This recipe is an improvisation.
The author of the original is Nutan Pandit, whose Natural
Childbirth Classes I attended in expectation of the arrival of my child. Among
the many friends who had recommended these classes, Arpita Chatterjee clinched
the issue by telling me about the wonderfully satisfying cakes that were served
there. So, I went along, gratefully ate the cakes thoughtfully dished out to
the legitimately hungry women (and their spouses), in between taking notes and
practising the breathing and other exercises, and requested Nutan to share the
recipe.
Of course, I had been baking much before I attended these
classes. In fact, cakes and soups were probably the only categories of food
that I was good at making. With the reputation of being ‘bright’ at studies,
nobody seriously expected me to enter the kitchen, even when I had finished
school and college. So it was that, when I got married fairly soon after I was
officially bestowed a Bachelor’s Degree in Architecture, my list of culinary
accomplishments was rather short. My mother-in-law skilfully parried queries
from her relations and friends about my abilities at making ‘sukto’, malai
chingri’, alu-posto and other
such Bengali delicacies, by elaborating on the range and quality of these two items
that I could produce.
My cakes though good to eat, were the conventional butter-sugar-egg
variety. Even though my Turkish friend, Gulfer Badak, a fellow-student at the
Master of Arts Degree in Architectural Conservation in Leicester, regularly
conjured up incredibly light and fluffy cakes in her house, I only-half
believed her when she said she used yogurt. It was the cake at Nutan Pandit’s,
which punctuated each two-hour class for the four-day sessions over the
three-weeks of the Course, that led me to the alternatives of oil, curd and
jaggery. Since then, I have become so much bolder in my experiments, that this
recipe may not be easily recognisable as an off-shoot of the ones she served.
The two or three main ingredients that mark out my cakes –
orange-peel, beetroot and the multi-grain flour mix – are small but key variations.
In fact, the grated orange peel, which is the really brilliant part of the
recipe, is not really my idea, but a contribution of my mother’s. It gives a
fresh and lingering flavour, and also satisfies my concerns about reducing
litter by usefully consuming the peel, which otherwise ends up in the waste-bin.
If oranges are one of your favourite fruits, as they are ours, you will know what
I mean. We hand-grind or grate fresh orange peel practically every day in the
winters, and my cook is really pleased when the orange-season ends. My mother
also dries orange peel and powders them, for use when fresh oranges are not
available.
As for the combination of various flours, I have hit upon it
by dint of good intentions and bad planning. My bid to make each mouthful of
the cake as wholesome and delicious as possible for my small and fastidious
daughter, is coupled with an inherent reluctance to stick to strict instructions,
and an impulsive temperament. So, when the wish to bake suddenly catches hold
of me (as it often does), and I discover I am out of some standard ingredients;
I happily search for an alternative in the kitchen. The addition of popped
amaranth seeds (also called ramdana, chaulai dana) to the recipe, was the
outcome of one such sudden baking effort.
Apart from various sorts of seeds and flours, I have also
(with varying degrees of success) added to the cake-mixture, fruits and vegetables
in season – grated beetroot/carrot, finely chopped apricot/mango, mashed
bananas/dates/figs. I like to keep processed food-items to the minimum, which
is why I do not as a rule add any essence or flavour. Freshly grated ginger (or
even its dried and powdered form, saunth)
and the addition of orange/lemon peel are healthy substitutes. Beetroot gives a
rather delicious deep colour and texture, especially in combination with Madua
(millet)[1]
or Bhatt flour. So much so, that I had a hard time convincing my aunt’s
neighbour when he dropped in on a cold night in December just in time to sample
the freshly-baked cake for my cousin’s birthday, that it did not have any
chocolate in it.
I had been toying with the idea of writing my version down,
owing to the rather gratifying response that my experiments generally receive. My
strictly vegetarian grandmother is pleased with the curd version of this
recipe, since she does not eat eggs in any form. Indeed, visits to Dehra Dun to
my extended family, are ritually accompanied by the carrying of home-made cakes
to my grandmother, aunts and uncles, and a demonstration baking event at my
eldest aunt’s house. Despite this, Saroj Mausi still calls up every other month
to refresh her memory about the ingredients and the process, owing not entirely
to her habit of writing down recipes (along other useful things such as important
telephone numbers, details of art and craft that attract her attention, grocery
lists etc.) on sundry scraps of paper. My tendency of constantly experimenting
with the proportion and kinds of ingredients, and presenting her with a
different sort of cake on each visit may also have something to do with her
queries.
But the immediate provocation for noting down this recipe was
the completely flattering request by my daughter’s good friend, Aniva Rao, who
asked me if I would teach her to cook when she grew up, so that she could enter
TV Cooking Contests. This, to someone who has been the subject of hysterical banter
in the family when it comes to any domestic duties, was too good to be true.
So, I decided to write this down before she changed her opinion.
1 ½ cups atta (wheat
flour); ¼ cup madua (finger millet, also known as raagi, nachni);
¼ cup sooji
(If you do not have madua,
you can replace it with black bhatt or soya flour – as I did on a
midnight baking session in December at Saroj Mausi’s – or popped amaranth
seeds; or if you want a slightly denser cake even with jhingora/jhangora
[2](barnyard
millet). If you do not have any of these or merely want to play it safe, stick
to 2 cups atta. The addition of more than ¼ cup of madua/jhingora/ bhatt, will make the cake a little too heavy.)
1 tsp cinnamon/green cardamom
powder (The cinnamon/ green cardamom powder can be expanded to include powdered
nutmeg and cloves.)
1 ½ tsp soda bi carbonate
MIX WELL TOGETHER (I sieve these four to five times)
ADD:
2/3 cup oil (sesame
oil) (I used refined oil according to Nutan's recipe, but I have now stopped using refined oil completely in my kitchen; you can substitute the oil with white cow's milk butter too)
2 cups red sugar/grated gur (if you are out of these, and want to use ordinary white sugar, reduce quantity to 1 and 1/2 cups)
Grated orange peel/powdered
Orange peel (approximately 3 tb.sps)
1 peeled and finely grated
beetroot
1/2 cup hot water (add ½ tsp grated
ginger for extra flavour)
MIX TOGETHER and ADD
3 eggs or 1 cup curds (the Curd
version should be more of a ‘dripping’ consistency than with the eggs.)
(Some of my friends swear by the 'cut and fold' technique with a spoon for the final mixing, though the chef at a demonstration baking session at ATTIC last Christmas claimed that the best way is to vigorously mix in a circular motion with a ladle or your hand. I use a combination, depending on what the size of the vessel I have chosen, allows.)
(Some of my friends swear by the 'cut and fold' technique with a spoon for the final mixing, though the chef at a demonstration baking session at ATTIC last Christmas claimed that the best way is to vigorously mix in a circular motion with a ladle or your hand. I use a combination, depending on what the size of the vessel I have chosen, allows.)
Ladle in to
a greased baking dish – I have lately started using a lovely black earthenware dish from
Kerala, courtesy Veni Mathew, a Kumaoni friend married into a Malayalee family. It is traditionally used to cook fish-curry or rice. But it works well as a baking dish too!
I generally bake in a pre-heated electric oven (25 minutes 220 degree, 25 minutes low (160 degrees); if you have a Gas oven, bake for 1 hour.
I generally bake in a pre-heated electric oven (25 minutes 220 degree, 25 minutes low (160 degrees); if you have a Gas oven, bake for 1 hour.
I sprinkle posto / khus (poppy seeds) or brown til
(sesame seeds) on top of the mixture for a light crunchy top, as the fancy
takes me. Go ahead, try it.
And feel free to improvise.
[1] A friend and fellow-architect,
Siddhartha Misra told me that the origin of Millets is attributed to
Vishwamitra, the king who became a sage. Through great tapasya, Vishwamitra
gained the power to make counterparts to the Lord’s creations. These were aimed
at the needs of the poor, such as the lumbering buffalo in response to the revered
and deified cow and bull, and the hardy millets in response to water-intensive
grains such as wheat and rice. Despite being less resource intensive and easier
to cultivate and rear, these were never accorded a similar status by the higher
caste-Hindus. Indeed, they are still looked down by many, (including my family)
being branded as ‘poor man’s food’. Rotis
made of madua, rich in calcium and other nutrients, were traditionally part of
the staple diet in many parts of India, including my part of the country - the
mountains of Kumaon and Garhwal in Uttarakhand.
[2] Jhingora or Jhangora is a specialty
of Uttarakhand; it is generally cooked with milk as a kheer, but can also be eaten in a salty form, as an upma.
[3] A
friend who bakes frequently, cautioned me about the health implications of
additives in baking powder. I am not certain whether baking powder should be
entirely replaced with soda bi carbonate, but I found these two sites useful: http://www.learningtoeatallergyfree.com/2011/01/baking-soda-versus-baking-powder.html, http://www.joyofbaking.com/bakingsoda.html
I think I'm going to try it out :)
ReplyDeleteAnisha, very impressed by your improvisations in food. I too, personally believe that the recipes are in your in your kitchen cupboard larder or fridge or vegetable baskets. Nandini Bahuguna
ReplyDeleteThank you Nitto di! Coming from someone like you who is a wiz at cooking, this is especially special!
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