The Vij’s Indian Cuisine cookbook changed my life.
A big statement for a single, 205-paged book now dog-eared, post-it plastered and food splattered.
Amongst the 90 plus recipes, somewhere between mastering simple masalas and Vij’s Holy Grail of marinated lamb popsicles, I discovered my inner cook.
My graveyard of burnt pots was finally banished to the dark corners of cardboard boxes, packing away my shame of warped frying pans and melted, mangled plastic utensils.
There would be no more fire detectors blaring with such familiarity I’ve become immune to their screams. No more flooded kitchen floors with a defrosting turkey bucketed in a sink. No more weekly refreshers on how to use the fire extinguisher strategically placed an arm’s length from the oven — I noticed this was installed after I moved in.
I now can cook and look my landlord in the eye and say with 100 per cent absolute certainty that I will not burn the place down.
Forget the mystery of the Taj Mahal, the residence of the Dalai Lama, the sacred waters of the Ganges.
For me, the real secret of India is Vij’s guidance on producing outstanding Indian cuisine from cover to cover even in the kitchens of the most cooking challenged. I read. I cooked. I discovered God’s gift to the microwave fallen — the oven timer.
Yes it is second cousin to the fire alarm; only this warning comes before the fire trucks pull up to your house.
Between learning how to use a timer and a recipe book that steps you through dishes literally minute by minute, I am now cooking with such confidence that I’ve had a number of friends over to sample Vij’s dishes and they’ve all lived to talk about it and even applaud it.
Before my head won’t make it through the kitchen door, the step-by-step instruction of the Vij’s Cook Book deserves all the credit. Vij’s partner, Meern Dhalwala, was a sympathetic writer when creating the book, remembering her days of novice Indian cooking where cutting and sautéing was the sum total of her culinary knowledge. Like her, I knew nothing about spices and layering, unlike her failing and succeeding over a stove for 11 years, the cook book fast tracks the reader through mastering complex flavours in the flip of a page turn.
The cooking challenged will love the informative but brief introductions to the nuances of Indian kitchens and ingredients. Learn how to make ghee, tomato broth and other supporting acts for the star attractions. Chances are you might have troubles finding moong dal, but the book will give you ingredients’ other aliases: dal, mung or lentil.
You’ll learn Indian rice is very different from regular rice and that no, white all-purpose flour won’t stand in for chapattis flour.
Introductions read, you can now at least spell and define asafetida and even make paneer, but finding some of these exotic ingredients is a bit of a fruitless safari in Whistler. A trip to Save On Foods in Squamish is like shooting ducks in a barrel — or most likely goat for the kalonji curry. Save On’s East Indian food isle has almost everything listed in the cookbook.
I shopped for one of everything. No doubling up of my purchases as I had done in the past out of fear — or more likely the reality — of destroying the first batch. I was entering my kitchen with a whole new mindset.
Phones were turned off. I couldn’t find any police tape with the “don’t cross” warning and instead made do with red lighting tape. I marked off the area. Television distractions, computer nigglings and all other I’ll-just-do-this-for-a-minute callings were silenced outside of the taped no-go zone.
It was just Vij and I. My measuring cups and spoons and the timer.
I eased my way into this gateway of India. I skimmed, boiled, sautéed and sneezed my way through layers of spice, vegetables and meats. Lentil curry is my weekly staple, as a ginger infused soup one minute and rice covering the next. I worked through the fluffy cumin basmati rice (fluffy has never been a part of my rice vocabulary), chapattis (this is really fun) and cucumber raita, then long green beans and new potatoes in mustard seed curry (local veggies found in season at the Whistler Farmer’s Market) and the coconut curry vegetable dish.
A regular at Vij’s lunch joint, Rangolis, in Vancouver, I can verify that the juicy flavourful curry spooned out of my pot, was exactly what I had for lunch every time I drove through Vancouver.
I no longer have to stop for to-go Indian dinners from Rangolis to bring my love of Indian food to Whistler. It’s in my kitchen. In parts, but still always staring me right in the face when I open my spice cupboard.
I later braved into lamb popsicles (and I didn’t have to wait two hours for them like I do when I try to get a dinner seat at Vij’s in Vancouver) and then chicken marinated in lemon-ghee dressing with roasted garlic and cashews and spicy curry — yes the latter is one dish and it takes even longer to make than it does to say it. Most dishes are simply constructed, but complexly layered. I always run out of time for the lemon ginger drink recipe before guests arrive, but constantly stirring the rice pudding scented with green cardamom for an hour and 10 minutes is worth getting ready early.
Critics agreed, or at least my table guests did. I could tell false modesty didn’t fall into play because exclamations were not out of praise, but surprise.
Vij’s cookbook was made for the cooking challenged who boast a palate for fine Indian cuisine and happy dinner parties.
Vij’s Indian Cuisine is available at Armchair Books in Whistler.
