Jalabi, Kheer, or Gulab Jamun?

For my birthday this year, my husband and my dad took me to dinner at a fairly new Indian (India, not Native American) restaurant in our area Abhiruchi. I had read a review of it in the local paper and thought it would be fun to try. As we walked in the door, it seemed like I had stepped back in time to one of my favorite places in the entire world – Singapore’s Little India. I felt as though I had crossed my arms, closed my eyes, wiggled my nose, nodded my head, and magically been transported & rematerialized (yes, I know I’m mixing my metaphors) on the bustling streets I loved as a teenager.

It was when I was living in Singapore that I learned to eat and enjoy Indian food. We frequented a restaurant that we affectionately called The Banana Leaf. It must have had a proper name, something Indian no doubt, but I have no recollection of what that name might have been.

My very first trip to Little India was NOT love at first sight. In fact, I distinctly remember being terrified when we stepped off the bus on Serangoon Road and were enveloped by it. There was so much happening at once that I was completely overwhelmed. I dared not lose hold of my companions for fear of be swept away in the crowd!

Little India was loud. Shopkeepers shouted invitations to step into their hole-in-the-wall and check out their many wares. Clangy, bangy, pointy music blared and clashed from each shop. Cars, buses, taxis, bicycles, and trucks fought for space on the street often veering dangerously close to the sidewalks; all the while, tooting their horns in warning. There were people everywhere! Hurrying, pushing, dodging each other and darting across the street. Smells, pungent smells, some enticing and wonderful, others burned the hairs in your nose on the way past; all surrounded us – many I had never encountered before. Flashy brilliant colors, glinting brass, swirling silk saris, and the blazing sun assaulted our eyes. We struggled through the crowds and humid heat up the street experiencing sensory overload.

 

Relief came as we slipped into an alcove that lead us to a set of very steep stairs. It was quiet and calming. Cool air floated down on us from the air-conditioned room above. That stairwell was a little haven from the streets. I remember grabbing the hand rail for assistance as we rose into the unknown/unfamiliar and being disgusted and horrified to find that it was greasy. Once we reached the top of those stairs, we were back into the fray of Little India again.

It was noisy and crowded. But, we were quickly seated at a long table. A banana leaf was unceremoniously flopped down in front of each person. Rice, dal, sambar, raita, tamrind chutney, mango pickle, a variety of vegetable curries, and rasam were plopped out onto the banana leaf by men (clad in flowing white tunics and baggy pants) that carried buckets of the stuff from person to person, table to table. Only one little spoonful of each. Next came the man with baskets of nann, papadam, and poori. Again, only one small piece of each. I was beginning to think we would be going away hungry. I need not have worried! Next came the huge crispy, but soft on the inside, masala dosa with it’s filling of thick curry. And, more and more.

We had been very carefully instructed before arriving to only use the right hand when eating a meal at The Banana Leaf. (Think about it for a minute, it will come to you.) Even though I was wide-eyed and speechless, I couldn’t help giggling to myself as I imagined my left-handed friend, Darlene, trying to shovel fingertip loads of rice and curry into her mouth with her right hand. I was not disappointed! But, it wasn’t Darlene who entertained me. (I had forgotten that her earliest years were spent in Pakistan…she was a Pro.) No, the entertainment came from the endless parade of other patrons (and I’m sure gawkers from the street below who had heard we were there) that wandered past our table to watch all of us expatriates trying to eat without any utensils. We must have been hysterical to watch. A group of pasty-white teenagers in a room full of locals, scooping up little balls of curry decorated rice into our fingers and trying to transport it to our mouths without dropping half of it on the way up. Our first tries were clumsy and uncoordinated, but it didn’t take long.

The flavors were amazing; so complex and deep…as though they had been brewing for days. I knew Indian food was hot (spicy). But I was not prepared for the intensity that heat! It took my breath away and set my mouth on fire. As the first shock wave past, I realized that the potency of that heat was not going to diminish any time soon. It was like a love/hate thing. I loved the flavors. But, I had to pay for it – in painful heat units on the Scoville Scale. I don’t know that they actually used the bhut jolokia chili (which has over a million heat units) or not. But it sure felt like it! The yoghurt sauce became my best friend. It was the best (and worst) meal I ever ate. Kind of like watching a train wreck…you don’t want to see, but you can’t stop looking.

What an experience! Those bucket bearing servers just kept coming back over and over again. By the time we were ready to leave we could just barely stager toward the stairs – stuffed to the gills. As I grabbed for the handrail to steady myself on the way down, it suddenly dawned on me why that handrail was so greasy!

We ate at The Banana Leaf many many times after that. And it became a favorite. All those sights, sounds, smells, and crush of people became welcomed sensations. But that first experience was unforgettable.

My birthday dinner took me back to that place, to that experience, with all the happy bits and none of the scary bits. I was glad to be reminded of my initiation to Indian food. We ate a very satisfying meal of Bhindi Masala, Vegetable Masala, and Mutter Paneer. Our last decision of the evening was to choose between Jalabi, Kheer or Gulab Juman for dessert.

All of which reminded me of a wonderful recipe that was passed along to me by Darlene.  It’s Indian name might be Aloo Gobi or Aloo Mutter.  I’m not sure.  The recipe card I have, which I copied from Darlene, just says Potato Curry.

Potato Curry

INGREDIENTS

2	med onions, minced
⅓	cup vegetable oil
3	cloves garlic, minced
1	Bay leaf
¾	t saffron
3	t curry powder
1	t cumin
1	t coriander seed
1½	t kosher salt
½	t ginger
1	red chili
3	cups water
⅓	cup diced cauliflower
7	potatoes, peeled & diced
2	cups peas
¼	t cloves
¼	t cinnamon
1	t garlic powder
1	T coriander leaf (crushed)

Directions

1.     Sauté onion and garlic in oil.

2.     Add bay leaf, saffron, curry powder, cumin, coriander seed, salt, ginger, and chili.  Continue cooking until spices begin to bloom (release their aroma).  Add water, cauliflower, and potatoes.  Cook until potatoes are almost done.

3.     Add peas.  Cook until potatoes are done.

4.     Just before serving, add cloves, cinnamon, garlic powder, and coriander leaf.