Masala, take one.
How is it that no one has invented smell-o vision by now?!
You start by roasting the spices.
Cumin, cardamom, black pepper and cloves. Corriander, nutmeg, ginger and saffron. Each takes its turn being chopped, peeled, toasted, and pulverized, then painstakingly combined in precise proportions. When you’re all done, you have what looks like a little pile of dust, but don’t be discouraged, because it’s so much more.
Called garam masala, this blend is one of the pillars of Indian cooking. I made it this week as part of a samosa recipe I was testing out for our going away party, and it was wonderful. Sure, I could have bought some ready made, or even skipped the whole project and ordered takeout, but I chose to do everything the (really) long way in the hope that it would teach me something about India. Here’s what I came up with.
Even as a professional chef, Indian food has always intimidated me. It is not uncommon for a recipe to have 30 or 40 ingredients, many of which are spices you’ve probably heard of but couldn’t identify if you saw them. Fenugreek, asafoetida, mango powder and kokum dance gracefully around one another, their layers of flavor coaxed out by roasting, toasting, grinding and soaking. Flavors this complex don’t just happen, and as I took my first wobbly steps into the culinary tradition of the subcontinent, I found myself dazzled by its intricacies.
This is a tradition where subtlety reigns. The same spice can taste a dozen different ways depending on how it is prepared and what it is combined with. Spices are ground with mortar and pestle because they TASTE better that way. Convenience is not a priority. This is food that takes all day to prepare, and doesn’t apologize for it. It audaciously suggests that there is nothing more important, really, than feeding the people you love, and feeding them well.
If this is any indication, I think I’m going to like India very much.