The recipe: p104, "Bengali-Style Aubergine Cooked in Yoghurt"
Another book bought with good intentions but largely untouched ever since. The "Made Easy" promised by the title means many of the recipes are almost too simple in places, or involve shortcuts or alternative ingredients and combinations that don't particularly appeal - so when I'm in the mood for something Indian, I find myself reverting to my trusty folder of downloaded recipes instead (or turning to Madhur Jaffrey's Curry Easy, but we'll probably get to that one at some point...).
Today's recipe is a case in point. Essentially a lunch or side dish, for all I love aubergines, the prospect of a yoghurt-based dish involving the vegetable would never have appealed to me enough to actually make it if it hadn't been for the fickle finger of
The prep: The recipe calls for small "Japanese-style" aubergines, which the local Sri Lankan corner shop is happy to provide. Otherwise it's all standard stuff. The most daunting part is, once again, the sheer amount of washing-up there's going to be afterwards - two bowls, a frying pan and a saucepan at the very least, and all for some poxy aubergines in yoghurt. This had better not be shit.
The making: The aubergines are sliced into rounds, tossed in turmeric, salt and chilli powder, and fried until soft and glowing. Anjum says, "You may have to do this in two batches". I say, "You will have to do this in two batches unless you own a frying pan the size of a garden table." The aubergines are then left to drain on some kitchen paper.
Plain yoghurt is beaten with some sugar and chilli powder, then added to a saucepan. And that's where the problems begin. "Heat, stirring, over a low heat until warm" is the next instruction. Even on a very careful heat, though, the yoghurt promptly does what yoghurt does and curdles.
That can't be good |
After five minutes of further yoghurt destruction in the guise of "heating", the aubergine is added along with some ground cumin seeds and chopped coriander. The whole thing is cooked for another minute then taken off the heat, then a last spoonful or two of (mercifully intact) yoghurt is added before the dish is served.
The eating: Flexing my turd-polishing muscles, I decide to make a loose effort at presenting the resulting mess in an attractive manner.
(ish) |
Moreover, with every bite my brain keeps screaming you're eating curdled yoghurt, you moron. No dish can recover from that.
I'm not convinced I'd have enjoyed it any more if things had gone right, though - like I say, the other flavours and textures are peculiar too (even the ones that are supposed to be like that...). Anjum describes the dish as "mild and creamy but confident and versatile". I'd have gone with "cloyingly sweet and overly rich and just a bit weird really".
Reader, I must be honest with you: I did not clear my plate, I did throw away the rest, and I will not be making this again even without accompanying dairy disasters.
One-word verdict:
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