Food, food (and non-food) for thought, for Good Friday
Posted by: Fats in: Fats, Vitamins & Minerals > Takaw at Sursur!Beginning April, I am keeping log of the various hand, arm, chest and neck pains that I’ve been experiencing (I have decided to actually use the diary calendar given by the Central Bank, it is quite beautiful, and such beautiful calendar/planners I often wouldn’t use at all!). I’ve consulted a doctor two years ago and have gotten ECG and chest x-ray. Nothing wrong there. So my doctor just prescribed Vitamin B Complex.
From January to March in the diary-calendar I’m writing down some of my favorite recipes. For now, they are recipes for Indian breads/cakes taken from “Creative Vegetarian Cooking” by Veena Panjwani. The first recipe I’ve decided to try is something called “Onion Cake.”
With limited ingredients at home, I improvised the recipe a bit and thus came up with “Onion Parsley Cake” using white onions rather than stalks of spring onion as were required in the recipe. The recipe consisted of a dough (flour, water) and the filling (finely chopped onion (and parsley) marinated in salt, pepper (or red chilli powder) and sesame oil).
I have never done any dough making before and this proved to be quite fun - almost magical, in fact, that some powder and water could be kneaded into something big (and even bigger if the recipe called for yeast or self-rising flour).
Kneading was enjoyable especially since the pain in my hands have almost completely disappeared. Not very clear to me, though, was why hot water must be used first then after a few minutes kneading, few tablespoons of cold water was used. Also, the reason for letting the dough stand for an hour wasn’t clear to me. I wish recipes would explain such things, especially since I’m completely ignorant of the baking (with and without ovens) process.
Then the dough is rolled into flat thin cakes, sprinkled with the onion filling, rolled in half, sealed and then fried in oil until golden brown.
“Onion Cake” was reasonably successful. I will only need to make the cakes much much thinner. It was tricky since I didn’t have a rolling pin and have only used a bottle. 
If I could make it as thin as the papadams* (imported from India) that I bought at a supermarket in Brisbane, then that would be great.
In the meantime, here’s a photo of the kalachuchi cutting that I took at my mom’s when I went there two days ago. The tiny rolled-up leaves have grown so much bigger. I told Asel that later we might need to take it out of the pot and transplant it in the yard at the back of the house.
It was nice to have been able to go out and walk around to look at the plants and garden in the area around our apartment block. People here are really marvelous with plants, and being summer time, everything is blooming and fruiting. 
I saw a guy with a big siamese cat in the garden and we approached him. His cat, quite old at 11 (perhaps as old as George, come to think of it…), had a leash and my partner said that the cat thinks he’s a dog. Which is rather true. The cat did behave like a dog on a leash.
And because Edward was with me, he did have a good time strolling out in the gardens.
With all these care for gardens and animals, I still couldn’t figure out why there were more places riddled with garbage, spit and dog (and human) shit. Oops, sorry to those having their dinner. The polarity of care and carelessness is just mind-boggling.
For example, there’s a shed nearby where people living in the apartment blocks can throw their garbage where they could be sorted out/segregated by Girlie and her friends (the maintenance staff employed by the housing system). I saw this kid carrying a bin just dump the garbage in front of the shed - didn’t even bother to put it in a trash bag first.
I don’t get it.
And all that spit in the streets (I didn’t mind too much in Burma since a number of people there chew betelnut). And I have rather gotten used to encountering spit of all shapes, sizes, color out in the streets whether here or in Yangon or Bangkok but it can get rather disconcerting when they’re right there in the pathways or the walkways in our apartment blocks.
I told my partner that maybe it’s because of the air pollution. Here, your lungs get clogged up with dirt and so you harbor loads of phlegm in your lungs and throat all the time. That’s why people keep spitting. Just this very minute I could hear the sound of someone’s footsteps outside along the common pathway of our apartment blocks and then a loud hack and spat.
What a horrible job for Girlie and her friends I thought. One time I was on the way to the apartment and saw so much garbage in one of the apartment buildings. I met Girlie and I told her how incredible it was, and she remarked sadly, yes, they are pigs.
How true. Girlie who can’t even afford to live in one of these apartments find such people here as pigs. How remarkably true. 
The procession of the Nazareno (Christ carrying the cross), the Dead Christ and the Dolorosa (sorrowful mother) passed our window. The Nazareno was accompanied by recorded music, the Dead Christ was accompanied by a live band, and the Dolorosa with recorded music. Although all funerary music, the live band was much livelier and could even almost sound like Hindustani music.
Oh well. Happy Easter to all those who celebrate it.
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Papadam is a thin South Asian wafer, sometimes described as a cracker or flatbread, typically made from lentil, chickpea, black gram or rice flour.
