An unending chorus

Lightly toasted; an adapted Irish soda bread slathered with butter and black raspberry preserves, served on my Grandmother's china.

When I married my husband, I adopted his surname. Lucky for me, attached to that marvelous man was a name that suited my own and came with an added bonus - an apostrophe as its crown. And so, on our wedding day, my Indian self became an Irish girl.

At birth each of our sons were claimed by their history, given names which carry meaning in our respective families. As the boys grow, I am time and again amazed by the echoes of their heritage as they become evident. William's smile is the replica of his father's at the same age. Benjamin's eyes carry my expressions. Family members tell stories of relatives we have never known, and how they are mirrored now in our children.

I am struck by the wonder of it, the way that traits find their way through bloodlines, inextricably weaving generations together in repeating pattern. It is an unending chorus, sung in round, sung back.

Our sense of identity is in constant evolution; carrying on and adding on, as we move forward in lives and relationships. Despite this change, we often remember back as we move ahead - gesture a nod of acknowledgement to the clans, countries and cultures from which we came.

Although I cannot pretend to be an expert Indian cook, I do attempt to speak that language of spice in our kitchen. My chicken curry might not exactly be my father's, but it is the one my children will know as "theirs". I have made a refrain of my commitment to maintaining that vocabulary of food, so that it will remain familiar.

With the day for St. Patrick approaching next week, my thoughts took a Gaelic turn. Irish might make up only a fraction of our family, but its brand upon us is indisputable - therefore it seemed proper to herald the feast of the patron saint of Ireland. Ever-present on the Irish table, hearty, satisfying soda bread made its way to our plates, with its unassuming stature and nubbled crumb. Although its rough-hewn crust seems substantial, its cheeks are tender. Soda bread is heavier textured than a scone, and with a flavour more subtly-complex than the all-out buttery-ness of a biscuit.

The romantic side of me wants to say that the reason my sons and husband enjoyed this bread so much was because of some genetic predisposition - a subconscious recognition of an ancient root in their geneology. That may be the case, or it might have just been some good bread. Either way, the intent was there; a meal to celebrate not one day, but all those that had passed before.

Irish-ish soda bread
Traditional Irish soda bread only contains flour, buttermilk, baking soda and salt. This version uses a mix of flours, along with oats for texture, and an egg for richness. Since I more often than not have yogurt in the fridge, I have used it as my liquid. A quick bake in high heat allows you to have bread on the table, from start to finish, in about an hour.

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats (large flake, not instant)
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons golden (light) brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 cups yogurt (I use non-fat)
1 large egg, lightly beaten
4 tablespoons (1/4 cup, 1/2 stick) cold, unsalted butter, diced

Preheat oven to 425°F (220°C). Line a standard baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, oats, salt, sugar, baking powder and baking soda.

In a small bowl, whisk together the yogurt and egg. Set aside.

Using a pastry cutter, two knives or your fingers, cut the butter into the flour cutting and work the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in the yogurt, mixing until you have a rough dough. Use your hands to turn and lightly knead the bread in the bowl, incorporating all the dry ingredients.

Working quickly, turn the dough onto a lightly-floured work surface and knead gently for about 30 seconds; the dough should be soft and elastic. Form the dough into a boule, about 8-inches across with a gentle dome and slightly-flattened top. Dust the surface of the bread with a sprinkling of flour, then use a sharp knife to slash a shallow cross from edge to edge of the loaf. Transfer bread to prepared baking sheet.

Bake for 35-45 minutes, or until the bread is golden brown and sounds hollow when tapped on the bottom. If the crust gets too dark during baking, tent loosely with foil. Cool on a rack for at least 10 minutes, then enjoy.

Makes 1 loaf.

Notes:

• The dough make take a few turns in the bowl to fully come together. If only absolutely necessary, add a bit more yogurt, a teaspoon at a time, to incorporate all the dry ingredients. Work the dough as gently as possible.

A little bit about the girl behind the curtain

I have been recently tagged for two memes, both with cookbooks and cooking on the mind. For ease of reading, and to preserve my already scattered brain, I've combined the two (my apologies if this violates some esteemed meme rule that I'm not aware of).

First off, the Cook Next Door meme, thoughtfully created by Nicky and Oliver over at the gorgeous site Delicious Days, and brought to my attention by Reid of 'Ono Kine Grindz.

What's your first memory of baking/cooking on your own?

It wasn’t entirely on my own, but I remember a batch of cookies I made with my great-aunt when I was about six or younger. I told her that we had made chocolate cookies in school, and that they were tasty. I then proceeded to tell her the recipe — as per the memory of a six year old. In her support of my budding interest, she helped me gather my ingredients and supervised as I mixed, dumped and sampled the project. Please note, measuring was not involved. Nor were eggs, I don’t think. I remember the cookies were hard as a rock and would not come off the sheet, but my aunt patiently pried them off and declared them delicious. I’m amazed she didn’t chip a tooth.

Who had the most influence on your cooking?

This is a very tough one to answer. From my youth, I’d have to say the women in my life: my mother, my grandmother and my best friend’s mother next door. From my mother I learned to be fearless with food, to eat from street vendors and happily get my fingers stuck into a mess. From my grandmother, I learned about comfort, foods that had history to her, and how to make the perfect scrambled eggs. From the lady next door, I learned to love all things Italian (a cuisine far removed from my own Anglo-Indian palate); veal scallopini, hearty pastas and Easter breads.

Today, my food influences are evolving. My father, who was always one for culinary improvisation, has taken over a lot of the cooking at my parents house. From him, I’ve learned the exacting art to sandwich making, how to perfect roast beef, and how to look at tried and true ingredients with a fresh perspective. I’m also more influenced by the foods and tastes of my friends, picking and choosing elements of cuisines to add to my own repertoire.

Do you have an old photo as "evidence" of an early exposure to the culinary world?

I don’t have one here, but I will get back to you.

Mageiricophobia - do you suffer from any cooking phobia, a dish that makes your palms sweat?

Not a dish per se, but attempting some of the tried-and-true recipes family recipes terrifies me. My family is not one to write things down often, preferring the “bit of this, dash of that” method. For example, my father has told me his keema recipe a million times, but I never can get the taste right — it never tastes like home. Maybe I need to make it with him, or maybe I need to make it more often. Or maybe I should just keep eating at their house.

I used to be terrified of roasting chicken; making sure it was properly cooked so that I did not inadvertently poison a loved one. After perfecting my method (and finally buying a meat thermometer) I am cured.

What are your most valued or used kitchen gadgets and/or what was the biggest letdown?

The chef’s knife my parents gave me for Christmas years ago — so many years ago, that I cannot remember the year. It was my first real chef’s knife, all my own. Admittedly, I knicked my palm when I took it out (how’s that for a Christmas morning memory), but now it is an extension of my arm when I’m cooking. Since then I’ve received a lovely full set of professional knives, but I still go back to my first love. There is something about it’s weight and balance that simply feels right in my hand.

Biggest disappointment?

Besides the Henkels herb contraption Michele mentioned, I would have to say my double bladed mezzaluna from Williams-Sonoma. It is a thing of beauty, really, but too bad it is not nearly sharp enough. It turns herbs into a sodden mass wedged between the blades.

Name some funny or weird food combinations/dishes you really like - and probably no one else does.

Cilantro in my tuna salad — is that weird? That is the way my father made it when I was growing up, and so it is the only way I really enjoy it. Full of finely minced onions and lots of pepper, too. It is worth the bad breath for the taste of my Dad’s tuna salad.

When I was little, all the kids loved my mother’s peanut butter sandwiches. She was known for making the best sandwiches in the neighborhood. Her secret? Butter and peanut butter on the bread. Sounds like cardiac suicide, but I’m telling you, it was tasty. I think it was the saltiness of the butter that worked against the sweetness of the peanuts. Honestly, years later, I’ll run into someone from my childhood and they’ll mention my mother’s sandwiches. Every once in a while, I still crave them.

What are the three edibles or dishes you simply don't want to live without?

I do not know if this fits the “dish” criteria, but my favorite meals are ones when we head to the market, basket in hand, and visit our favorite purveyors. We come home laden with cheeses, breads, some cured meats and simply sit down and feast. I have a heartfelt passion for these afternoons.

Masala dosas, wrapped in banana leaves, from street vendors in India. Or really, my mom's dosas. These thin crêpes, filled with spiced potatoes and peas, have always been a favorite of mine. I remember on a train trip when I was about eight, all I wanted was a dosa. At the next station, my father gestured someone over to the window and ordered. With lightning speed, the man assembled my treat and passed it over. I greedily tore open the leaf, tore off a bit of dosa, scooped up the potatoes and shoved my fist into my mouth. Then I started to cry. It seems the man had put some firey green chili chutney onto the dosa without my father noticing. If that didn’t turn me off of them, then it must be love.

A hot cup of tea with condensed milk, like my mom makes when I am sick or sad.

Any question you missed in this meme that you would have loved to answer? Well then, feel free to add one!

Your favorite ice-cream.
Mango-peach frozen yogurt in a waffle cone from a place in Niagara on the Lake, Ontario, or pretty much anything chocolate.

You will definitely never eat...

I don’t know if I can really say never, but I'm not chomping at the bit to try natto — after all the accounts I’ve read, I’ve not come across a report of anyone falling in love at first bite. The consistency throws me off a bit.

Your own signature dish...

I wish it was more complicated, but really, probably a simple pavlova. They are loved by my family, and are frequently requested.

And now, a Cookbook meme courtesy of a tag by Michele — I’m unsure of its origin (please feel free to enlighten me).

How many cookbooks do I own?

Is lots an acceptable answer? I have got a bookcase full here, but there are also the books I have leant out and the books I sentimentally have claimed from my family’s collection (even if they are not aware of my designs as of yet). I also have an addiction to food magazines, with some kept in their own little dividers, and others pillaged for recipes and recompiled in recipe binders. I’m quite particular about my binders, and recently overhauled the whole system. Yes, I have issues.

The last cookbook I bought?

The Instant Cook by Donna Hay. I have a few of her books, and snapped up a copy of her latest about a month ago. I admire the simplicity of her presentations and the variety of her tastes.

The last food book I read?

I’ve recently returned to Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid. I have owned the book for a while, but I picked it up again. I love how immersed they are in the culture and heritage of the foods they explore. Evocative and appetizing, this book is a feast for the eyes, taste buds and the soul.

Five cookbooks that hold a place in my heart?

Instead of answering this question, I have given myself a little assignment. For the month of July (after I post my Taste Canada entry) I will explore five of my favorite cookbooks, taking a week or so for each. I have not selected the five, so I’ll be surprised along with all of you at the results.

Both these memes are already highly popular, and so many of the people I had planned on tagging have already participated. If you would like to be tagged, please let me know in the comments section.

Tag! Catherine, from the lovely Food Musings has been tagged to participate in either (or both) memes listed here. Let's show her some love!

Everything starts somewhere

Years ago, I was inspired by the foods of my family; the diverse offerings from around the globe that ended up at our table, the stack of cookbooks in the corner of our kitchen, the improvised meals on the run Mom packed for family trips. Back then, when it came to those cookbooks, I was drawn to the classic snobbery of fine dining. I would read them like novels, pouring over the notes with each recipe, memorizing details about Escoffier, imagining menus for the extremely elegant parties I would someday host.

Since then, my tastes have mellowed a bit. I’ll admit I’m still one to ignore my account balance when eating out in a new city, but simple home cooking, pared down flavours and unpretentious dining are my new personal aspirations. I still read cookbooks like novels, and treasure certain classic tomes, but the most food-splattered and dog eared are those that emphasize quality ingredients and simple preparations.

I’m at a culinary crossroads – a few years off from thirty, I’ve said goodbye to my parents’ table (except on Sundays), and a student diet of fast food and pasta has had its day. I am now at a point where I’m starting to establish the way I cook, the flavours that figure heavily in my palate, and the recipes that are slowly becoming my repertoire.

There is an anthology of Canadian Literature called “improved by cultivation”, and this thought has been tugging at my mind lately. I feel like I’m in that process — revisiting the comfort foods of my youth, learning the culinary traditions of the friends I love, and opening up my eyes to the world of food yet explored.

Thanks for the company.