Goat curry

Bengalis celebrate Durga Puja, a ten day festival symbolizing the triumph of good over evil, around the autumnal equinox each year.  Durga Puja commemorates when Goddess Durga, the face of purity, strength, beauty, and power, defeats the almighty Mashishashura, the evilest of all demons.  In Kolkata, this event proves to be an epic and joyous time every year.  No other time can young adolescents roam the streets of Kolkata all hours of the night, safely surrounded by the rest of the community singing and dancing along with them. The festive crowds, bright colors, fireworks, dancing, merriment, the feasting -- it all brings a smile to my face and my heart. How beautiful that such a holiday can bring together so many people from all over the world.

As the story goes, Maa Durga visits her parents every year for five days starting on the sixth day of the festival, or Shashti.  During this time, she is adorned with flowers and lovingly offered food, drink, and entertainment.  Everyone shows up in their best, most colorful and intricately designed saris and kurta pajama sets, and women show off fancy new earrings and other accessories.  Friends and family members reunite after many months or years apart and exchange generous gifts.  To prepare for one last feast before Durga returns home, the community sacrifices a goat on the ninth day (Mahanavami).  After hours of marinating and stewing the goat, family and friends gather communally to enjoy a lavish meal, perhaps one of the last before having to return to the humdrum of a routine work life.  Growing up in Houston, the priest sacrificed a sugar cane branch, in lieu of a goat, to offer to the goddess on the ninth day.

...and then, of course, the feasting begins!!

I've mentioned a time or two that my mother shows her love through cooking, and growing up, she would often make us goat curry for special occasions.  This was an extensive process, as you can imagine.  Her fresh supply of goat required a long drive to a family-owned butcher shop called Fyza's, which sadly no longer exists.  She and my father would haul home several pounds of goat, which was then cut, cleaned, and stored for future use.  When it came time, the meat was marinated and stewed for a whole day, tickling our senses.  Hints of garlic, onion, tomatoes, garam masala, and soft, gamey goat would permeate the entire house as it cooked on the stove for several hours.  While visiting Houston, my mother used to make pounds of goat curry, which she subsequently froze and packed into a suitcase for me to carry back to Atlanta.  "You don't get good food out there.  You don't have time to cook," she'd say.  I think she was well aware that neither was true, but this was how she showed her love.  Plus, I never turn down a good batch of goat curry, or my mother's cooking for that matter, let's be honest.

I've only made goat curry twice now and it's largely because I don't know where to get fresh goat in Atlanta.  I really haven't been impressed with any of the butchers I've been to around here (suggestions welcome, folks).  The last time I was in Houston a few months ago, though, I jumped at the opportunity to take a few pounds of goat back to Atlanta so I could make a pot of goat curry for my husband and myself to celebrate Durga Puja.  (Don't worry, the meat was frozen for the two hour flight, so it stayed fresh.)

Since I was going for a traditional Bengali dinner, I also whipped up some khichuri (a comforting mix of rice, moong dal, and spices with a porridge-like consistency), potol bhaja (fried pointed gourd), and tandoori chchana (tandoori-flavored blocks of cheese).

Luckily, it was all a success!  And, the goat curry tasted just how my mother makes it -- I was pretty pleased with myself, I must say.

Here's the recipe for the goat curry below:

Ingredients:

-A few cloves of garlic
-1 medium-sized onion (I prefer red or yellow)
-Small cuts of goat (preferably the leg of a younger goat), maybe a few pounds
-1 tbsp turmeric
-1 tbsp garam masala (ground cloves, cinnamon, cardamom - I usually use a coffee grinder to this)
-Plain yogurt
-Fresh ginger root
-1 large tomato
-1 green papaya, peeled, cubed into 2-3 inch blocks
-Salt, pepper to taste
-1 tsp sugar

Marinade:

-Mix enough yogurt to generously coat the goat pieces with roughly chopped tomatoes, onion, and garlic, and add to a blender or food processor.
-Add salt, pepper (I use whole peppercorns for a bit of a kick), 1 tbsp of turmeric, and 1 tsp of sugar to the mixture and blend until smooth.
-Marinate the meat in the blended mixture. It's nice to do this for at least a few hours.

Preparation:

-Toast the garam masala in a large pot (large enough to hold all of the meat plus more) until you smell the fragrant aroma of the spices (usually about a minute or less)
-Add the marinated goat, cover the pot, and cook on medium-high heat until the mixture starts bubbling and the meat is no longer raw.  You should notice more significantly more liquid in the pot after a while from the tomatoes and yogurt.
-Add a generous amount (maybe a handful?) of fresh, grated ginger and the green papaya cubes
-Add more water if you want the stew to be more "soupy" (optional).
-Cover again and let simmer for 3-5 hours, until the meat has softened.

*Note: If your meat is a little older and/or tougher, you may want to cook it the pressure cooker prior to preparing the stew.  This ensures the meat is soft and tender.

*Note 2: Some of you might be cringing because there are no potatoes in this recipe.  I actually prefer goat preparations without potatoes, but with lots of "kaacha pepe" (green papaya).  It tenderizes the meat so well, melts into the stew, and makes the dish a little healthier.

Payesh

There was a period during my early childhood when we didn't really have a lot of material possessions.  We always had enough to eat and a place to stay, but there were no frills or sense of extravagance.  Life was simple.  Despite these frugal circumstances, we always enjoyed a simple home-baked cake (out of a box, of course, since neither my mother nor I seem to have great baking skills) and a bowl of payesh on our birthday growing up.  Payesh, known as "kheer" in Hindi, can be described as a milk-based pudding often served with rice (chaler payesh), small pieces of rolled up dough (chushi payesh), homemade blocks of chchana or cheese (chchanaar payesh), or cream of wheat (shuji payesh).  Although many south Asian cuisines incorporate payesh as a common dessert, Bengalis openly boast about their ability to make it "just right."  It's true, too -- my mother and I agree, without reservation, that the extra time we put into slaving over a pot of boiling milk, stirring until the consistency is just perfect, seems completely worth it.  Here are two recipes for payesh below.

1. Chaler payesh (rice pudding)


2. Shuji payesh (cream of wheat pudding)

Tandoori chicken: a staple of my childhood

My mother has cooked tandoori chicken at home for as long as I can remember.  Admittedly, she hasn't made it in many years, but it certainly served as a staple during many weekday dinners and summer cookouts and proved to be a hit with us as young children.  Packed with flavor, tandoori chicken also happens to be remarkably easy to make, making it an especially appealing choice for a main dish on a busy week night.

I distinctly remember my parents being overly concerned about my eating habits during college.  They visited me a lot the first few years I left home after high school, probably in fear that I would wither away from eating the awful cafeteria food offered in my college dorm.  When visiting, my mother made sure to pack at least two weeks worth of food for me to stow away in the tiny mini-fridge I shared with my roommate (much to her chagrin).  She always seemed to include tandoori chicken, carefully packaged in large Ziploc freezer bags for easy storage.  My friends loved it, too -- I would often share with them when I had a fresh supply.  This was also one of the first dishes my mom showed me how to prepare when learning to cook.  When I moved into my first apartment with two of my closest college friends and had to fend for myself in the kitchen, I often made tandoori chicken for myself and my roommates.

I now have other tandoori recipes but one of my fondest memories involving tandoori chicken actually involves our sweet pup, Sasha, a Jack Russell terrier who sadly passed away a little over a year ago.  Sasha was a sweet, well-mannered dog whose athleticism kept us on our toes and whipped us up into the best shape of our lives.  Our sweet Sasha had a bit of a wild side, too -- she regularly stalked small animals, like birds and squirrels, and often patiently schemed over several hours to execute elaborate plans to get what she wanted.  Here's an example.

A few years ago, I bought some cornish hens to make some tandoori chicken for my husband, Joe, and me. We shared a scrumptious meal, while Sasha stared us down from afar, silently "pleading" with us to give her just one morsel. I'm almost certain we gave her a tiny bit before cleaning up the kitchen and deconstructing the meat from the chicken bones. I threw away the chicken "carcass" (i.e. bones and some skin) in the pantry trash can before going to bed that night. As usual, Sasha climbed onto bed and under the covers (she curled up in her usual spot in the crook of my knees) before we fell fast asleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I suddenly woke to find Sasha missing. I called her to check in and make sure she was all right, but heard no response. I called a few more times, "Sasha bear!" but still, no sound. Panicked, I jumped out of my bed, fearful that she had fallen and broken a bone or suddenly gotten ill. What I found was a sly Jack Russell Terrier in the middle of the living room with her two front paws on a chicken carcass. "SASHA." I said in an accusatory tone. "What do you think you're DOING?" She looked up with an anxious look on her face, as if to say, "Gulp, I've been caught!"

I followed the trail of chicken carcass to the pantry trash can, which she knocked over to carefully and quietly dig out the meat bones without my knowing. Only Sasha would scheme in all hours of the night and wait until I fell asleep to initiate her awesome plan.  Even she wanted a little piece of that tender, juicy, flavorful chicken.  And who could blame her?

Quote from the Taittiriya Upanishad

From Brahman came space; from space, air;
From air, fire; from fire, water; from water,
Earth; from earth, plants; from plants, food;
and from food,
The human body, head, arms, legs, and heart.

From food are made all bodies, which become
Food again for others after their death.
Food is the most important of all things
For the body; therefore it is the best
Medicine for all the body's ailments.
They who look upon food as the Lord's gift
Shall never lack life's physical comforts.
From food are made all bodies. All bodies
Feed on food, and it feeds on all bodies.

The physical sheath is made up of food.
Within it is contained the vital sheath,
Which has the same form, with prana as head,
Vyana as right arm, apana as left,
Space as heart, and earth as foundation.

...

The vital sheath is made of living breath.
Within it contained the mental sheath,
Which has the same form,

...

Within the mental sheath, made up of waves
Of thought, there is contained the sheath of wisdom.
It has the same form, with faith as the head,
Righteousness as right arm and truth as left,
Practice of meditation is its heart,
And discrimination its foundation.

~Taittiriya Upanishad

.........................................................................


And that is why cooking and serving others with love, devotion, and pure intentions not only fosters a healthy body, but encourages a productive mind and kind heart, and brings people closer together than ever before.  Food helps people come together as a community; when shared with those we love, it facilitates the making of indelible memories.  Let us share some of those memories together.