Bali and Babi Guling

TOP of my list of dishes to tuck into in Bali was babi guling or roast suckling pig. Babi = pig. Not sure whether we could make it to Ibu Oka in Ubud, made famous by Anthony Bourdain, we ordered babi guling at a warung (a warung is a typically family-run cafe, restaurant or business) on the road from Mengwi to Bedugul. The babi guling came in a shallow woven basket which was double-lined with grease-proof paper and banana leaf. There was a mound of red rice, over which were tender, succulent shreds of meat with thick gravy, some crisp, shiny brown crackling and crisp, deep fried slices of innards like liver and God-knows-what-else on the side, a piece of sausage, some water spinach and a chicken satay.

We also got a coconut shell bowlful of spicy broth, of the peppery kind that drives away a cold. None of us were suffering from a cold, but it did serve to whet our appetites! The suckling pig is stuffed with tapioca leaves (pardon my ignorance, but it was the first time I heard that tapioca leaves were edible! I thought it was only the root!) and vegetables mixed with a variety of local spices and spit-roasted over a fire of dried coconut shells, the last bit explained by Wayan Agus, our tour driver & guide. I detected the taste of yellow curry paste or base gede in it. The dish was good for a change but given a choice though, I prefer pork as a baffat, sorpotel or indad any day, to be mopped up with soft, spongy sannas.

In Ubud, we stepped into Ibu Oka, despite gorging on a sumptuous meal complete with a soup and a dessert that we cooked along with 12 other foreign tourists in a Balinese home cooking class. It was my niece who wanted to try a plate of babi guling here. Her verdict? Really good! I sampled a spoonful, but my taste-buds were too saturated from the heavy lunch to record any impression. I sipped on sweet, tender coconut water instead...

Bali on my plate

ONE of the highlights of my recent trip to Bali was the food. From the fresh, cheap and tasty fare dished out by the humble carts and the warungs to the swish restaurants, there was an amazing world of Balinese culinary delights waiting to be explored. There was nasi goreng, mee goreng, babi guling, rujak bali, chicken and fish satay, urab, gado gado, bakso ayam, cap cay (pronounced chap chai), fried tempeh, tuna steamed in banana leaf, yellow chicken curry, pisang goreng, ikan goreng with nasi and soup and grilled seafood marinated in Balinese bumbu (spices) that we had on Jimbaran beach, all washed down with Bintang beer. Happily none of us came down with the dreaded Bali belly.

Common condiments and spices employed in Balinese cooking are ginger that includes galangal and two lesser types of it, garlic, fresh turmeric, peanuts, candle nuts or macadamia nuts, terasi or dried shrimp paste (quite smelly but indispensable to most dishes), small green Balinese limes, hot bird's eye chillis, white and black pepper, coriander,lemon grass, kaffir lime leaves, shallots, fresh cinnamon leaves and coconut. The amalgamation of all these results in an eclectic mix of flavours, the spice and lemon complementing each other like best buddies. Spices and ingredients are manually ground or pounded in a mortar and pestle that might seem laborious in today's times when electrical appliances do all the hard work, but that's how it's done to retain freshness. No Balinese cook will ever grumble that it's hard work.

Fish, chicken and pork are widely cooked and although beef is available it is generally avoided by the largely Hindu populace. In fact, seeing that you're Indian and therefore presuming you're Hindu, the hotel's restaurant staff will immediately warn you that "it's beef," you're pointing at as an add-on to your breakfast omelette. A common remark encountered, especially from hotel staff was: "You Indian? I Hindu", probably expecting a reply like "Yes. I too Hindu", but I would simply smile and nod in affirmation, rather than launch into a long-winding explanation on the religious and cultural diversity of India. The staple food is rice, harvested four times a year, and eaten for breakfast, lunch and dinner in traditional Balinese homes along with accompaniments of meat and vegetables. They produce red, black and white rice.

In most homes, rice is cooked early in the morning, and small portions of it is then spooned into tiny baskets made out of coconut palm fronds or banana leaves and left outside homes as a daily offering. The offering baskets themselves are pretty and speak of the creativity of Balinese women, who keep their hands always busy even as they are chatting away.

Floral offerings are also common, placed in temples, outside homes and establishments. There was always a fresh floral offering basket on the extreme right corner of the dashboard of our vehicle, which our tour driver Wayan Agus proudly claimed was his wife's handiwork.

Mussels and mussels...alive alive-o!

FISHERFOLK are engrossed in separating clumps of freshly picked mussels at the Kundapur waterfront, on the Konkan coast of Karnataka. (Apr 30, 2012). The scene brought to mind the popular, old Irish song Molly Malone, in which Molly the fishmonger, plies her trade through the streets of Dublin, singing "...cockles and mussels, alive alive-o." This catch was indeed as alive alive oh as it could get. The asking price? INR 400 for 100 mussels.

(Above & below): It's a scenic walk along the Kundapur waterfront, although some careless litter here and there acts as a scene spoiler.

What was that again...?

During a recent visit to Karnad.... I was so amused by these signboards that I had to capture them instantly...

(Above) Drums Trick?? Let's leave that to the drummer shall we?

(Above) FOR PET LOVERS ONLY - PUPS FOR SALE: What happens when certain words get "transliterated" from Kannada to English? Puffs turn into pups!

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

When fate hands you a lemon, make lemonade.

Dale Carnegie

Lemon Sponge Cake

Lemon Sponge Cake (Pics by June Carvalho)

IT'S one of my favourite quotes: When fate hands you a lemon, make lemonade. That's in life. But in the kitchen you can do a tad better with lemons....use the zest of lemon to bake this soft, light and airy tea-time sponge cake with the oh-so-wonderfully refreshing taste of lemon. Afterwards squeeze the hell out of the rest of the lemon to make your lemonade.

The fresh fragrance of lemon makes this cake really special, besides for filling the house with such a wonderful aroma while it's baking away that you get impatient for it to come out of the oven and dig in. The zest is so full of the natural essence of lemon that you don't even need to use synthetic food grade essence to flavour it or to mask the smell of eggs. One lemon zest provides a mildly flavoured cake. For a stronger flavour, use the grated rind of two lemons.

I baked this in a microwave oven, preheated for 15 minutes at 170 degrees C (on convection mode), with a baking time of 30 minutes.

What you need:

300 gms butter
300 gms powdered sugar
300 gms flour
4 eggs
1 tsp baking powder
Grated zest of 1 lemon

Sieve flour with the baking powder. Cream butter and powdered sugar. Add the eggs, one at a time and beat well. Sprinkle the lemon zest. Tip the flour in a little at a time, and fold in gently till all of it is incorporated to form a dropping consistency. If too thick, which is unlikely with these proportions, then add a tablespoon or two of milk and mix in gently.

Put the batter into a greased and dusted cake tin and bake in a preheated oven at 170 degrees C for half an hour or till firm and springy to the touch, or till testing skewer comes clean.

Leave it in the pan for ten minutes before inverting on to a wire rack to cool. I know most of my tea cakes look like giant doughnuts, but somehow I seem to reach only for the tube pan in which to bake them.

Finish with a lemon glaze if you like, but pour the glaze over only after the cake has completely cooled.

For the glaze, using a wooden spoon to mix, combine till smooth one cup of sieved icing sugar, two tablespoons of melted butter, one tablespoon each of lemon juice and warm water. Allow to slowly dribble around the sides and set before slicing. The glazed cake above was made on an earlier occasion, which I had carried along for a charming old lady's 80th birthday.

Cucumber Karamb

IT'S summer, it's still salad days...and cucumbers are in abundance. Try making a cucumber karamb which is a typically Mangalorean salad. With a paste of ground coconut, green chillis, ginger, mustard seeds and a tiny bit of tamarind mixed in, it's no different from a pachadi. However, what distinguishes it from the usual pachadi is its piquant flavour lent by the mustard.

What you need:


2 small cucumbers
1/2 cup fresh, grated coconut
1/2" piece of ginger
1 green chilli
1/2 teaspoon mustard seed
A tiny bit of tamarind


Wash, peel and cut the cucumbers in half, lengthwise and then slice them. Add some salt to taste and set aside. Meanwhile grind all the other ingredients into a paste. Drain the cucumber and mix in with the ground paste.

You can give it a seasoning of mustard seeds and a sprig of curry leaves fried in two teaspoons of oil. I did without, but if you're using it, then I suggest you add the seasoning when it has completely cooled, else it will singe the cucumber and soften it, losing its crunchiness.

PS: This is optional, but I gave it a slight twist by mixing in about 3 tablespoons of raw mango slivers.