My expertise in Chawal is what I feel quite proud about in the kitchen. Each time in kitchen-sharing duties, I am giving the responsibility of making chawal. Maybe because they require just basic analytical skills. 1 glass rice, twice the water, some salt and fried cumin seeds. Also I've been quite lucky for almost never going wrong on chawal. Some saving grace there.
But dal is not my forté. Not even regular chana dal. Back home, of course there is mom who makes everything, but dal in 10 minutes (ek seeti hi toh bajani hoti hai :-), as she says)
In Paris, I had a friend famous Paris-wide for his daal. People would come from near and far just to eat his daal. Of course I didn't even have the courage to cook dal in his presence.
Fast forward to now in Singapore. I am home alone on Sunday morning. I decide it is finally time to give chana dal a shot. After all, how hard can it be.
I soak the chana dal for some hours until it becomes soft. Then I boil it until it becomes soft-est.
I cut tomatoes, onions, chillies, garlic- everything that the recipe on some website tells me. And then I start to fry and make the masala. It seems to be going alright.
Meanwhile chawal is almost done. It's jeera rice that looks good and smells even better. Only if someone was here to appreciate my rice-making skills.
While I was fondly wondering that, I look back at the dal in the pan. Still looks nice and yellow, like the afternoon sun. I felt like a success.
So I go and chill in the living room, very excited to finally eat a good hearty lunch and I get engrossed in the new season of Modern Family, my thoughts going back to my own modern family.
When I realize that I had dal on the stove, still getting cooked, I rush back to the kitchen. The only tiny mishap, if I may put it like that, the dal is soaked all the water and is now dry. So easy, I just put some more water in it.
Later, I put a huge dollop of rice in my plate topped by some yellow chana dal.
The moment I put it in my mouth, I know it is a disaster. I still can't explain why.
It just never tastes like the dal that mom makes. Never. And I refuse to take one more bite of it, until it tastes like that.
Note to myself: Call mom for the home recipe, and stop being stupid trying out unreliable internet recipes just because the attached photos look pretty.
But dal is not my forté. Not even regular chana dal. Back home, of course there is mom who makes everything, but dal in 10 minutes (ek seeti hi toh bajani hoti hai :-), as she says)
In Paris, I had a friend famous Paris-wide for his daal. People would come from near and far just to eat his daal. Of course I didn't even have the courage to cook dal in his presence.
Fast forward to now in Singapore. I am home alone on Sunday morning. I decide it is finally time to give chana dal a shot. After all, how hard can it be.
I soak the chana dal for some hours until it becomes soft. Then I boil it until it becomes soft-est.
I cut tomatoes, onions, chillies, garlic- everything that the recipe on some website tells me. And then I start to fry and make the masala. It seems to be going alright.
Meanwhile chawal is almost done. It's jeera rice that looks good and smells even better. Only if someone was here to appreciate my rice-making skills.
While I was fondly wondering that, I look back at the dal in the pan. Still looks nice and yellow, like the afternoon sun. I felt like a success.
So I go and chill in the living room, very excited to finally eat a good hearty lunch and I get engrossed in the new season of Modern Family, my thoughts going back to my own modern family.
When I realize that I had dal on the stove, still getting cooked, I rush back to the kitchen. The only tiny mishap, if I may put it like that, the dal is soaked all the water and is now dry. So easy, I just put some more water in it.
Later, I put a huge dollop of rice in my plate topped by some yellow chana dal.
The moment I put it in my mouth, I know it is a disaster. I still can't explain why.
It just never tastes like the dal that mom makes. Never. And I refuse to take one more bite of it, until it tastes like that.
Note to myself: Call mom for the home recipe, and stop being stupid trying out unreliable internet recipes just because the attached photos look pretty.
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