I was craving for something sweet and sour and remembered Gojju Avalakki my friend’s mum used to make. Gojju Avalakki is a savoury (sweet, sour and spicy) mixture made of poha (beaten rice flakes). Making this involves a bare minimum amount of cooking, just boiling a spice water that would be poured over crushed poha. I have done the same using couscous, and was very happy with the result.

So for those looking for barely moving your muscles and yet producing a breakfast/snack that looks like a lot of work has gone into it – give it a shot, besides it has the added glitz of being Indian inspired ‘fusion’ dish

Ingredients for Coucous

1/2 cup couscous
3/4 cup water
1 tsp salt
1 tsp rasam powder
1 tsp tamarind paste
1 tsp jaggery shavings
1/2 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 tsp channa dhal (split chickpea with the skin off)
1/2 tsp urad dhal
1 tbsp raw peanuts
1 spring curry leaves
1 tbsp chopped onions
1 tsp chopped green chilli
2 tsp sesame oil

Method

1. Place the couscous in a large bowl.
2. Mix the salt, rasam powder, jaggery, tamarind paste with the water and bring it to a boil.
3. Pour the hot mixture, over the couscous, cover, and let stand for 5 minutes. The couscous would have absorbed all that spicy, sweet n sour water, fluff it up with a fork, and set a saucepan on the gas on medium flame.
4. Heat oil, and add mustard, urad dhal, channa dhal, and peanuts and stir around until you hear the mustard pop.
5. Now add the green chilli, curry leaves and onions and saute until onions turn pink. Take off the gas and mix this into the couscous, giving it a good stir.
6. Garnish with fresh coriander or any greens of your choice – I used baby mustard
Tip it into your plate and devour!!

Here Comes the Gingerbread Man. from hungry media on Vimeo.

I love the company of dogs… and cats… and plants. When I first left home I not only left behind my human family but also my family menagerie of three dogs, three cats, two rabbits and close to a hundred potted plants. Home to me is a large garden, and a houseful of pets licking, biting, and falling all over me and each other. My love for plants comes from my mother who’s got the greenest thumb I know of, plants thrive by her one touch. Even though every three years my army household moved cantonment to cantonment through the length and breadth 0f India, my mum’s pots and containers moved with us and the sundry animals. They would travel in a giant lorry giving company to our crockery, furniture, bedding, and other miscellaneous household things. Even though the long journey would hardly suit them, and since they were already green they couldn’t go any greener, they would arrive like drama queens at various stages of dying. And my mum would moan and run her fingers across them, and coax them a drink of water and rebuke my dad’s insensitivity a couple of times… and our plants would perk up, happy to be home at last! The most important find at any new station would be the Maali (gardener), and my mum was very particular when it came to hiring for this portfolio, a good maali was always a prized possession in the cantonment. Once the maali was decided upon, my mum and the maali, would work out a seasonal plan, based on which the front yard would be where the flowers went and the backyard would house the kitchen garden. The maali would be usually a beedi smoking, whimsical, philosopher in aged khakhi. I don’t know how gardening and philosophy go hand in hand, but maybe nurturing a seed and watching it take root and literally playing god in a couple of square feet of land must make things appear a little differently.

This year my balcony garden is a sprout jungle! After 6 years of living in Dubai and not succeeding to have a decent container garden that survives the summer here, I have decided to change my approach. No more fancy ornamentals which die on me the minute the sun turns harsh, or have separation anxiety the minute my back’s turned. I have tried very unsuccessfully to grow some herbs in the past, but this time round I sense something new, and optimistic in the air. Last year I was already in awe of Lin – who was growing tomatoes and peppers in her garden – and this year I met Shumaila who’s supremely passionate about growing one’s own food, and so what if all you’ve got is a balcony in a hi-rise. So that is how my little balcony came to house sprouts of a few different kinds. Apparently I am a little late at planting. The frenzy I began to feel in December I should have felt in September, that’s when most of the planting starts, if you want to harvest veggies starting December. But right now I don’t really care and I think if you feel like planting something now go ahead and do it, we still have some great weather all the way up to mid April. Plenty of time.

Just today I harvested a huge bundle of spring onion greens, in just a little over two weeks of work. A quarter of this is what you get for a couple of dirhams at the supermarket, looking limp and insipid. I didn’t start from seed, instead I planted about 6 bulbs that had already sprouted, and they’re doing quite well! I will be planting some more so that I can eat fresh greens throughout this season, sprinkled over salads, into eggs, soups or pasta. I have also planted some red spinach (from roots I saved off some red spinach from the supermarket), mustard (seeds from the kitchen) – I love mustard greens, methi/fenugreek (again from the kitchen), and from store bought seed packets there’s brussel sprouts (germinated), bellpepper (these haven’t germinated at all – its been 3 weeks!), spinach beet (germinated), and carrots (not yet germinated). I got some tomato seeds from Shumaila – will be planting those as well.

Diwali is the Indian festival of lights, and is symbolic for the victory of good over evil. Having grown up in northern India I have experienced Diwali in all its pomp, not so common in my native land Kerala where Diwali celebrations are rather low key. Diwali for me means hot oil baths, smell of deep fried goodies, and great times with friends and neighbours. My mum has a couple of diwali staples, one was nei appam – deep fried dumplings made of a batter of rice flour, mashed bananas, and jaggery, delicately spiced with cardamom, and slivers of coconut hidden between bites. She liked to make these because I think she secretly considered nei appams on a culinary scale higher than the milk based, sugary, fudge like sweets of the North. My brother and I on the other hand waited for Diwali and such for mouthwatering trade offs. Our nei appams for a dabba full of assorted sweet, fudgey barfees. Those days heaven was in a box full of sweets wrapped in yellow cellophane.

The other family tradition was making Kalkal during Diwali. Kalkal is a festive tradition in the Army mess. Its usually made during Christmas – is perhaps a Portuguese legacy, considering Goans make them as well – and is served alongside fat slices of plum cake, ginger wine, or rum punch. But my mum used to make these for Diwali as well, maybe because we loved Kalkals, they really are great fun to make and eat. Following my mother’s culinary legacy I make Kalkals for Diwali and Christmas. Most often these are made with the addition of castor sugar in the flour, but my mum’s way has plain Kalkals rolled in syrup. I think she might have come up with this version because my father’s diabetic, so she could keep some sugar free ones aside for him and roll the rest in cardamom infused syrup. So addictive! And my daughter rolled most of these… so happy making memories.

Ingredients for Kalkal

4 cups AP Flour
1/4 cup semolina
1 tsp salt
1/4 cup oil
1 cup water
Oil for frying

For the syrup:

2 cups sugar
1 cup water
1 tsp cardamom powder

Method

1. Add the salt, and semolina into the AP flour and mix well. Add the oil and mix until you get a bread crumb like texture. Then adding a little water at a time knead into a tight dough. Continue kneading till the dough is smooth. Cover and let the dough rest for 20 minutes.
2. Grease a baking sheet, or a couple of plates.
3. Pinch little bits off the dough and roll into tiny marble sized balls. Place the rolled ball onto the reverse side of a fork and roll, so you get a nice patterned cocoon. Place on your greased tray.

4. Once all the dough is used up, heat oil in a wok and deep fry these goodies. Set aside.
5. Make a syrup by boiling sugar, water, and cardamom, till the sugar is completely dissolved and the sugar reaches a thick syrupy stage.

6. Drop in the fried kalkal in batches coat in the sugar mixture and set aside. Enjoy a delicious and sweet filled Diwali!!

The people at Down to Earth Organic – a new brand of organic products in the UAE – are kindly sponsoring a Diwali giveaway for my Dubai readers. Down to Earth has just opened its first organic store in Jumeirah and the company also provides delivery within Dubai. For more information you can click here. Down to Earth Diwali hamper is a great way to check out what the product is all about.

The Diwali hamper contains:
Organic Wheat Flour
Organic Basmati Super Fine Rice
Organic Fenugreek
Organic Cowpea whole
Organic Black mustard
Organic Salted Cumin cookies
Organic sweet semolina cookies
Organic Chilli powder regular
Organic Cumin Whole
Organic Channa Whole in brine

This Diwali gift is open only to my Dubai readers. All you have to do is leave a comment, tweet about it (and let me know), and/or ‘like’ me on Facebook. This giveaway will close on 26th October 2011 (Diwali day). Happy Diwali all

I am little worried about translating Pradhaman to mean something in English, this has two reasons, firstly ofcourse the obvious, there are no desserts in the West that compares to the Pradhaman, even the rice pudding that the West enjoys gets a little fluidity and a different set of flavours when made in the sub-continent. Secondly, Pradhaman is eaten without the pinky up and preferably without a spoon, five fingers diving in straight into a brown puddle right at the centre of a bright green banana leaf, grabbing whatever it can and transporting to the mouth which then sucks, slurps, and licks, and that is the only way to enjoy this classic dessert. Now that must sound appetizing. Anyway back to what I was saying, the closest Pradhaman comes to a western dish in terms of consistency is porridge, except that pradhaman is eaten at the end of a meal, as a dessert. Here I must add that the Pradhaman is similar to payasam or kheer in its consistency and status in the Indian meal, but the similarity ends there.

Pradhaman is 100% vegan. It is always made with jaggery and coconut milk. And this attribute itself makes Pradhaman a little elite in the company of the common milk based Indian desserts. Pradhaman is not a pan Indian dessert, but is indigenous to Kerala where a place of pride is reserved for this delicious dessert. In Malayalam Pradhaman means “the first one” – and is always the first dessert served at a feast. Just saying “there’s Pradhaman” puts you in a special category of hosts who take pride in serving only the best at a gathering, and set the bar high for the rest.

There are several kinds of Pradhaman, depending on what is the chief flavour ingredient, but the popular ones are Chakka Pradhaman (made with Jackfruit preserve), Ada Pradhaman (made with a rice pasta, rice paste steamed in strips of banana leaves), and Parippu Pradhaman (made with roasted mung dhal). In Parippu Pradhaman, the roasted mung dhal gives the very nutty and wholesome flavour that is so unique to this dessert. While making Pradhaman is generally a long drawn process, there are simple ways to achieve a similar success thanks to modern intervention. Here’s one:

Ingredients for the Mung Dhal Porridge/Parippu Pradhaman

1 cup yellow mung dhal, washed, and dried
1 tin coconut milk/cream
Upto 1 cup jaggery, shavings
1/2 teaspoon cardamom powder
Fresh coconut slivers chopped into tiny bits (optional)
2 tablespoons coconut oil/or ghee if you’re not vegan

Method

1. Roast the dhal on a skillet until golden brown, Pressure cook the dhal with 2 cups of water. (3 whistles on high flame, or reduce flame to low and cook for 6 to 8 minutes, after the first whistle on your cooker.)
2. Make jaggery syrup by boiling jaggery shavings with 3/4th cup of water, strain to remove any impurities.
3. Transfer the cooked dhal to a heavy bottomed saucepan over medium flame, add the jaggery syrup to taste, stir, and let it come to a boil. Reduce flame.
4. Pour in the coconut cream/milk, and stir. Let the Pradhaman heat gently, add the cardamom powder and mix.
5. In another saucepan, heat the ghee and fry the coconut bits till uniformly fried, this should look dark brown. Pour this into the Pradhaman.
6. Take off the Pradhaman off the flame and let it sit for a bit before your serve.

I think the world is divided into two broad categories of people – the lauki lovers and the lauki haters. This poor gourd (bottle gourd or calabash) is much maligned for its insipid watery-ness, and uninspired beauty (or lack of it). In my family, when it comes to this green vegetable, the lines are drawn between my husband and me. Needless to say, I am a lauki lover <3.

I think basically lauki/bottle gourd/calabash is a clever vegetable, and can be snuck into all sorts of dishes in an expected sort of anonymity. Grate lauki into vegetable raita, grate it into chappati dough, grate it into cakes and muffins, and no one will know. Yet there are a few dishes where lauki shines like a beacon of hope for downtrodden vegetables. Lauki dhal is one such example, on the surface nothing more than a mixture of channa dhal and boiled lauki, but tangy tomatoes, cinnamon, and cumin transforms it into a devilish dish. Another is lauki kofta – my brother introduced this to me – he picked it up along with his studies in medicine. Its the home cook’s answer to fancy restaurant-style kofta with gravy, easy to make, and equally light on the stomach with minimal mess to clean up. This version is one step further into reducing the stage where one fries the kofta balls, instead if you have a steamer you’ve been meaning to use, this is it!

(serves 4)
Ingredients for the kofta

1 medium sized bottle gourd, peeled and grated
1 teaspoon ginger garlic paste
1 chopped green chilly
1/2 bunch fresh coriander, use leaves and stems, I usually save stems and use that here
1/2 cup besan/chickpea flour (Indian)
1/2 teaspoon bishop’s weed/ajwain (optional)
salt to taste

Ingredients for the gravy

1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 large tomatoes, finely chopped
2 teaspoons finely chopped ginger
couple of garlic cloves finely chopped
1 teasoon cumin
1 teaspoon kashmiri chilly powder/ or paprika to taste
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon coriander powder
1 teaspoon garam masala
1 teaspoon sugar
salt to taste
fresh coriander to garnish

Method

1. Put the grated bottle gourd/lauki into a cheecloth and extract (into a bowl) as much liquid as possible. You will be left with very mashed up and dry clump of grated gourd. The gourd juice will be used up later in the gravy.
2. Tip cheesecloth into a sufficiently roomy bowl, add the ginger garlic paste, chopped green chilly, chopped coriander, salt, besan, ajwain, and knead into a soft dough. If its not tight enough add some more besan/chickpea flour and adjust the salt accordingly.
3. Line your steamer with aluminium foil or banana leaf, place it over the gas – over a saucepan with a cupful of water.
4. Break of lemon sized balls of dough and roll into thick cigar shape and place in the steamer, if cigar shape is not your thing, just roll dough into balls – thats fine too. Cover the steamer, and from when the steam appears let cook for 10 minutes.
5. Remove the steamer from gas, open lid, and let the koftas cool, meanwhile fill the saucepan to compensate the evaporated water, when the koftas are cool (they’ll become a little hard) and you can easily pull them off and set aside.
6. Repeat till you use up all the dough.
7. When really cool, chop the cigars into bite sized bits.

Method for the gravy

1. Heat about 3 tablespoons of oil in a pan, crackle a teaspoon of cumin, saute onions, ginger and garlic. Add tomatoes, and cook until soft.
2. Add the masalas – 1 teaspoon kashmiri chilly powder, turmeric, garam masala, coriander powder, teaspoon sugar, and salt to taste, mix well and let cook on medium heat for about a minute.
3. Add the reserved gourd juice, and mix, add about half cup of water for the gravy, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and add the steamed koftas. Cover and cook for 5 to 6 minutes.
4. Remove, pour into a serving dish and garnish with coriander leaves. Goes well with chappatis, or rice.

Running a little busy with some writing assignments, and when you have to work you just can’t, I was supposed to announce the winner in a post yesterday but just didn’t get around to, I did put the name up on my FB status, so incase you didn’t notice the lucky winner for the Braun Multiquick Cordless is Abigail Caidoy from Dubai (I believe she has already received the package! that’s super quick!). These days we are on a salads only dinner diet. Basically trying to get in as much food in the raw as possible. I am also trying out going lactose free, I have kept the milk out of my daily chai, tried soy milk last week, this week having chai with rice milk. Ate no chocolates (only 1 on the first day) and biscuits (though I usually munch on Glucose biscuits with evening chai), but I can’t do without yoghurt. I did last week, but yesterday just had to have some. So its okay I guess, not having milk isn’t that difficult. I guess I might not go completely lactose free, but will aim to be 80% free of it.

Here’s one of my favourite ways to eat a green Papaya. Called Som Tam, its a Thai salad. My two most favourite Thai dishes happen to be pad thai and this som tam. I am kind of okay with the green curry and red curry, not that hot. Also always worried if there’s going to be fish or oyster sauce in the food. Many moons ago I had ventured to have soup at the Thai place in Ibn Batuta food court, that was the only vegetarian thing they had on the menu. I almost gagged because the soup tasted like rotten fish excavated from an underground sewage. So here’s Som Tam version completely suitable for vegetarians. Sorry if I have offended anyone with this description, flesh in any of its forms, for me, is cringe inducing.

Ingredients for Som Tam

1 small green papaya, peeled and shredded
1 large tomato, deseeded, cut into stripes
fistful of mung sprouts, for extra crunch
couple of spring onions, chopped
chopped green chillies (optional)
1 large handful of roasted, shelled peanuts
for the dressing:
juice of one lemon
2,3 garlic, pressed
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon honey, just to round off the sweetness
1 tablespoon soy sauce
salt to taste

Method

1. Assemble all the salad ingredients in a large bowl.
2. Add all the ingredients for the dressing over the salad, toss. Check for taste, it should have the right balance of spice, salt, sweet and sour.
3. Pile into bowls, garnish with more peanuts if you like.

The house stands on the downward slope of a hillock, only partially visible from a distance, its red tiles forming asymmetrical patterns in a kaleidoscope of green stretching across the horizon. Each summer, right before monsoons ravage the baked countryside, we loyally return to our family home in this hilly hamlet called Thiruvilwamala.

In order to reach the house, which will be our home for the next two months, we’d trek across the terrain, a cracking landscape of red clay bristling with dried clumps of paddy waiting in suspended animation, we’d walk over bunds criss-crossing the fields, and side-stepping any supine snakes crossing our paths. Paddy workers carry our suitcases, and hold-alls on their heads, nimbly running back and forth across the bunds,  their mood celebratory due to our arrival from the far off northern plains. A pastoral life briefly interrupted by our entry. For my brother and me, the next two months will be spent in much indulgence, and incredible gluttony.

The house is large, dark and cool, with many little rooms, some private, some shared, and some hidden. I loved to spend time at the top floor of the house, in an open annex next to my parents room. A hard wood staircase, made of flat beams took one right up into this large and roomy annex. There was a rickety Singer sowing machine right at the center of this room facing a window overlooking the fields. And in a far corner sat two weathered boxes, one made of tin and the other of leather. Each contained yellowed out pages from my father’s growing up years, teenage angst and desires etched into caricatures, half formed emotions, scrawled on the margins of moth eaten Tagore or Shakespeare, like red ants that swarm without warning and sting with an aggression that baffles you momentarily. Once done with my father’s books, I would take to looking outside the window, fingers curling around the grill, the breeze from the coconut palms and paddy, softly caressing my face. Looking out across the bunds, from between the gaps of the green kaleidoscope I loved to see passersby.

Apparently the voyeuristic thrill of seeing without being seen came early to me. Some of these people would be heading our direction, the wind would carry their voices first, some words, some lofty claims, then another voice in agreement, and reassurance. Dark bodied farm workers would approach our house, but I knew before anyone did that the gate would creak open and footsteps will be heard climbing up the black stone stairs.

On some mornings my grandmother would make kanji - porridge made out of broken bits of red rice. We’d know its kanji for breakfast when we see our aunt, plucking large, ripe leaves off the jackfruit tree. These leaves were fashioned into a spoon – and that’s the only way we had kanji. We grew our own rice, we drank fresh milk that had been taken from cows that had names, and had calves that had names as well. My paternal grandmother a feisty lady with lustrous knee length hair, and a tongue as sharp as the Urumi, would churn butter from the curds, soon the smooth, and mellifluous fragrance of ghee would permeate through every pore of the house. Dollops of ghee, forming golden pools in bowls of pink porridge (kanji), scooped up in a leaf spoon, accompanied by licks of chammanthi - a thick paste of roasted chilly, coconut, tamarind, and curry leaves,  is the tastiest, and the most lucid of my taste memories.

In the afternoons, some workers would gather at the backyard for lunch, some lunched at their own homes located in the neighborhood. My grandmother would have boiled large batches of red rice, and buttermilk (which we never ran out of) would be seasoned with turmeric, coconut and cumin paste, a simple mor-kootan (buttermilk curry) comprising of all the yellowey goodness so redolent of summer –  mangoes, yellow cucumber, drumsticks, pumpkin – and then more buttermilk, infused with crushed lemon leaves, this time to cool down the body. After lunch, hot bodies, scatter languorously on cold black-oxide floors waiting for the palm trees to sway just a little.

I used to love such hot afternoons when the grown ups will be too numb to move, explorations into the secret chambers of the house awaited my brother and me on such days. We’d climb up a rickety bamboo ladder, into the attic which housed many large and small earthern pots, some used to store pickles, or grains, some had moldy secret letters stuck deep inside them, or a saucy magazine someone had hidden and forgotten about, the attic was also home to our family cats, generations of house cats have lived and copulated here in the attic. My brother and I loved to play with the kittens, sometimes we would bring them down with us, only to be shouted at by someone or the other.  One of the most shocking discoveries was a hidden room behind what I thought was a wooden wall. I knew we stored rice in the house, there were tell tale signs everywhere, the hay mounds in every free square inch space in the yard, the sounds of threshing, always chancing upon my aunt in the corridor, carrying a large moram (winnow) filled with rice, and when I asked her about where the rice was kept she would cackle away, her mouth glistening with paan, revealing stained teeth, never answering, like a mad, yet silent character from an Adoor film. Then on that eventful day when my silent aunt was silently removing the rice from the granary, I silently descended from my haven upstairs, and saw a gap in the wall in the corridor. I yelled for my brother, and together we approached this new place in the house. The gap in the wall was a dark room, and inside it standing between mountains of rice was my aunt holding her winnow, her mouth agape at seeing us, but the cackle had been crushed.

In June, rain clouds gate-crash the summer binge, the swollen atmosphere bursts and douses the earth with the first spray. The fields of malabar soak in the downpour till they can no longer hold it in. The fields overrun with red water, and from the upstairs window of the house the fields or the bunds that separate them, are no longer visible, only a giant muddy stream swirling its way towards an agitated river. Not much can be done at this time, and local farmhands take to fishing in the paddy which are swarming with fresh water fish and water snakes. The house is cool now, and at night the rain clatters on the red tiled roof, a sound strangely comforting to me, as I cuddle deeply into my black, military style, wool blanket.

It has been over a decade since I have stayed in this beautiful house that was. Uninhabited since years, its inmates having migrated to their eternal homes, or to greener pastures elsewhere, the house lies blistered, and bruised. This week my father took the difficult decision to break down this house of his childhood, that holds so many secrets of my own childhood within its bosom. As I write this post, the house has been brought down, what remains are just washed out photographs bearing mute testimony to a time that was, termite ridden pieces of furniture once regal and conspicuous by their presence, some ancient urns still unbroken, containing some grains of rice, untouched and untarnished with the passage of time.

Recently I was invited by Braun to try out one of their new products, called the Braun Multiquick Cordless. Here’s a quick review:
1. Its pretty light weight, and ya very suitable to handheld ergonomics.
2. I hate plugging things in, and while I have to use a blender for grinding it is one of the most hated activities for me, Braun’s multiquick is cordless and I found that it needs very little charging time and its readily available for the two most common kitchen chores – chopping finely and pureeing.
3. I have been using this everyday, as it definitely chops onions way more finely than I can ever hope to! and less messy. I have ground nuts, pureed tomato, chopped vegetables, like carrots and beans, and herbs, for dishes that require a fine chop – it really works. Plus the mess is greatly reduced and the stuff gets done in minutes.
4. I also really like the buzzer and lock attachment, so you can pulse only when the lock is pressed, it has really sharp blades so this is a good feature.

This product is available in Carrefour, in UAE, and is priced at 650 AED, would you like to own one? well… now you can WIN it!

The rules: You don’t have to be a blogger to enter this giveaway, anyone who is a reader can enter this giveaway. All you need to do is leave a comment with your e-mail address, and location. That’s 1 point for you. Leaving a comment is mandatory to enter this giveaway.

Extra points: If you like EatWriteThink on Facebook (click on my FB page which should appear on the right side of the page), I will count this as an extra point for you, + 1. If you promote this giveaway on your blog, or Tweet about it, you get + 2. But don’t forget to let me know that you did, just add the details/link in the comment you leave behind.

The fine print: This giveaway is open to anyone living in one of the GCC Countries (United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Qatar and Kuwait), and in Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, or if you have an address in one of these countries.

Final word: when you leave a comment for the giveaway, you must include your full name, e-mail address, and location. Only these will be considered as entries to win the Braun Multiquick Cordless.

Giveaway ends on Thursday, 14 April 2011, 23:59:00 GST. I will select a winner through random selection, and announce on Monday, 18 April 2011.

Recipe for Pear & Almond Cake

This makes a delicious, soft cake, using an adapted and modified recipe from Women’s Weekly book on Cakes. I have used Coscia pears for this recipe. Coscia is a tiny pear from Italy, lovely green, full of flavour and crisp. And these had such a perfect shape that I wanted to bake the cake with these in it.

Ingredients

5 Coscia pears/or any crisp, blushing variety, small to medium size
2 1/2 cups water
1/2 teaspoon lemon rind
1 3/4 cup caster sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup oil
2 eggs
1/2 cup yoghurt (I used homemade yoghurt, which is active and lightly sour)
1/2 cup milk
2 cups AP flour/maida
4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
10 Hershey’s kisses chopped, or any eating chocolate chopped coarsely
1 cup ground almond (I store almonds in the freezer, so its easy to grind to a powder)

Method

1. Peel the pears, leave the stems on.
2. Using a saucepan big enough to fit all the pears in, combine the water, rind and 1 cup of sugar. Stir over heat, without boiling, until all the sugar dissolves. Add the vanilla extract, and the pears. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat, simmer covered, until the pears are just tender, about 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer the pears to another bowl, bring the syrup to a boil, uncovered, until syrup reduces by half, leave to cool completely.
3. Preheat oven to 170 degree C, and grease the cake tin.
4. Sift the flour with the salt and baking powder.
6. Beat oil, and remaining sugar, until sugar is dissolved, beat in the eggs one at a time. Beat in the yoghurt, and half the milk. Stir in 2 tablespoons of the cooled syrup.
7. Add in the sifted flour, powdered almond, and the chocolate, and mix until combined. If the batter is too thick add the rest of the milk and mix again.
8. Spread mixture into greased tin, place the pears, upright, around the edges, gently pushing to the bottom.
9. Bake cake for about 50 minutes, to 1 hour until a skewer inserted comes out clean.
10. Let the cake stand in pan for 10 minutes, remove from tin. Generously brush the syrup all over the cake. Serve warm, brushed with more syrup if you like.

THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED. THE RESULTS WILL BE UP ON THE 18TH OF APRIL.

The March 2011 Daring Baker’s Challenge was hosted by Ria of Ria’s Collection and Jamie of Life’s a Feast. They challenged The Daring Bakers to bake a yeasted Meringue Coffee Cake from a recipe found by Jamie from her dad’s collection of hand-written recipes from the 1970’s.

Around the last week of every month, ovens around the world dole out delectable victuals to feed their blogs. I have often salivated lustfully at luscious creations from these magical kitchens… and have been apprehensive if I could ever rise to such exacting standards considering that baking isn’t exactly one of my fortes. I only just get by – but ofcourse I dream big – and so I joined the ranks of the Daring Bakers and this Yeasted Meringue Coffee Cake is my first challenge.

I didn’t fool around with the proportions as I was unsure of the results, but couldn’t help playing around with the fillings. So in the end I made two of these cakes, one with a filling of chocolate and coconut, and the other, inspired by middle eastern breakfast called Knefe bel-Jeben, I filled with rose scented middle eastern semolina cake called Basbousa. The results were lovely, delicious fresh out of the oven and even better the next day. The version with Basbousa was a bit dry but I poured some extra syrup right before eating and it was fine.

Recently I have been very busy, shifted into a new home and all that goes with it. At the time of the challenge there was a lot of packing and reorganizing going around and I was hard pressed for time, so I prepared the dough the previous day and refrigerated it, next day as I put it out on the counter to come back to room temperature while I went about preparing the basbousa, and meringue. The rest is all about assembling.

Ingredients for Meringue Coffee Cake

(Makes 2 coffee cakes, if you want just one cake, halve the amounts)
4 cups flour
¼ cup sugar
¾ teaspoon salt
7 g active dried yeast
¾ cup whole milk
¼ cup water (doesn’t matter what temperature)
¼ cup ghee/clarified butter
2 large eggs at room temperature

For the meringue

3 large egg whites at room temperature
¼ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon vanilla
½ cup sugar

For the chocolate coconut filling

1 cup coarsely chopped chocolate
1/2 cup dessicated coconut
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
Icing sugar for dusting cakes

For the basbousa filling

1 Basbousa cake
Rose water syrup

Method

1. For the dough: In a large mixing bowl, combine 1 ½ cups of the flour, the sugar, salt and yeast.
2. In a saucepan, combine the milk, water and ghee and heat over medium heat until warm.
3. Gradually add the warm liquid to the flour/yeast mixture, using a wooden spoon, beat until well blended. Add the eggs and 1 cup flour and beat to blend for about 2 minutes.
4. Stir in enough of the remaining flour to make a dough that holds together. Turn out onto a floured surface (use any of the 1 ½ cups of flour remaining) and knead the dough for 8 to 10 minutes until the dough is soft, smooth, sexy and elastic, keeping the work surface floured and adding extra flour as needed.
5. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, turning to coat all sides. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and a kitchen towel and let rise until double in bulk, 45 – 60 minutes.
6. Prepare your filling: get together chopped chocolate, dessicated coconut, and cinnamon powder for Coffee cake with chocolate meringue filling.
7. Prepare the Basbousa cake, once cool crumble and keep aside.
8. Once the dough has doubled, make the meringue: In a clean mixing bowl – ideally a plastic or metal bowl so the egg whites adhere to the side (they slip on glass) and you don’t end up with liquid remaining in the bottom – beat the egg whites with the salt, first on low speed for 30 seconds, then increase to high and continue beating until foamy and opaque. Add the vanilla then start adding the ½ cup sugar, a tablespoon at a time as you beat, until very stiff, glossy peaks form.

Recipe for Basbousa

This is so incredibly simple to put together, I was very happy to have got around to making this semolina cake, next time I plan to bake this as is and not stuffed into anything – it does deserve a special place on the table.

Ingredients

1 cup semolina flour
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 cup yogurt
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 tablespoons dessicated coconut
1/2 tablespoon baking powder

for the syrup

1/2 cup water
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon rose water

Method

1. In a medium bowl, mix together the semolina flour, sugar, yogurt, oil, coconut, and baking powder. Set aside for 30 minutes.
2. Prepare the syrup: in a small saucepan over medium-high heat, stir together the water, sugar, and rosewater. Bring to a boil, and boil for 3 or 4 minutes. Remove from heat, and set aside to cool to room temperature.
3. Preheat the oven to 175 degrees C. Spread the semolina batter into the bottom of a 9×13 inch baking pan, lined with baking paper.
4. Bake for 20 minutes in the preheated oven, or until light brown. Cut into squares, and pour syrup all over the cake. Let the cake absorb the syrup and cool down before crumbling it for the filling.

Assembling the Coffee Cakes

1. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.
2. Punch down the dough and divide in half. On a lightly floured surface, working one piece of the dough at a time (keep the other half of the dough wrapped in plastic), roll out the dough into a 20 x 10-inch (about 51 x 25 ½ cm) rectangle. Spread half of the meringue evenly over the rectangle up to about 1/2-inch (3/4 cm) from the edges. Sprinkle dessicated coconut, chopped chocoloate, and powdered cinnamon over the first rolled out dough. (I added some instant coffee into the remaining meringue batter and baked coffee flavoured meringue drops)
3. Roll out the remaining dough in a similar fashion, spread rose flavoured syrup over it, and top with crumbled basbousa.

4. Now, roll up the dough jellyroll style, from the long side. Pinch the seam closed to seal. Very carefully transfer the filled log to one of the lined cookie sheets, seam side down. Bring the ends of the log around and seal the ends together, forming a ring, tucking one end into the other and pinching to seal.

5. Using kitchen scissors or a sharp knife (although scissors are easier), make cuts along the outside edge at 1-inch (2 ½ cm) intervals. Make them as shallow or as deep as desired but don’t be afraid to cut deep into the ring.

6. Cover the 2 coffee cakes with plastic wrap and allow them to rise again for 45 to 60 minutes.
7. Preheat the oven to 180°C.
8. Bake in the preheated oven for 25 to 30 minutes until risen and golden brown. The dough should sound hollow when tapped.
9. Remove from the oven and slide the parchment paper off the cookie sheets onto the table. Very gently loosen the coffee cakes from the paper with a large spatula and carefully slide the cakes off onto cooling racks. Allow to cool.
10. Just before serving, dust the tops of the coffee cakes with confectioner’s sugar as well as cocoa powder if using chocolate in the filling. These are best eaten fresh, the same day or the next day.