Chai + Chai + Chai = Sunday

(This mismatched teacup and saucer makes me feel so reckless!)

Remember when Oprah invented masala chai last year? Oh, wait a second. Sometimes I get "Oprah last year" confused with the ancient kingdoms of South Asia thousands of years ago. They're pretty similar, after all. Don't worry, it's confusing stuff.

I've been reading Climbing the Mango Trees by Madhur Jaffrey, and it's incredibly, wonderfully inspiring. Growing up, you'll learn, her life was simultaneously wild and safe, and it was packed deeply with the aromas, foods, beauty, challenges, and culinary memories of her culture. There's loads of fascinating history, and all of that remarkable storytelling that she does, and it will change the way you think. It will, possibly, have you fervently making a grocery list as you read, and, after the first sentence or two, it might inspire you to drop everything you know and attempt to turn your entire culinary world into hers. Just like when you watch Pulp Fiction and you want a Big Kahuna burger, but slightly more refined.

While there's actually not much masala chai drinking going on in the book (yet), I still have been thinking about it a great deal, and yesterday I made a batch that I plowed through rather (embarrassingly) quickly. Today, batch number two came about, and, well, you know the rest. It's so simple yet so complex, just like the perfect story, and just like the perfect meal. It's sweet and savory and it kind of makes me a little less cross about the whole winter thing that's been going on lately. And here we are now, you and me, both thinking about chai. Probably you should go make some right away. 

Masala Chai

makes approximately 8 cups

4-6 inches of ginger, peeled a bit and sliced into thin rounds

12-16 cardamom pods

3 t black peppercorns

3 cinnamon sticks

10-12 whole cloves

1 vanilla bean, sliced in half lengthwise

6 C water

6 bags of black tea (or the equivalent of looseleaf tea)

2 C whole or 2% milk 

1/2 C packed brown sugar

Combine the first five ingredients* in a pot or dutch oven. Crush and bruise the spices using whatever tool you have that works best. I use the flat side of a wooden mallet, or a wooden pestle. Add the water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover partially, and simmer for 10-15 minutes. Remove from the heat and add the tea. Steep 5 minutes, discard tea bags (if using), and add the milk and sugar. Bring the tea to a simmer over high heat for just a minute, whisking constantly until the sugar dissolves. Strain the tea and serve. I've found that ladling the tea into a French press and straining that way is very successful, although any sort of fine mesh strainer would do.

*Vanilla bean is a very American addition to masala chai, but I really like it. You can also add many other spices, so experiment a bit. Star anise, nutmeg, mace, licorice root, fennel seed, bay leaf, coriander are all interesting additions.

 

How To Cook A Blizzard

Most of the time,

am I way too lazy to make 

my own beef broth?

Yes. Yes I am.

But, come on! 

Aren't these tiny cubes so cute?

I am beginning to think that winter is never going to leave. Ever. So, in keeping with the mindset that I'll never again feel a summer breeze on my arm as I drive along with the windows down, I have decided to submerge myself fully in the memories and lifestyle of winter. You know, reverse psychology. Mother Nature is always doing things like that -- giving us spring when we act like we are in love with winter.

You may have heard about those, ahem, snow days at the beginning of last month. Or perhaps you live near here and also received seventy-two feet of snow? Well, I must say, that snowy aftermath -- that Wednesday snow day -- was, in my book, the most luxurious thing ever. The actual snowstorm itself was horrendous and trapping for a lot of people, but once everyone was accounted for, the city seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Thankfully, many people were smart enough to turn off their TVs and head outside to play in the snow. And now that it's all over and the snow has (almost) all melted, it seems mostly like some sort of odd dream, and it's all sorts of fun to laugh about how silly that snowstorm was.

We received word of the impending snow on that Monday before the storm, so that's when the whole city started dashing about insanely, everyone gathering all the provisions they could cram into their houses, just like it was Y2K all over again. I decided I didn't want to be one of those people, but then, well...something was preventing me from acting rationally. There was this thing in my head, this delicious, amazing thing that I couldn't stop thinking about. It was my Sunday night dinner I had just had at Martha's, this blissful little place in Suttons Bay, Michigan. It was the wintery-est thing, the perfect blizzard supper, this really really incredible shepherd's pie.

Here's the thing. I had never had a shepherd's pie in my life. They always sort of worried me -- mainly because I never took the time to understand what exactly it was, and I always had put it into a category with other dark, rich, scary foods, like haggis and mincemeat pie. But when I saw it on the menu, I knew. I knew that it would be a perfect shepherd's pie, that this would be the exact one to have for my first experience. Not to toot my own horn, but rather to toot Martha's -- I was right. It was incredible. Underneath the pillow of mashed potatoes lurked an unreasonably dark and unreasonably delicious stew. Picture rustic but artfully trimmed carrots, turnips, celery, and onions, all swimming with shredded and ground lamb in the darkest, thickest gravy you can imagine. Ah. A more wintry dish does not exist!

But on to my saga. You know, that would be my poorly-timed hunt for the ingredients with which to construct my own shepherd's pie. And, no, it couldn't wait. I spent Tuesday swamped, teaching in the morning and then playing catch up at my desk all afternoon. The Snow Was Coming, everyone said. Mmmhmm, I thought. Sure it is. While everyone had their noses stuck to the windows, counting each snowflake, I was at my desk, rolling my eyes. By mid-afternoon, though, the snow looked, well, real, and my phone was ringing with pleas for me to go home and come home. I finished up and put on my coat. I did have some sense, after all.

I had the kind of sense that took me in this madly driving snowstorm to the market, wherein I knew I would find supplies for my shepherd's pie. Two pounds of ground lamb later, I was rustling up some celery and parsnips, looking out the window at the now entirely obscene blizzard, thinking, okay, really, you have to get home. This isn't charming anymore. Armed with my ingredients, I managed to find my car in the blinding snow, thinking at this point, you idiot! If you never get home, it's because you had to go to the stupid store and get your stupid ingredients even though there are eight hundred other things to cook at home, and then if you're stuck on the road for a whole day, the meat will certainly go bad, and then you really won't have a shepherd's pie, and it really won't have been worth it. And won't you feel like a moron then? 


As it turned out, I did manage to get myself home in one (white-knuckled, anxiety-ridden) piece, and, I must say, there was nothing better than cooking lamb stew while being held snow-hostage in my own home. I can't possibly imagine preparing or eating a shepherd's pie in the summer, which makes me want to cram in as many of these things before the warm weather hits. So, if I teach you nothing else today, it's this: before winter disappears completely, I'd suggest that you get thee to a shepherd's pie. You won't regret it.

A Basic Shepherd's Pie Outline

A#1. Make a thick stew of your liking (Any kind of stew! I use lamb or beef as a base, plus onions, celery, carrots, and turnips or parsnips -- keep it simple and rustic. Beef broth is also going to be key here, as that's what will make your stew deliciously dark and divine. I also crafted a meat-free version last weekend, featuring a really thick, really mushroomy gravy to which I added seared vegetables.)

B#2. Make a batch of thick mashed potatoes

C#3. Put your hot stew into deep ramekins; top with mashed potatoes

D#4. Broil your little treasures until the tops are golden brown and bubbly (or just plop your hot potatoes on top of your hot stew)

E#5. See? You did it! Now eat one up and go gather your flock.