Monica Saigal Bhide's Blog, page 24

Dear Writer: What are you selling?

What are you selling?

I have been thinking about this a lot lately. For many folks, especially those in marketing and business, this post may be a no-brainer and for that I apologize. But for many of us, especially writers, I think this warrants some thinking. I am not a marketing person and not a strategist, this is just meant to be a post to get you thinking about your work in a different way:

So:

Disney doesn’t just sell theme park adventures or “things” – they sell memories

Martha Stewart doesn’t just sell magazines or “things” – she sells perfection (or the appearance of a picture perfect life)

Oprah doesn’t just sell her show or magazines – she sells spiritual thinking

Charmin doesn’t just sell toilet paper – they sell softness

Mercedes Benz doesn’t just sell cars – they sell luxury

State Farm doesn’t just sell insurance – they sell assurance

Nike doesn’t just sell shoes – they sell performance

Anthony Bourdain doesn’t just sell TV shows — he sells adventures, longings and, to me, visions of a dream job!!

Michael Rulman doesn’t just sell cookbooks – he sells his immense knowledge and teachings.

Ina Garten doesn’t just sell cookbooks – she sells comfort

Kim Kardashian- well, I can’t figure that one out. LOL

(You may think these brands are selling something different from the way I view them, and that is fine. The point here is to see what the brand is really about)

Now, before you take on a single new writing assignment or write one more word, think about what it is that you are selling. If you know what you are selling, it is easier to focus and create a strategy to move forward. If you don’t know what you are selling, you will be all over the board and come 2013, will be wondering why you did not make work progress in 2012.

Post your comments here and tell me what you think you are selling or want to sell as a writer. I will pick a winner from the list and send you a copy of my new e-book “In Conversation with Exceptional Women.”

This is an important exercise for anyone who is working on defining themselves. There are no wrong answers but these are important answers and remember – things will change as you grow. But it is good to have a starting point.. a point where you can see what you are selling and how to get work around that point so that you can grow your platform and your influence.

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Read, Cook, Love

I know I am not supposed to play favorites but I will. Of all the stories that I have done over the years, this one,Read, Cook, Love,is my favorite. I love writing for Parents (the team there ROCKS) and I love what they did with my idea and recipes. They have made it shine!!  The story is in the November 2011 issue of Parents magazine.

It is our tradition – I take books that the kids love to read and we create dishes around them! I hope you will see the slideshow above and leave comments! WOuld LOVE your thoughts.

Here is an additional recipe that is not in the show:

Winnie the Pooh Honey-Blueberry  Shake

Top this with an edible bumblebee or a unsprayed edible flowers.  You can make bees with yellow jelly beans and a tube of black icing, or purchase sugar bumblebees from www.thepartyworks.com.

Serves 2

1 cup plain yogurt (full fat, low fat, or fat-free)

1 cup blueberries, rinsed and drained

2 tablespoons honey (divided 1 + 1)

Whipped cream to top (optional)

Edibles bees or edible flowers for garnish

Kids: Put the yogurt, blueberries, and 1 tablespoon of honey in the blender.

Grown-up: Cover and blend until smooth. Pour the shake into the glasses.

Kids:  Top with whipped cream, if you like.

Kids: Drizzle the remaining honey over the shakes. Float a couple of bees or a flower on top of the honey.  Add a straw and drink!

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Spiced (But Not Spicy) Hot Cocoa Mix

I love Debbie Koenig’s work! Always have. I enjoyed her first book, Parents Need to Eat Too, a lot and requested her to do a guest recipe here and she graciously agreed.

Spiced (But Not Spicy) Hot Cocoa Mix By Debbie Koenig

In my son’s world, every spice is Scary Spice. Harry eats his pasta unsauced, his hot dogs nude, and his chicken only from the interior, unseasoned part—ask him to name his favorite flavor, and he’ll tell you: “Salty.” That’s right, his favorite spice is salt. At six years old, he’s been narrowing his will-eat list for so long, I can practically make a living writing about the foodie mom/picky kid paradox.

So the success of this hot cocoa recipe took me by surprise. I created it to use as last year’s holiday gift, figuring it would also make a sweet little treat for my husband and me. But the allure of chocolate is more powerful than I expected; Harry wandered into the kitchen while I was testing, and didn’t leave until we’d figured out the ideal mix of spices.

Thanks to a generous helping of cinnamon, a less generous amount of ancho chile powder (which is made from dried, mildly hot poblano peppers), and a hint of nutmeg, this cocoa tastes sophisticated enough for the grownups, but still chocolaty enough for the kids—Harry downed about a bathtub’s worth of the stuff last winter, and during that snowy Nor’Easter after Election Day, he suggested we make our first batch for this one.

The recipe yields enough that you’ll have plenty to share. Packaged in sweet little Weck jars, topped with a baggie of Cinnamon Mini-Marshmallows, and paired with a cocoa-themed holiday card (Etsy usually has plenty to choose from), a gift of Spiced Hot Cocoa will delight even the vanilla-est person on your list.

 

Spiced (But Not Spicy) Hot Cocoa Mix

Adapted from Best Ever Hot Cocoa Mix

Makes 24 servings

3 cups nonfat dry milk

2 cups confectioners’ sugar

1 1/2 cups Dutch-process cocoa powder

1 1/2 cups white chocolate chips

1/2 cup bittersweet chocolate chips

2 tablespoons cinnamon

1 tablespoon ancho chile powder

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon salt

Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Working in 3 batches, pulse ingredients in a food processor until the chocolate is finely ground. Store in an airtight container for up to 3 months.
To make hot cocoa, whisk 1/4 cup of the mix into 1 cup of cold milk (any percentage), and heat over medium-low heat.
Serve with Cinnamon Marshmallows, if you’ve got em.

Recipe, post and photo credit: Debbie Koenig

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Crab Soup with Tadka

This year my book, Modern Spice, celebrates five years! In honor of the book, I will be posting a few recipes over the year. Here is the first one, and one of my favorites! The photo is courtesy of Olga Berman

 

Tadka Soup With Crab

Traditional lentil soups in India are made with lentils, onions, tomatoes and a large array of spices, then topped with a tadka of another array of spices. While they are rewarding in taste, they are too time-consuming for weeknights because most lentils take a long time to cook. When I discovered cannellini beans, I knew I had a solution. When I first served this soup to my mom, she tasted it begrudgingly — cannellini beans are not something she is familiar with. But, she had to admit, it was love at first sip, especially since the flaming red of the deghi mirch (a red chili that provides color but not heat) and the smell of the clarified butter made it taste like home. This soup is from my book Modern Spice (Simon & Schuster, 2009).

Makes 4 small or 2 large servings

Soup

2 tablespoons butter

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 small yellow onion, thinly sliced

1 can (15 1/2 ounces) cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

2 cups chicken broth

1/4 cup heavy cream

Salt and ground white pepper

1/4 pound cooked lump crab, picked over

Tadka

1 tablespoon ghee* or vegetable oil

1/4 teaspoon deghi mirch* or paprika

1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes

For the soup, heat the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the garlic and onions. Saute for about 10 minutes, or until transparent and soft. Add the beans and cook another 5 minutes. Add the broth and simmer for 15 minutes.

Remove from the heat and allow to cool to room temperature. Working in batches if necessary, puree in a blender until smooth. (If you prefer a really smooth soup, pass the puree through a strainer.) Return the soup to a clean saucepan and stir in the heavy cream. Check the seasoning and adjust as necessary with salt and pepper. Reheat the soup to a gentle simmer.

Ladle the soup into serving bowls and top each with an equal amount of crab.

To make the tadka, in a small pan, heat the ghee on medium heat until quite hot. Add thedeghi mirch and red pepper flakes. Remove from heat immediately and drizzle over the soup. Serve immediately.

*Available at Indian markets

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Shoot the critic, save the dream

Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba (featured in the photo above) live with me for free. They have for years. Why would they want to leave? I feed them well; they live in luxurious surroundings; I never question anything they say or do; I always listen to their advice; and they live, as I mentioned, rent-free.

Let me make a formal introduction: Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba (short for O-bloody and O-blood-ah) are my resident critics. They have an opinion about everything, all the time. When I began writing about seven or so years ago, they showed up right along with the first words I typed. Mrs. Oba is the passionate one and her first words to me were, “Ah, such a talented writer you are but this, this that you are typing, does not show that. Try again.” I took it to be encouragement. She was a Miss then. A few months later, she got married and Mr. Obe showed up. He’s the realist and can even drown her out (which is hard to do). His comments and insights always have razor-sharp focus and hurt as much as a sharp razor would on soft skin. “This, you call this writing? Wait till your editor reads this, it is going to be all over for you.”

I listened to them. I stopped writing. I found other things to do—I played games, I visited with my friends on social media, I cleaned my house. I loved getting assignments and dreaded writing them. I dreamt that Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba were sending secret notes to my editors, telling them how awful I was. I spent hours envying successful writers who (I believed) never had to deal with Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba. How lucky they must be?

Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba were helping me fail. Fast.

Out of sheer desperateness, and to try to at least attempt to make a living at this new craft, I began to read up everything I could find on how to make the internal nonsense stop. It had to. It was destroying what was left of my nonexistent self-esteem.

Nothing seemed to work. They laughed at all my attempts at meditation, despondent prayers and piles of self-help books.

Out of sheer panic, I decided I needed an intervention. A funny thing happens when you are an adult: you have to learn to take care of your demons because no one else can do it for you.

I began to call people I considered successful to ask how they dealt with their demons. Many said it was hard, some said they had no time for demons they were so busy. It occurred to me—and this may sound really stupid to you all—but it occurred to me that I had actually created and welcomed Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba in my life. They did not show up on their own. It sounds really idiotic to say that but to me it was eye-opening: they were there because I allowed them to be there.

I remember writing down on a piece of paper that having demons was a luxury. It was an excuse I was using to not face the paper every day. I was letting them define my life. They had served their purpose: to remind me that humility was important, to show me that nothing was going to be easy and that good writing took a lot of work. I had learned my lesson.

Then one day I began to write about a topic I was totally fascinated with. It was a topic close to my heart: fear of failing. I wrote the story in a rush. The words flowed, there were no edits, there was no stopping, I wrote fast and wrote strong. And when the story was done, it suddenly occurred to me that Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba had not made their customary appearance that day. Sick day, perhaps?

These days, when I write (which is daily), I write fast. I do not analyze or edit or even think until whatever I am writing is in a draft form. I force myself to keep my fingers moving, just moving, pouring out words. I don’t stop. I write like I am trying to save my life. Which, in some ways, I am. I have begun to spend time meditating in the mornings and at night. It helps clear the white noise where the critical couple once lived. Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba, I have to tell you, have moved to a beach-front home somewhere, and show up only occasionally to pay their respects.

Just today, though, I heard a knock on my mental door and it was a new couple, Mr. Ooh and Mrs. Aaah. They are distant cousins of Mr. Obe and Mrs. Oba and were here, they said, to ooh and aah over my writing, since they had heard I had a rent-free space available. I smiled at them. I had learned my lesson. I was no longer renting space. The space is no longer available: an aspiring writer lives there now.

While I don’t have the luxury of renting out to critics, I don’t have the bravado to rent it out to cheerleaders either.

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What is the color of your dreams?

The future is not a result of choices among alternative paths offered by the present, but a place that is created–created first in the mind and will, created next in activity. The future is not some place we are going to, but one we are creating. The paths are not to be found, but made, and the activity of making them, changes both the maker and the destination

– John Schaar, futurist

I was one of those people who never dreamed of becoming anything. I never had a dream. I grew up in the Middle East, in a lovely, functional and practical apartment, reflective of the lovely, functional and practical nature of my parents – my mother was a school teacher and my father was an engineer. Late at night, when everyone was asleep, I would sneak into our living room and sit on a large brown couch where I had an unobstructed view of a perpetually star-filled sky. (A distinct advantage of growing up on a desert island, Bahrain, is that the skies are generally always cloud free!) I would sit there for hours and stare at the sky asking only why I had been placed on this earth and what I was to do with my life.

Was I going to be a dancer? No, I had two left feet!  A movie star? No, no height, no looks!  A singer?  I was tone-deaf, so no on that as well. Would I be a person people looked up to? Would I travel the world in 80 days? Would I be a teacher? A doctor? A healer? A lawyer?

I was ten, then.

In fact, star-gazing became a tradition on New Year’s night for me and my friend Nazu. I guess we never had a glamorous social calendar. We’d lie on the trunk of my father’s Volvo and pick out the stars that would help guide us and show us the way. One year, out of the blue, Nazu, gave me a book to capture my poems which I seemed to write endlessly. After that, I would sit and stare at the stars and write in my book. It overflowed with poems about longings, waiting for curtain calls and love to show up at my door. I was always asking, what is my dream, where do I belong, but getting no answers.

I had a hard time fitting in school. I was the one left behind when the girls went for a movie, the last one to know any gossip, the ugly duckling who never seemed to blossom. I was a geek with no imagination, a chemistry genius with no chemistry with any boy in sight and a passionate poet with no inspiration. I wanted to change the world so I could fit in it. I wanted the world to like me but I did not understand that I had to like the world first.

After high school, I left home to study engineering, and lived at a convent with semi-cloistered nuns for several years– they hosted girls in a girl’s hostel. Although the geekiness from my school years had continued, the Universe had been kind enough to give me a room with a horrid view of the highway but a spectacular view of the Bangalore sky. I studied hard, graduating with distinction but still feeling out of place.

Luckily for me, in spite of myself, I found love.  I moved to the States to get my masters degree and met my husband, Sameer. He helped open my heart to possibilities and laughed when he saw me staring at the sky on dark nights in Cleveland. I hated it there – the sky was always covered in clouds. “The answer is in your heart” he would say, “ not in the sky.” I would laugh it off but he did get me thinking.

I was in my twenties, working as hard as I could. I was an engineer with two master’s degrees, a six-figure dream career in training and development, a big house, friends, a loving husband and two amazing children.  On a personal level I was fulfilled, but on a professional level, something was missing.

Then, one day, my whole world came to a standstill. A very, very dear friend suddenly passed away in a freak accident. She was in her mid-thirties and had been married the same year that I had.

It shook my whole world. I felt I’d been so passive, accepting, and conservative that I was letting this precious life go by and doing nothing about it. I began to not only look at the stars at night, but also to pray. I started a journal, looking for guidance.

They say the universe opens up doors when you are specific about what you need. One day, I sat down in a quiet room and wrote my obituary. Sound far-fetched? It really is not. I imagined who I want to be remembered as. This was not, I told myself, about solving a problem or creating a solution. It was about defining a personal vision.

I came up with obvious things, like wanting to be known as a good mother and wife. I wrote about making a difference and leaving the world a better place. I knew these values I held so dear were not reflected in my professional choices. I began to devour books, magazines, essays on finding “your professional vision” and “discovering what you are destined to do.” It was my husband who casually pointed it out one fateful day. “You are always writing,” he said. “At the drop of a hat you are at the computer. Ever considered writing?” It was true, I had been writing online for a while. In fact, I had written my first book in 2001, a very small, personal cookbook for very little money, on a dare from my sister, since she loved my cooking. Writing was a hobby. It’s interesting how many of us look outside ourselves to figure out who we want to be when often the answers are right under our noses and we don’t see them.

I quit my job and began to write for anyone who would let me: websites, magazines, newspapers, newsletters. I wrote resumes for friends, and edited essays for college-ready kids. I wrote and I wrote. And I became happier and happier. By God’s grace I have written for national and international magazines, newspapers and now have three books to my name. I write a weekly column online for the Washington Post and others.

It is amazing how when you do what you love, you have so much more energy and soul.  In the past, I would fill my time with worry, and now that I don’t, time has opened up its treasures to me.

Today, I’m at peace.  While I still stare at the stars, I realize that life is about deliberate choices and learning how to make them instead of waiting for something or someone to make them for you. I stopped trying to the change the world. I changed myself. I challenged myself to find my God-given gift. I had to look inside. I had to find my dream and find my faith so I could take the leap. I began to look at my world with a different set of eyes, perhaps a bit wiser, I began to appreciate what the world had already given me.

Today, I as I write this, I am sitting at my dining table in my townhome in Virginia, staring out the wall-to-ceiling windows at a garden with vividly colored flowers and a spectacularly blue sky with a sprinkling of a cloud or two. I turn 40 this summer*. Every decade of my life has taught me something new. I am not sure what being 40 will teach me but I have a few-found sense of freedom that I never had before. I am more confident about myself and my dreams. Today, I feel I can reach out and touch the stars, not just stare at them. And I’m thankful for what they gave me – the ability to dream.

____

Now tell me: What is the color of your dreams? Where are you headed? Where would you like to go. What is the color of your dreams?

(this essay was written and originally published in 2009)

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How Poetry Can Make You a Better Food Writer

My beautiful and talented friend Annelies Zijderveld is a poet, well a food poet to be more precise. She knows so much about the art of poetry that I had to ask her: how can poetry help me in my food writing? Annelies responded with this superb post. It is a beautiful post and very informative. I hope you will read it and post comments here when you use her advice to up the level of your writing. I certainly will use all this lovely advice for my own work.

I am so delighted to being The Food Poet to you:

How Poetry Can Make You a Better Food Writer

By Annelies Zijderveld (post and photos)

Initially, poetry may not seem to have a lot in common with food writing. For starters, poems tend to operate by shape: on the short side stacked into a skinny column of words or fat and squat in a prose poem. Aside from the look of poems though, I would posit that poetry has much to teach a writer unused to its wiles and would suggest five ways poetry can make even the most venerable food writer better. These tips consist of concision, line length, “finding the Poem within the poem”, word choice, and writing rich lyrical descriptions.

One of the defining elements of poetry is in praise of the economy of words. Unless you’re reading an epic poem like “The Iliad” by Homer or a long poem like “The Eve of St. Agnes” by Keats, most poems are relatively short in length. Poetry’s concision provides fodder for counting each word as a requirement. It allows the reader to ask the question, “is every word necessary?” and then deduce how to shape the words justly to convey the meaning best. Poet Maxine Kumin describes those necessary words as “furniture.” When writing a story with a recipe, ask yourself if it is tight enough or are there opportunities to cut away the fat to get closer to the meat.

Perhaps this is an eccentricity carried over from J-school so very long ago, but a hanging widow leaves me cold, unless its positioning is intentional. The most important spot of the line might just be the end. In poetry, the end holds the weight of the line and often bleeds over into the next one. That end word or phrase can easily play double duty and provide a rich possibility of meaning for the reader. When writing about food in prose, consider the caboose and cadence. Enfold the widow.

One of my poetry mentors exhorted me regularly to “find the poem within the poem,” understanding that the first jumble of words to spill out from my fingertips onto the empty page or screen is a necessary exercise of pre-writing. From that first step comes the second necessary step of removing yourself from the situation which is to say, stepping away from the notebook or computer after some minor edits and giving the work time to sit and allow some distance to materialize. This can foster a detachment to form between the poet and their work, which can let it lose a bit of its sparkle and quit being as precious, so the crucial cuts can be made.

Good writing demands more than just putting words down that sound as though you are speaking. When reading a book of poetry, it’s easy to become a bit of a sleuth and look for those turns-of-phrase, those tics that keep tickling their way into poems. In reviewing my chapbook at the end of my MFA, my mentor, Paula McLain pointed out that I had unwittingly used the words “yesterday” and “tomorrow” in multiple poems. It took another set of eyes to point out this crutch, but once recognized, I found I wanted to walk on my own without it. What words creep into your stories that, after evaluation, are unnecessary?

The way words sound sidled up against one another can deeply affect not only how the story is told but how it will be received. Because of poetry’s small packages of “furniture” words, writing an appropriate description involves lyricism, essentially how the words will sound together. Lyrical writing is lush and sensuous. Rich descriptions of time, place and story details can involve more of the senses than just the eyes. Describing food by sound like perceiving grains of amaranth popping up from the pan can transport a reader into the scene and cement them in your story. Using smell as a device of description unexpectedly can reap the reward of reader engagement. In “The Dinner Party,” an article written in Saveur magazine by noted poet Carolyn Forche, you can catch a glimpse of this active writing in just 500 words. The trope of pairing a recipe with a story can become a bit staid. Think of how you can turn that form on its head and make it your own, infusing it with poetry.

***

About the author: Annelies Zijderveld has worked in the food industry for over a decade, passionately helping market good food brands. She is the writer and photographer of the food and poetry blog, The Food Poet, selected in 2013 by Alimentum Food Literary Journal as one of their favorite food blogs. She serves as an associate editor for Poetry International and manages the Daily Digest blog. Her work has also appeared in Sated Magazine,The Curator, and The Huffington Post. She holds an MFA in poetry from New England College and a BA in Print Journalism from Southern Methodist University. She currently lives in San Francisco. Follow her on Twitter or Pinterest at @anneliesz or @thefoodpoet.

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Is Fruitcake for Fruitcakes?

(Isn’t this photo AMAZING? By Sala Kannan for Life of Spice)

I have this thing about fruitcakes. I hate them. I mean really truly hate them: the ones I am talking about are the ones that I find in Indian grocery stores that have things in them that, I swear, would glow in the dark. They have small green, red, yellow things in there that look like jello gone bad. And then there is the the smell. Okay, you get the idea.

I was reading the fab essay collection Fits, Starts and Matters of the heart ( and I want to mention that it does feature my essay on my own obsession with Nutella) and I came across an essay and a recipe for fruitcake by author Lisa Harris. I read it. Hmm.. Read it again. Raisins? Cherries? Cranberries. I wanted to make it. As it baked, I wondered if it would be a good cake or like the ones I dread.

Happy to report that the cake is awesome. I made it without the port for the kids and they loved it. This is THE fruitcake for people who hate fruitcakes! A perfect homemade gift for the holidays (and after for yourself!)

Lisa Harris’s Fruit Cake

As featured in Fits, Starts and Matters of the Heart. 

(printed with permission from the author)

2/3 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar

½ cup (1/4 lb) butter at room temperature

3 large eggs

1 ¼ cups all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

¼ teaspoon ground mace

1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

Fruits and nut mixture:

1 cup currents

½ cup golden raisins

½ cup dried blueberries

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup dried Bing cherries

½ cup unsalted pistachio pieces

½ cup pecan pieces

About ½ cups good quality Port

In a large bowl, beat sugar and butter with a mixer until well blended, beat

in eggs, 1 at a time.  Stir together flour, baking powder, cinnamon, mace,

and cloves.  Add to egg mixture; stir, beat to blend.  Stir in fruit and nut

mix.

Spoon batter equally into 6 greased 2½ -by 4-inch individual loaf pan OR 1

regular sized loaf pan.  Spread batter evenly and smooth top.

Bake at 300° oven until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean and

cakes are firm when lightly pressed in center, 45 to 60 minutes for small

pans, longer for regular sized loaf pan (1 ½ hours).  Cool in pans on a rack

for 10 minutes, invert onto rack to cool completely.

Set the cakes in a single layer in a 9- by 13-inch baking dish or pan, or

set each cake on a rectangle of foil large enough to seal the cake airtight.

Spoon 2 tablespoons of Port onto each cake slowly enough to let it seep in.

Repeat until the cake is saturated.  Wrap each cake airtight in foil.

Store at room temperature at least 8 hours or up to 2 weeks; freeze and

store up to 2 months.

Makes 6 mini loaves OR 1 regular size loaf.

 

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Monica’s Indian Express: Egg Curry

I am so pleased to share  next recipe in my  series: Monica’s Indian Express: Simple & Sassy Weeknight Dishes.

Monica’s Indian Express: Egg Curry

 

 

I can tell you this: if you make this recipe once, you will want to make it again and again and again. This dish is a keeper! If you are vegetarian, you can add pieces of pan-fried paneer to this dish instead of eggs. Enjoy!
This recipe is adapted from my Everything Indian Cookbook (Adams Media)
3 tablespoon s vegetable oil
1 medium red onion, minced
1 1-inch piece fresh ginger root, grated
2 small tomatoes, chopped
1/2 teaspoon turmeric powder
1/2 teaspoon red chili powder
1 teaspoon coriander powder
Table salt to taste
1 cup whole milk
6 eggs, boiled and peeled
1. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the red onions and sauté for about 7-8 minutes or until the onions are well browned.
2. Add the ginger and cook for another minute. Add the tomatoes, and cook until the tomatoes are done and the oil begins to separate from the onion-tomato mixture. This will take a good ten minutes. Add a bit of water if the tomatoes appear to be burning and keep on cooking.
3. Add the turmeric, red chili powder, coriander powder and salt. Mix well. Add the milk, bring to a boil. Lower heat. Cover and simmer for about 3-4 minutes.
4. Slice the eggs and gently fold into the sauce. Serve hot.

Hearty thanks to Alka at Sindi Rasoi for shooting the photograph for me! She is a delightful photographer and her information is here:

Website: SindhIRasoi.com
Facebook page:Sindhirasoi
Twitter : Sindhirasoi

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Cardamom Maple Mini Macaroons

Here is a great recipe and a wonderful way to introduce cardamom to your kids. Life of Spice resident nutritionist, Rebecca Katz provided this recipe and offers this wisdom, “Cardamom –  One of my favorite spices, however, a little bit goes a long way.  Otherwise your food will taste a like Chanel No. Five Perfume!  Cardamom boosts digestion and has antibacterial and antiviral properties.    Chewing on a cardamom pod is an effective remedy from everything to bad breath to relieving colic and hiccups.   Cardamom tea is excellent for colds and respiratory infections.”

Cardamom Maple Mini Macaroons

By Rebecca Katz

makes 24 macaroons

2 organic egg whites

1/2 cup maple syrup

1 tablespoon honey

Pinch of sea salt

11/2 cups unsweetened shredded coconut

2 tablespoons all-purpose unbleached white flour

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom

Preheat the oven to 325°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Combine the egg whites, maple syrup, honey, and salt in a saucepan over medium heat and cook, stirring constantly, until just warm, about 1 minute. Add the coconut, flour, vanilla, and cardamom and continue to cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture just begins to sizzle and is slightly dry, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool for a few minutes.

Using a teaspoon and your fingers, form the dough into 24 small mounds on the prepared pan. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until golden brown. Let cool completely before serving.

 

Variation: For a more decadent dessert, dip the macaroons in chocolate. Chop your favorite dark chocolate and place it in a dry metal or glass bowl and set it over a pan of gently simmering hot water (or use a double boiler if you have one). Stir the chocolate constantly until just melted, then remove it from the heat. Now for the fun part:

Dip the macaroons into the melted chocolate, then place them on a pan or plate lined with wax or parchment paper. Chill in the refrigerator until the chocolate hardens, then enjoy!

Prep Time: 10 minutes • Cook Time: 20 minutes

Storage: Store in an airtight container at room temperature for 5 to 7 days.

Per Serving: Calories: 55; Total Fat: 3 g (2.7 g saturated, 0.1 g monounsaturated);

Carbohydrates: 7 g; Protein: 1 g; Fiber: 1 g; Sodium: 20 mg

Gorgeous photo by Sala Kannan. I combined two of her shots in to one!

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