea pods will be infinitely better than frozen for this dish. Their crunch and sweetness in contrast to the rich, savory paneer is the highlight of Matar Paneer.

4 tablespoons ghee
1 teaspoon fennel seed
Paneer from 1/2 gallon whole milk
1 Vidalia onion, 1/4 inch dice
1 1/2 tablespoons fresh ginger, grated
2 medium tomatoes, 1/2 inch dice
2 teaspoons ground roasted coriander seed
20 grinds of black pepper (or to taste)
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 cup reserved whey
1 teaspoon turmeric
3 cups of fresh shelled peas or pea pods, or frozen peas
2 teaspoons of Anjuli’s garam masala (recipe below)
2 tablespoons fresh coriander, minced

Note: If using pea pods, you must remove the stems and string them.

	Fry the paneer. Remove the paneer from the fridge and cut into 1 inch cubes. Heat a large frying pan to medium low. Add 3 tablespoons of ghee and then the fennel seeds. Fry for 30 seconds. Add the paneer and fry until golden brown, 3 minutes, then turn the cubes and fry the other side for 3 minutes. Salt and pepper to taste. Remove and set aside.
	Fry the remaining ingredients. Remove any burnt bits from the frying pan. Add 1 more tablespoon of ghee. Add the onions. Fry until soft, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the ginger. Fry for 30 seconds. Add the tomatoes, coriander seed, black pepper, salt. Fry for 2 minutes.

Assemble the dish. Add the whey and turmeric and stir until well combined. Pour into the frying pan. Add the peas or pea pods and garam masala. Let simmer until the peas are tender but still have some crunch. Add the fresh coriander.

Serve. This can be served with fresh chapattis or basmati rice, white or brown. Enjoy!

Anjuli’s garam masala
1/4 cup coriander seed
1/4 cup cumin seed
1/4 cup fennel seed
1 tablespoon chipotle

All the spices should be dry roasted in a frying pan on medium low until aromatic and then finely ground. We use a coffee mill that is designated for spices.

I wanted to share with you a delicious little secret that has been keeping me happy and healthy for the last few months. Matt and I have been on the move a lot lately. We were in India in March, spent some time on the Ayurvedic detox treatment Panchakarma, then two incredible weeks at Tom Brown Jr’s Tracker School learning tracking and survival skills, and a lot of time going here and there and everywhere. 2010 has been an amazing journey. This spring has been about getting back to the roots of our heritage, nature, and bodies as physical beings.

A few weeks ago we drove from Santa Fe to our new home in Portland. Along the way we stopped at Mesa Verde, drove through the sandstone deserts of Utah, spent a day in Jackson Hole and an evening camped under the majestic Tetons, two days and a backcountry camp in Yellowstone, and a burger in Boise (photos below). Road trips are still the best American pastime, and I can’t imagine a better way (than on foot) to experience the continuously changing terrain of the west. However, we have little in the way of funds and did not want to leave our stomachs to the whim of chance. Good, hot food is essential for comfort. When you’re traveling or camping you could be defending yourself against unwashed bedcovers or grizzly bears. You need all the good fuel you can get!

Normally on a road trip we’d pack a couple jars of peanut butter and jam and a lot of beef jerky. But before our trip to NJ my mom had an ingenious idea: why not cook kichidi in a thermos?! Of course all of the camping world already knows about survival lentils and rice, but I wanted something that tasted delicious and was completely satisfying. Well, we tinkered a bit and voila: a revelation. With very little cooking time I could produce a smooth, creamy, delicious kichidi that made me smile.

For those unfamiliar with kichidi, it’s rice and dal, simply cooked and gussied up however you like. In fact, this recipe is so versatile and life-giving, it kept my father fed every day through grad school. With a thermos, though, you cut out all but 10 mins prep time and while you’re doing whatever you do, your food is slow-cooking between breakfast and lunch. Now, it must be a thermos that locks tight, completely seals in the heat, and holds enough foods to fill you up. The night before, you soak your grains. Then the following morning, as you brush your teeth, you turn on the rice and dal to a boil, turn it down to simmer, and cook it for as long as you have. Even if it’s only five minutes, it’ll do the job. You pour this into your thermos and get on with your day. Three or four hours later you have a delicious meal. Sandwiches and to-go meals are great, but nothing beats a bowl of goodness.

So right now, get up from your computer, head toward the cupboard that houses all those random kitchen contraptions you never use, pull out your thermos, and give it a good wash WITH SOAP. I’ll wait. Tomorrow (or today if you’re feeling ballsy), soak some grains. The following day, lunchtime, you can thank me. Clearly, this is a field that needs more investigation by home cooks. What else can we do here?!

Kichidi to go
Serves 4
1 cup brown basmati
1/2 cup split mung dal
5 cups of water

2 teaspoons spice blend
1 tablespoon ghee
1 teaspoon salt

Soak the rice and dal in enough water to cover by 2″ overnight. In the morning, rinse and place in a pot along with 5 cups water. Bring to a boil. You can either take off the heat now or cook for 5-10 minutes. Each 10 minutes will speed up cooking time in the thermos by about an hour.

Place the kichidi in a thermos. You have the option here to add in the spices and ghee now or later. Experiment. I found the most delicious way is to add 1/2 now, 1/2 later, but it’s up to you.

Additions and adaptations
Greens go really well with dal and rice. You can also add in fresh herbs, summer vegetables, tomatoes, cauliflower, etc. Just put them into the pot when you heat up the dal.
+ Add in kale, chopped and sauteed in a bit of ghee where you vagar* 1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds. Add a bit of water, cover, and cook for 10 minutes, until tender. Add to the thermos.
+ Add in a cup of blanched fresh or frozen peas to the thermos.
+ Add in 2 teaspoons of spirulina for all the minerals and vitamins you need
+ Add in a handful of spinach and some toasted sesame seeds

* Vagarifying is when you heat up ghee in a saute pan and add seeds like mustard or cumin until they pop.

Spice Blend
This blend is simple and satisfying. You could really use anything. The most effective blends will be those with varying tastes. You already have sweet and salty covered, so pungent, savory, and bitter are good to play with. Add in a little chile powder, some cloves or star anise, or experiment with dried herbs. Remember that spices are tiny powerhouses of vitamins and minerals and can be used to balance your diet.
1 tablespoon coriander seed
1 tablespoon cumin seed
1 tablespoon fennel seed
1 teaspoon turmeric

Dry roast in a saute pan on medium until toasted. Grind and store in an airtight container in a cool, dry place for up to one month.

Now it’s time for a picture show…

Cliff palace at Mesa Verde

Driving through these western landscapes makes you dizzy with wonder. We also picked up a copy of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. Reading a book so provocative and filled with such utter devastation, well, it colors your trip considerably. In Mesa Verde we were slowed to a crawl because they were repaving roads, so we only made it to the Cliff Palace. Looking out over the cliff at the higgledy-piggledy house structures, you get the smallest glimpse of what humans were like when they integrated with the land, instead of living upon it. The foundations are still standing some 800 years later and their rudimentary grouting, studded with corn cobs and bits of pebbles, is still very much intact.

Remnants of 2003 fire at Mesa Verde

As we drove through the Mesa Verde lands we were surrounded by the charred tree remnants of a fire from 2003. We wandered through the knotted trees looking for life. Wildflowers were rampant, and some succulents had grown back, but not much else.

Utah

The landscape of Utah is dotted with mesas, severely steep sandstone composites that are all that remain after the rest of earth and stone has fallen away. Beside them are shitty, deposited houses-on-wheels, manmade structures that clearly don’t belong and will just as easily blow away if humans turn their back for more than a moment.

Prairie Dog

Buffalo amidst the Grand Tetons

Johnny Cash was already blasting as we rolled into Jackson where we had a walk, a delicious bison burger, and a photo under the antler arch. At dusk we made our way though windy dirt roads in search of an unmarked campsite recommended to us by a shop owner. Of course we never found it, but did happen upon these bison crossing the road beneath the beautiful, busty Tetons – probably the coolest mountains ever. We did find a site beside a lake and had a helluva time getting our seriously low underbelly VW, Gloria, out the next morning.

The lodgepole pines of Yellowstone

Yellowstone, America’s first national park, was at first horse and buggie affair, but by 1933 became a popular roadside attraction; a way to view the wild from the privacy and efficiency of your own vehicle. Granted, those early 20th century Americans were certainly more adventurous than their 21st century counterparts. A ring of a road circles the outer perimeter of the park, making the greater part of the 2,221,766 acres, the backcountry, navigable only by backpackers if at all. In the two days that we drove and hiked Yellowstone we were visited by rain, sleet, hail, snow, impressive clouds, wind, and glimpses of sun. With steam bursting from geysers and mist wafting off the springs, it does resemble a land of another time. As Yellowstone newbies, we took the “WOW” exit to Old Faithful, then spent the afternoon following the “cruisers” on the safari-like journey around the park, stopping wherever we saw an enormous camouflaged monocular or camera.

But no trip is complete without a hike into the backcountry. We had to travel to the top of the park where the elevation is lower (Yellowstone has snow in May?!) When we arrived it was dusk and raining softly. We had a moment in the car deliberating over whether we’d be freezing cold and wet or happy as pigs in shit to be out there in the wild, then we hiked the 2 1/2 miles to our designated site. We were the only people in the world in a completely foreign land. It was brilliant.

Shedding mule deer

Spring in Yellowstone

Upper Geyser Basin

Springs and geysers of Yellowstone

Calcite walls

Petrified tree

Lone tree

Snowy buffalo jam

White-footed trees

Mist over the Grand Prismatic Spring

Fields of Idaho

Hills of Oregon

I’ve been visiting my Mom in Connecticut. See, we’re enjoying the first crop of asparagus and writing a cookbook together. Yes, that’s right. We woke up one morning and this view came out of nowhere. What do you see when you look at this photo? A field of flowers, dandelions, perhaps? A mowed lawn in dire need of weeding? My Mom, well she sees food. On this particular morning she looked out over the dandelions, their bright yellow heads sprouting up through the freshly cut lawn and said, “Let’s make some dal.” This is my first spring outside of New York and I am just adjusting to pollen, let alone a garden and a lawn. Making a meal of this lawn… a dal at that, sounded like the best food idea I’d heard all year. So the following morning she headed out with a gardening fork and cut that first bed of dandelions and piled them into a basket. They were fresh, young, a bit sweet and wonderfully bitter – so far away from that summer bitterness that makes you gag, and nothing like the matured and metallic farmed variety you find in the store.

She made molahootal, just as we’ve done a thousand times. After I’d filled my belly with the most delicious and bittersweet dandelion molahootal – moong cooked in ghee with toasted spices and then blended with pureed dandelion and toasted coconut – I made a mental note that wild dandelions are yummy. I’ve found in the last couple of years that the things you grow, while exponentially more flavorful, brilliant, and nutritive than the things you can buy, are never as potent as the things you can find! If you can find some dandelions out in the wild, maybe your lawn or a nearby hill, free of chemicals, I urge you to make this dal. It’s potent and delicious.

Then I came upon this post in the Times by Robert Wright. In his own search for a natural, beautiful lawn the author stopped weeding and awaited the scorn of his neighbors (seemingly from the vantage point of his kitchen window). His hope was that instead of his neighbors thinking of him as a “negative externality,” an unfriendly neighbor who is carelessly lowering the value of their property, maybe they would come to enjoy nature, naturally, without the roundup ready and the chemicals. I couldn’t agree more: let it go, let it grow, let it run wild.

I’m not a lawn person. I see a plot of grass and wonder what you could grow atop it or why it’s cut so short. A few in my family are even plotting to convince my Mom to buy a goat and some chickens and plant some corn out in that dandelion field. But I am a woodsy person; I love the wilderness and I have a weak spot for foraging.

When you look at the etymology of the front “lawn” and back “yard,” you can almost imagine what they used to look like before suburban developers came in and mowed everything over. The lawn, this “clear, open space” was once reminiscent of a frolicking meadow or a grassy respite in a wooded area. And the back yard or “back garden” was and still is where we can do as we please – let kids roam around, put clothing out to dry, leave toys strewn around, plant tomatoes and lettuces and herbs, and refuse to weed and mow as we like.

This lawn you see is actually at the side of my parent’s house, but it’s the only one they have. Being located up a steep, long driveway, out of the ear- and eye- shot of neighborly peeping toms, you could say my parents could do as they please. And they do – inch by inch my mother has been converting more of the terraced garden into edible greenery. Being here this spring, with a bowl of dandelion dal and everything bursting in flower and green, I can appreciate this lawn for what it is: a meadow beside a house in the midst of the woods.

So look out at your lawn or your yard, your courtyard or your sidewalk, whatever patch of dirt or grass you look at, and ask yourself if it’s beautiful and makes you feel peaceful. If not, what part of nature are you keeping out or troubling yourself with trying to tame? What part can you let in? Seems to be if there’s going to be work done on the land, surely you should profit with, say, a tomato or dandelion or two.

Or as commenter Frank Gabbo said in response to Wright’s article:

“Follow the Italian way. Eat the dandelion ‘weeds.’ And ancient Chinese medicine believes the root is good for the kidney and bladder. Some say the prostate, too.

Lamb’s quarters are delicious in salads.

Grass, in contrast, doesn’t taste very good. Unless you are a ruminating mammal. Dogs eat it to induce vomiting.”

Ahem.

Dandelion Molahootal
1 cup moong dal
1/3 cup fresh (or frozen) grated coconut
1/3 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoon ghee or butter
16 oz freshly cut dandelion, washed repeatedly in cold water until clean and with flowers and roots trimmed
1 1/4 teaspoon rasam or sambar powder
1 1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/4 teaspoon black mustard seeds
1 1/4 teaspoon urad dal, dry roasted
1 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice

Rinse the dal and cover it by 1“ with cold water.

Heat a small pan on medium low. When the pan is hot add the oil and turmeric. Cook for 20 seconds and remove from the heat. Add this to the dal.

Bring the dal to a boil in a medium-bottom sauce pan, skim off the foam and discard. Turn the heat down, put a lid on cocked and simmer for 20 minutes until the dal is soft and losing shape.

While the dal cooks heat the ghee (or butter) in a large frying pan over medium low. Add the coconut and sauté until lightly browned. Add the dandelion and sauté for 5 minutes. Sprinkle the rasam (or sambar) powder and the salt on the dandelion, put a lid on the pan, and continue to sauté for 3 more minutes until the dandelion is completely wilted. Remove from the heat. Add the dandelion to the dal.

Using a blender or hand held, puree the dandelion/dal mixture until smooth.

Heat a frying pan on medium low again. Add the sunflower oil and the urad dal and black mustard seeds. Cook until the urad turns medium brown and the mustard seeds pop. Add to the pureed molahootal.

Bring to a boil. Remove from the heat and add the lemon juice.

Serve with brown basmati rice.

We recently joined a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) in the West Village. For those unfamiliar, CSAs are local agricultural programs where an organizer establishes a drop point and relationship with a local farm. Members can apply for a “share” of produce, ranging from $200-500 for a 20 week season. Being a member means coming to collect your produce once a week at the designated time, and being flexible enough to cook whatever you get. (Check out Just Food for more information.)

On our second Sunday to pick up the produce, I was still trying to hold out on my opinion. But as I measured out my 1/3 pound of spinach dripping with water which I would unavoidably be paying for and which still wasn’t enough to boil or make dal with, I pondered the local farmer option.

I was comfortable enough to make a contract with a farmer responsible for supplying me with rich produce for two, decide to be flexible with my cooking, and knowing I could potentially go hungry and eat canned beans in bad weather. I knew there was no real way of understanding the volume of a share without giving it a try. But when this farmer forwarded me emails about potentially cashing out or increasing share costs by 30%, I wondered, “What the hell am I going to do with 1/3 a pound of spinach? Farmer, CSA, did you think about that?”

I was envisioning problems like “What do you do when you have 9 pounds of turnips?” Or Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs queries like “Brussels Sprouts for 3 weeks. Nehhhh.” But I never considered what I would do if there wasn’t enough food to even make a single ration. I thought of my mother’s garden. Granted, slugs have taken little nibbles of her cabbage and chipmunks have run away with all her peas, but I would still describe the garden as bountiful. My CSA farm? Not so much.

I want food of high quality, fair cost, from a conscientious and knowledgeable producer relatively conveniently and with excellent taste. But where? Only finding out on Sunday what I will have to cook for the week is a pleasant surprise. But finding out week after week I will need to somehow supplement my trip with one to the grocery store is costly and tiring. Is my food high quality? Well, after sitting out in the heat in cardboard boxes, it’s somewhat wilted and wet with water, which vastly shortens its shelf life. So that’s debatable. Is it a fair cost? My calculations say I could get 10% more at the farmers’ market. Is my farmer conscientious? Not with his shares. Is my CSA convenient? No. Is the food of excellent taste? Not even close to my mother’s or things I’ve purchased at countless farmers’ markets where I was able to hand pick my selection.

CSAs are tricky. While the concept of buying local or working directly with a farmer is an excellent one, depending on the specific “chapter” and farm you work with, you can be sorely disappointed and turned off. So I ask you, what of your experience?

With my 1/3 pound spinach I made molahootal. First I combined it with 3/4 a pound spinach from the following week, 1 pound from the farmers’ market, and 1 pound from my mother’s garden. It’s amazing how greens cook down; more amazing how many we can fit in our stomachs once they do. Like I was saying, there are two foods that make me feel complete: miso and dal.

Molahootal is a common South Indian dish. This recipe, from the Kerala Iyers (of my name, Ayer, and my father’s heritage), is about as straightforward and forgiving as they come. So if you’re new to South Indian cooking, it’s a good dish to try.

If you’re a pro, it’s an excellent comfort food that can be varied in a number of different ways. The spicy, savory dal with a nutty, bright crunchy carrot/pepita salad is like wearing earth tones with hunter’s orange kicks and blinding white laces, but don’t you do that all the time?

Molahootal
1 cup moong dal
1/3 cup fresh (or frozen) grated coconut
1/3 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoon ghee or butter
2 prewashed plastic containers 5 oz. each of baby spinach
1 1/4 teaspoon rasam or sambar powder
1 1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/4 teaspoon black mustard seeds
1 1/4 teaspoon urad dal, dry roasted
1 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice

Rinse the dal and cover it by 1“ with cold water.

Heat a small pan on medium low. When the pan is hot add the oil and turmeric. Cook for 20 seconds and remove from the heat. Add this to the dal.

Bring the dal to a boil in a medium-bottom sauce pan, skim off the foam and discard. Turn the heat down, put a lid on cocked and simmer for 20 minutes until the dal is soft and losing shape.

While the dal cooks heat the ghee (or butter) in a large frying pan over medium low. Add the coconut and sauté until lightly browned. Add the spinach and sauté for 2 minutes. Sprinkle the rasam (or sambar) powder and the salt on the spinach, put a lid on the pan, and continue to sauté for 3 more minutes until the spinach is completely wilted. Remove from the heat. Add the spinach to the dal.

Using a blender or hand held, puree the spinach/dal mixture until smooth.

Heat a frying pan on medium low again. Add the sunflower oil and the urad dal and black mustard seeds. Cook until the urad turns medium brown and the mustard seeds pop. Add to the pureed molahootal.

Bring to a boil. Remove from the heat and add the lemon juice.

Serve with brown basmati rice.

Carrot Salad w/ Pepitas and Sesame Seeds
1 1/2 cups carrots, 1/4 inch dice
3 tablespoons sesame seeds
1/3 cup pepitas
1 teaspoon black mustard seeds
Pinch of hing
15 grinds fresh black pepper
1 tablespoon fresh cilantro, minced
1/2 teaspoon salt or more to taste
Juice of 1/2 orange
1 teaspoon honey
2 tablespoons olive oil

Cut carrots and mince coriander. Place in serving bowl.

Heat olive oil on medium low. Add the hing, mustard seeds, salt, black pepper, sesame seeds and the pepitas. Cook until the mustard seeds, sesame seeds and the pepitas all pop. Add to the carrots.

Mix the orange juice and honey together and add to the carrots. Stir to combine and taste for salt. Serve!

This year’s Christmas dinner was homey and low-key. Everyone came together and cooked, and everyone felt a sigh of relief that we were making a no-fuss but excellent meal. This dish was surprisingly outstanding. By that I mean the recipe was of Indian roots, was repurposed and gussied up by a Californian and presented as a “holiday” dish, and turned out a flavorful and prosperous union of two different cultures. Not an uncommon find in this household, but still happily surprising.

It’s a one-dish meal, great for vegetarians, but still involves enough prep work that it’s more suited for a holiday. The original recipe is from Sunset, and is intended as a sort of “dressing” or “pilaf.” This is really a biryani in disguise. And quite elegant at that. We find traditional biryani suffers from too much starch and not enough flavor, while Western brown rice dishes many times taste like bird seed. This one is packed with nuts, peppers, spice, and dried fruit, and has all the warmth, sweetness, and moisture that you want.

In honor of this vegetarian Christmas dinner, pulling from both American and Indian dishes, we served this biryani with a mattar saag paneer, green beans with coconut, a romaine salad with herbed feta, olives, cucumber, and pepper, and, and a mom’s take on an Indian carrot salad. Whether a holiday or dinner on a Wednesday, our home is also a blend of different cultures, and a marriage of the culinary influences that we so cherish. Whenever you hail from and whatever your culinary passion, try this dish for your next party.

Serves 10
2 cups brown basmati rice
4 cups water
1/4 teaspoon sea salt

2 cups dried unsulfur apricots, cut into quarters
1 cup dried cranberries
1 cup dried unsweetened coconut flakes (fresh or frozen will work)
2 cups raw almonds
3/4 cup ghee
2 cups chopped yellow onions (Spanish or Vidalia will also work if you desire sweeter ones)
1 cup chopped orange and yellow bell peppers (can use red if desired, but no green)
2 teaspoons (yield) fresh ginger, peeled and grated
2 teaspoons (yield) garlic, peeled and minced
2 teaspoons Tumeric, mixed in a cup with a teaspoon of water
4 teaspoons Garam masala (or add 2 teaspoons ground cumin, 1 teaspoon cardamom, and 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon)
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
3 teaspoons sea salt
1 teaspoon grated orange peel
1 teaspoon grated lime peel

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. In a 2 quart pan over high heat, bring the water to a boil and stir in the 1/4 teaspoon salt. Once on the boil add the rice, turn down to simmer, and place a cocked lid on top. Cook until all the water is absorbed and the rice is tender, about 45 minutes.

Meanwhile in a medium bowl combine the apricots and cranberries. Cover with boiling water and let sit to plump, about 15 minutes. Drain.

Also place the coconut and almonds in two separate cookie sheets in the oven, stirring occasionally, 4-5 minutes for coconut, and 8-10 for almonds. Watch the coconut carefully, as it will burn easily. Remove and cool. Chop the nuts coarsely in a nut grinder or with a bench knife. Turn the oven up to 350 degrees.

Melt the ghee in an 8 quart pan over medium-high heat. Add the onions and bell peppers and saute until the onions are translucent, about 5-8 minutes. Reduce to medium and stir in the ginger, garlic, tumeric, garam masala, salt, pepper, orange peel, and lime peel. Saute for 2 minutes more. Remove from heat. Stir in the dried fruit, almonds, and coconut.

Once the rice is cooked, fold it into the mixture, but fluff don’t squash the rice. Spoon the mixture into a shallow 3-quart baking dish and cover with foil.

Bake in the oven until hot in the center, but before the rice turns soft, about 25-30 minutes depending on the firmness of the rice once cooked.

Serve warm.

Cashew burfi (बर्फ़ी) is a sweet Indian dessert made with cashews, ghee, and sugar. They are traditionally eaten during holiday, especially Divali, the Hindi festival of lights (actually meaning “row of lights”). Divali is celebrated the world over Amaavasya, the 15th night of the fortnight of the month of Kaartik in October/November.

Part of the reason must be due to the fact that you need a lot of people around to stir. We made these yesterday in celebration of another holiday. Everyone pitched in with the stirring (and eating). In stores, burfi’s commonly come with a piece of silver foil at the top. Ours our naked and better for it. They have a wonderfully rich and nutty flavor, and are incredibly smooth like fudge.

Note: With our large Christmas batch these took about 45 minutes in total to make and they produce enough burfi to fill a entire cookie sheet 1/4 inch thick. If you made a half batch of this recipe (which is normal), it would take you 25-30 minutes.

About the grinder: Also for this recipe you will need an appliance that can cut up cashews into a smooth, fine powder without extracting any of the oil. The machine must have a strong enough motor to withstand the shells of nuts and also a sharp enough blade that it cuts into the nuts instead of squishing them. The Sumeet brand is very common in India, and makes a model much suited for this purpose that my mother owns. Some food processors can also be used.

4 cups unsalted, unroasted cashews
4 cups granulated (we used raw organic cane sugar)
2 cups water
1/2 cup ghee
Pinch of saffron, soaked in a teaspoon of milk, or if allergic to milk, dissolve it in boiling water or powder it in your hands (optional)

Grease a cookie sheet and the bottom of a 1/2 (cup) measuring cup with ghee.

Grind the nuts in batches into the processor to produce a smooth, fine powder. If using a Sumeet grinder, fill it 1/3 way and grind on the “I” setting until you start to hear the stalling sound of the machine. Put the ground nuts into a bowl.

Set a heavy bottomed pot to medium low and add the water. Add the sugar and stir until dissolved, about 5 minutes. Dip a candy thermometer into the mixture and let sit. Cook the mixture until it reaches 215 degrees and when lifted produces a thin, sticky single string of candy, about 20 minutes with this volume. (For those candy makers, this is prior to softball). Don’t stir during this time. If you don’t have a candy thermometer (one that reaches greater than 215), continue to pull up the candy on your spoon every so often to check for the string.

Note: If you get to the point of softball (as can happen), you will need to alter the stirring process to compensate. You should remove from the heat prior once the mixture has thickened and comes away from the whisk, but prior to it fully coming away from the sides or it’ll be too stiff to work with.

Meanwhile, melt the ghee in a small pot or stainless steel measuring cup on medium. Once melted, turn off the heat.

Once the sugar mixture is producing a thin string when pulled, turn the heat down to between medium low and low and add in 1 tablespoon of the melted ghee. Stir in the cashews with a whisk until smooth. Stir in the saffron. Turn back up to medium low.

Note: While you’re stirring, the mixture will go through stages, starting as thick gravy and then go all the way to the texture of fudge (when it is done). The whole process of stirring with this volume is about 25 minutes, 10 minutes on the heat, 10 minutes off. If you have others near you, take turns stirring.

From here you will stir continuously. Once the mixture produces bubbles, begin to add in the ghee tablespoon by tablespoon as it thickens (every 5 minutes or so). The mixture will begin to pull away from the whisk as you stir, and make swirls in the pan. Once it starts to pull away from the sides, you can turn off the heat. You can switch to a metal spoon or spatula at this point and fold the mixture as you stir.

Continue to add the ghee bit by bit until the mixture is so thick you can’t stir, like fudge. It will have the consistency of dough coming off a dough hook when you pull it up with your spoon, and when you stir it, the swirl will retain its shape for a 15 seconds.

The process of placing the mixture onto the cookie sheet needs to be done quickly, before the burfi hardens. Spoon the mixture onto the cookie sheet. It should thick and cool enough it does not stick to your hands.

Flatten and spread with the measuring cup until it is an even 1/4 inch thick. It should fill the entire cookie sheet. Cut into diamonds. You want to do this before it cools so it doesn’t break and flake. Let cool completely out of the fridge. You can store in a can at room temperature separated by wax paper.

Chapatis (also known as roti) are a staple bread in Northern India, and have been in our Indian cooking home as well. In the US they are generally glossed over by restaurant-goers in search of the ever-popular naan. My mother learned to make chapatis from my aunt on a trip to India. Like ghee, there technique is best seen in person. I have attempted below for second best, giving you instructions and visuals to help guide technique. It’s easy once you get the hang of it.

If you eat a meal with chapatis, no utensils are necessary. If you’re unfamiliar, rip off a piece of chapati, scoop up some of your subgee or curry, fold it over, and pop it in your mouth. Whatever you do, eat with your hands. It’s a whole different world out there.

2 cups chipati flour (1/2 cup per person)
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon dried methi (also known as Fenugreek)
1/2 cup cold water
1/4 cup water (reserved for use if necessary)
Ghee

Mix the flour, salt, and methi in a medium bowl. Add in 1/2 cup water in a steady stream, kneading with your knuckles as you pour. You’re looking for all of the moisture to be absorbed and the dough to look moist but not wet. Add in the final 1/4 cup if needed, continuing to knead. Knead in your hand for 5 minutes until it’s smooth, elastic, and not wet or dry.

Place a dab of ghee in a medium bowl and roll the dough around in it. Cover with a moist hand towel or a bowl. Let rest at room temp for at least one hour but not more than two.

Roll the dough into walnut-sized balls (14 of ‘em for 2 cups). Place a saute pan on medium-low heat. Pour out a pile of flour onto a preferably dry surface (preferably stone). Take a ball and flatten it into a uniform disc about 2 1/2 inches in diameter. Keep the other balls covered with the plate or towel.

Push both sides of the ball softly into the flour. Using an Indian rolling pin, roll out the chapati softly, leaning a bit more on the skinny ends. The chapati should turn naturally as you roll. Roll until you can’t see any flour on the surface.

Pat the chapati into the flour again on both sides. Continue to flour and roll until the chapati is 6″ in diameter and there’s no flour on the surface.

Place the chapati flat in a saute pan at medium-low heat. Cook until the edges begin to lift and bubbles begin to form. Turn it with a pair of tongs. Leave it for 5-10 seconds more.

Move the chapati to direct fire at medium-high heat. Wait until it puffs up (about 5 seconds) then turn it over and give it 3 seconds more. Place the chapati on a plate and add a 1/4 teaspoon dollop of ghee to the center. Rub it around on one side with the back of a spoon. Cover with a hand towel.

Repeat. Eat warm.

Generally we serve chapatis with a typical Indian chickpea dish with spinach or onions and tomatoes. When Matt and I went to see my parents this weekend after Thanksgiving, my mom spiced it up with some turnips, celery, and onion.

This gem comes from one of my favorite Indian cookbooks, Yamuna Devi’s The Art of Indian Vegetarian Cooking. This book is a great intro to dals, breads, chutneys, vegetables, and desserts concentrated around South Indian cooking. The dish hits you with a little spice and also has a hint of sweet from the garam masala. The tomatoes are quite savory and add some acid and juice to the mix.

This Sunday we co-produced a dinner party with my friend Dan. Generally when I have a dinner party the guests are mostly familiar and the cuisine is something new I’ve been dying to try. This time we changed it up. Dan brought the excellent company (and the booze), and we cooked. This was a surprising and enjoyable change. In addition to cauliflower we cooked my mother’s Filipino Chicken adobo, an Italian caponata, cucumber raita, brown rice, and also the Kerala fish curry I have been enjoying for some time.

The concept of fusion wasn’t around when I grew up. However we partook in our own way, cooking American vegetables with Indian spices. Even more common on the table were meals including dishes originating in different countries but harmonious in season and flavor. I have rarely practiced cuisine-themed meals. I fully understand that for logistical, economical, and convenience reasons cooking within a specific cuisine makes a lot of sense. Saving money is no joke, and many times I find myself trying tactics like cooking a single cuisine for a whole week to cut down on waste. In an Indian recipe, for instance, you generally need cumin, ghee, mustard seed, chilies, and cilantro. When making Italian, it’s extra virgin olive oil, basil, thyme, etc. I won’t torture you with further generalizations, you get the point.

A cuisine incorporates a series of recipes that share with one another a specific time, culture, or region of the world. These recipes are usually similar in cooking technique and with a shared foundation of flavorings, such as spices and herbs. As an urban dweller and someone of mixed background, I have a wealth of cuisines within arms reach every day. I generally don’t eat the same type of food two days in a row. When it comes to a dinner party, however, using a theme can come in handy. It’s easy to relate to guests when they ask how to plan for drinks or dessert and also sets the “style” of the evening. But while it’s fun to take a trip to India on a Saturday night, I also enjoy imagining what would happen if a group of people from different backgrounds came together and developed a wholesome meal. With this meal I had brought my family along for the ride to cook for this new group of friends.

When I’m imagining recipes, I consider taste, texture, color, and time (for planning the cooking). In this meal I used a lot of garlic. Three whole heads to be exact. For textures: soupy gritty curry, soft falling apart chicken, firm cauliflower, and crunchy raita. For heat: fill your mouth Indian heat of the curry, peppery taste of the chicken, slight spice to the cauliflower, and the raita’s creamy yogurt to take all the spice away. For flavors: spicy curry, mostly sweet chicken, savory and acidic cauliflower, and creamy sweet raita.

Give yourself a little freedom. Try it out. Incorporate this dish in your next dinner party. It’s super easy to reheat or keep warm in the oven. Just don’t leave it there too long, like I did, and ruin the chances for a “finished” photo.

3-4 tablespoons ghee or vegetable oil
1-inch piece of fresh ginger root, scraped and cut into thin julienne
2 green chilies, cored, seeded and slivered
1/2 teaspoon black mustard seeds
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 large cauliflower, trimmed, cored and cut into florets (2 x 1 x 1/2 inches)
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon tumeric
1 teaspoon salt
3 medium-sized tomatoes, each peeled and diced
1 teaspoon garam masala
3 tablespoons coarsely chopped fresh coriander or minced parsley

Heat the ghee in a medium heavy-bottomed saute pan over moderate heat. When it’s hot but not smoking, drop in the ginger, chilies, mustard and cumin seeds. Fry until the mustard seeds pop and turn gray and the cumin seeds turn brown. Stir in the cauliflower, ground coriander, tumeric, and salt. Brown the florets, then stir in the tomatoes. Cover and reduce the heat to low. Cook for 15-20 minutes, shaking the pan occasionally to keep the vegetables from sticking, or until the cauliflower stalks are just tender. Uncover and cook until the liquid is evaporated. Just before serving, sprinkle the garam masala and fresh coriander.

Optional: Cut a vidalia onion in 1/2 inch dice and saute in the ghee for 8 minutes until translucent before adding in the chilies.

Aki came over for dinner last night and we tried to do all the dirty work in advance. However, we seem to go at our own pace when cooking, and things rarely turn out like magic. After a bit of practice with this recipe, the 10 minute theatrics of making the curry come to life will surely be something to save for the crowd. The spicy and very savory curry of this dish goes well with the softness and sweetness of the fish. The shallots are similar to the small pinkish onions found all over India, and give a more complex flavor than yellow onions.

Basically this recipe is pure genius (and a lot of ghee and chili). I pulled it from Mangoes & Curry Leaves, an exquisite cookbooks by a husband and wife team of who bring recipes from East to West in as much their original form as cultural difference will allow. Some modifications have been made for availability (nontraditional shallots and Tilapia are used in this recipe). The recipes come from Bangladesh, India, Nepal, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka. This particular one is from the state of Kerala on the the southwestern tip of the Indian peninsula. My father was born in Alathur. Much of Kerala is covered in rice patties off the coast. Due to the state’s communist history and later social reform favoring laborers, education (90% literacy rate) and health have always been a higher standard than neighboring states.

Notes about process
One significant way Indian recipes differ from Western ones is by incorporating spices at different points in the recipe to develop the flavor. This makes the list of ingredients look daunting, even if many of them are the same.

In this recipe, the process begins with adding seeds and leaves to oil, then the masala paste (a pre-blended mix of spices), then the fish, then tempering. Tempering/Baghar/Tadka/Chonk is a technique used to add flavor to a dish quickly. Spices and herbs are added to a hot oil until they pop (flavor opens up). Then they are added directly to the dish.

Notes about fish
Selecting a fish today is like maneuvering through a battlefield. Tilapia, the freshwater fish that has grown increasingly popular for aquaculture, was the recommendation for this recipe. If you can find it wild, its sweet mild flavor and firm texture are wonderful for this recipe. The key is to find a mild and firm white fish that will quickly absorb the flavors of the dish. Others that come to mind are sole, flounder, snapper, or maybe even monkfish.

If you must go farmed, as of writing this entry tilapia from the U.S. in on the ECO best list. Also, here’s an interesting look at Kerala fisheries.

Cayenne chilies
Cayenne chilies have a lot of heat that is long lasting but also a good flavor. You can’t really substitute these for any other chili. If you use 9 this dish will probably be quite hot, so use discretion. Don’t be a hero. If you burn your mouth you won’t taste anything. I always serve hot Indian dishes with yogurt, especially when making them for the first time.

I substituted the 1 inch long green chilies and felt the heat was perfect.

Masala Paste
3 tablespoons ginger, coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon garlic, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup shallots, coarsely chopped
6 green cayenne chilies, seeded and coarsely chopped
1/2 cup packed fresh coriander leaves and stems
/2 cup fresh or frozen grated coconut, or substitute dried shredded coconut mixed with 1 tablespoon water
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon tumeric

Place the ginger, garlic, shallots, chilies, and fresh coriander in a food processor or stone mortar and process to a coarse paste. Add in the coconut and check the moisture. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the ground coriander and tumeric. Set aside. This can be done a day in advance.

Tempering
About 4 tablespoons ghee (or butter, if you must)
4 to 6 fresh or frozen curry leaves
1/2 cup sliced shallots
2 tablespoons minced garlic
3 green cayenne chilies, stemmed and cut in half

Your tempering should be made as close to plating as possible, ideally about the same time you start cooking the curry. Heat the ghee in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat.

Toss in the curry leaves, wait 20 seconds, then add the shallots and garlic.

Lower the heat to medium and cook until starting to soften, about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add the chilies and cook until the shallots are very soft and touched with brown, about 5 minutes more. Set aside.

1 1/2 pounds tilapia (not farm-raised)
1/2 cup coconut oil or other vegetable oil
2 teaspoons black mustard seeds
1/2 cup fresh or frozen curry leaves
2 cups water (1 cup if using tomato)
4 to 6 pieces fish tamarind, or substitute 1 cup chopped green tomatoes
1 1/4 teaspoons salt

Rinse the fish fillets, cut into 2-inch pieces and set aside. Heat the oil in a wok or large pan over medium-high heat. Once hot, add the mustard seeds. Once they have started to pop and turn gray, add in the curry leaves and masala paste. Lower the heat to medium and cook, stirring occasionally, until the oil rises to the surface, about 5 minutes. It will literally begin to pool and separate from the mixture. Make sure it doesn’t burn. Add the water and fish tamarind or tomatoes and bring to a boil. Add the salt and the fish and simmer, turning the fish once, for 3 to 5 minutes, until just barely cooked through. Add the tempering mixture and simmer for a minute, then serve hot over brown rice.

Shopping List
If you already have the basic spices and seeds for Indian cooking, here’s what you’d need to accomplish this recipe:
1 head garlic
4 shallots
9 green cayenne chilies (found at Indian specialty stores)
1 bunch fresh coriander
1 1/2 pounds tilapia
Fresh or frozen curry leaves
4-6 pieces fish tamarind
1 bag frozen or fresh coconut

Ghee, or Indian clarified and caramelized butter, is hard to relay in a recipe. There are many visual and aromatic cues to watch out for, and all are subject to interpretation. Learning how to make ghee in my family, like most other things, has always been show, not tell. When my parents were newlyweds, they went to India. My mother spent much of the time observing in the kitchen with my relatives. When I learned, I brought my camera along. Now, four years later, I’m attempting a written version for public consumption. So we’re breaking new ground here. Why? Because ghee kicks butter’s ass.

I’m documenting the process for you (at length, uh), in the hopes that some will be adventurous and go ahead and try it. I made this ghee three times, a true Goldilocks process, before getting it absolutely perfect. But all three are delicious. Ghee doesn’t disappoint.

It’s wicked easy once you understand how butter cooks. You’re basically clarifying butter, then letting it cook longer until the milk solids caramelize, giving it the unique nutty flavor and sweet aroma only found in ghee.

Clarifying butter, like many other processes in cooking, was borne out of a need to preserve. The process separates the milk solids from the butter fats, resulting in a much longer shelf life. In India, refrigeration is generally not an option, and by taking their butter one step further, it has a shelf life at room temperature for up to 1 year. Indians, my relatives among them, claim if it’s made by expert hands it will last 100 years.

Ghee vs. Butter
According to Ayurveda, ghee is very rejuvenating, and has many health-giving properties. Ghee is the most easily digestible of the cooking fats and oils. Contrary to popular Western belief, ghee is not simply something yummy to spread on toast or cook with potatoes. It is a staple in India, and can be used as a substitute for butter or oil in cooking when the dish is going to be served warm or hot. Ghee, like most oils, can be cooked at higher temperatures than butter without burning, but due to its lower melting point, it’s not the best fat to bake a cake with.

Here are a couple example of recipes where I would use ghee in place of butter or oil: Stewed Apples, Kichidi, on toast, Stews, Omelettes, Dals, Vegetables, or desserts like bread pudding.

For more, check out these recipes. Also, check out our post on how to make butter to make a truly homemade ghee out of a delicious cream.

How to make ghee
2 pounds unsalted butter, easier if in blocks (or check out our post on how to make butter!)

Tools:
Heavy-bottomed sauce pan
Unbleached fine cheese cloth
Metal funnel
Wooden spoon
Glass container with clasping lid that can withstand heat

Tips:
Purchasing unsalted butter in blocks instead of sticks makes the unwrapping process much easier. Ghee, like butter, tastes differently depending on the source. So don’t go out and buy cheap butter just because you’re making it in bulk. Remember, the ghee will last for a year. Even if you cook it a little too long or not enough, as long as you didn’t burn it, keep it. If it’s overcooked, taste it once it sets. On the flip side, if the milk solids didn’t caramelize, you made clarified butter. So congrats, just store it in the fridge and use it within 1-2 months.

When you stir the butter, you need to glide your spoon across the bottom of the pan, and scrape up any of the milk solids that have settled so they don’t stick and burn. This is important from the point when the butter starts boiling on. Making ghee is a patient, observant, and peaceful process, so let it be just that.

To measure doneness, check the photo to the left. The first row in the color chart is the liquid once it’s been strained into the container, and the second row is right before it’s removed from the heat. You can see the color is retained. You’re looking for the butter to go from yellow (on the left), to a slight orange (middle column). If it gets to the darker brown (right column), you’ve gone a little too far.

Note on time:
If you’re using less butter, this process will go faster. It also depends on the diameter of your pan. A smaller pan will cook the butter more slowly, but require more attention. But if the pan is too big and the butter too thinly dispersed, the ghee can easily stick and burn. For two pounds, a 10″ sauce pan is just perfect. So you can adjust from there.

Step 1 – Unwrap the butter and setup shop
Unwrap the butter and cut into chunks (4 or 5 per stick, etc). Heat the butter on medium-low to low in the sauce pan. Set a timer for 45 minutes.

Fold your cheese cloth so there are four layers, and lay it in the strainer. Don’t wait until the last minute to do this, as there won’t be time! Place the bottle in the sink, and set the strainer propped in its mouth.

Step 2 – Melt the butter
Within the first 8-10 minutes, the butter will melt. Give it a stir with your spoon to see where it’s at, and then let it sit.

Step 3 – Butter begins to froth and then boil
Within the next 5 minutes, the butter will begin to froth. Give it a stir, and continue stirring every minute from now on. Glide your spoon across the bottom at this point, and kick up the milk solids.

Around 15-18 minutes, the butter will start to boil, and continue for the next 7-10 minutes, first hard, then more gently. Stir consistently. After about 30 minutes, the boil will slow. The butter will start to smell like clarified butter, and you’ll want to dunk a lobster in it.

Step 4 – Milk solids separate
At this point (30-35 minutes), the sea of foam will part, and the milk solids will begin to clump together. Watch the edges of the pan at this point. You will notice their change in color as the milk solids cook and finally caramelize. The aroma will be stronger still, but still like butter.

Step 5 – Milk solids begin to caramelize
The last 8-10 minutes, you need to watch the edges of the pan carefully, and observe the change in color. Continue to stir and scrape. The surface should be mostly clear. If you’re unsure of where things are at, scoop up some solids from the bottom and check its color. If it’s still white or light tan, you’ve got 5 more minutes to go. You are waiting for the butter to turn into a beautiful orange color, the milk solids to caramelize into a light-to-medium brown, and most noticeably, fizzy bubbles to form on the surface of the butter. The aroma will change slightly, smelling more sweet and caramel-y. Be ready with your strainer.

Step 6 – Those fizzy bubbles, strain!
Once bubbles begin to form on the surface, right around 45 minutes, pull up some solids from the bottom and check the edges. They should be medium brown. Take the butter off the heat immediately and strain, as it will continue to cook until you get it out of the pan. When straining, you can dump all of the brown solids on top of your cheese cloth, but make sure none gets into the ghee. You will have a tiny film on the bottom, but ah, c’est la vie. It’ll still keep for a year.

Step 7 – Patience, it needs to set
Keep the lid open until it completely cools (left, cooled; right, just strained and still hot). Setting can take up to 12 hours. Eat it, love it, become converted like me. Ghee rules.

Now that you’ve made ghee, find out where to go from here.

Note on the finished product:
Once it is set, you should have a smooth, light golden color (properly cooked it’s more gold than yellow from the caramelization) solid that is uniform throughout. It should stay solid at room temp (65-75F).

………Troubleshooting – What went wrong?………

My ghee smells burnt and is dark amber in color. This means you cooked the ghee a little too long and in the process burned the milk solids, which gives the ghee a burnt taste. This is the only case, really, where you’d want to toss your ghee and start again. If you do, make sure to cook the ghee on a low temperature and really watch for a color change. Turn on all the lights and look into the pot!

I can only find salted butter. You can still make delicious ghee with salted butter. And no, it won’t be salty.

The butter will froth a bit more during the steps in the instructions where I would indicate it should bubble. Make your ghee in a slightly larger pot to prevent the froth from overflowing, and give it a stir when it does froth up to bring it down in volume. If you’re worried about overflow, you can also just take it off the heat for a moment and stir and things will calm down. The resulting ghee will taste fabulous but have a slightly gritty texture. Also, those milk solids, don’t eat ‘em. That’s where all the salt will go! Pour those puppies down the drain.

I can only find butter with emulsifiers and other ingredients in it. I would not suggest making ghee from anything other than real, pure butter. I would not suggest making it from spreadable butters, those with emulsifiers or added vitamins, minerals, you name it. Anything that gives it texture will turn gummy and gross in the pan; any added vitamins, etc, will give it an off flavor and probably be destroyed in the process anyways. You just want real, old-fashioned butter. If you can’t find the stuff, here’s a real simple way to make it from cream.

My ghee has separated, or has white spots or is not uniform in color. This is usually a cooling problem. You want to let your ghee sit at room temperature with the lid cocked (to prevent particles falling in) enough to allow the cooling to happen naturally. You don’t want to stick hot ghee in the fridge, put it in front of an open window, or seal it prematurely. All these things aren’t bad, necessarily, but they will affect the color and sometimes cause the liquid to separate from the solid.

But hell, my aunt, who taught me how to make ghee, sometimes makes hers where the liquid and solid are completely separate. And a good friend of ours sells the most delicious ghee and only recently has he been able to streamline the cooling process and prevent little white spots from forming. So don’t fuss too much. It’s all ghee and it’s all good.