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Friday, December 14, 2012
Saturday, December 8, 2012
The art of making South Indian filter coffee
The art of making South Indian filter coffee
RELATED
There is something special about the ubiquitous south Indian filter coffee that die-hard fans swear by. We find out what the daily dose of caffeine means for them.
Call it coffee, espresso, kaapi or anything you want but every south Indian would wish to wake up to these sinful, little cups of coffee served the traditional way. Trichy has had a long standing affair with this traditional cup of south Indian filter coffee and is home to some of the best coffee spots.
Unlike the ones that we see in the movies, with beautifully decorated posh interiors, these stalls have been owned for generations and still remain quaint and crowded and serves coffee the 'old school' way. Starting as early as five in the morning some areas in the city are full with customers who regularly drop in after morning walks, like Ravindran Sankaran, a railway employee who has his coffee and can never skip the habit. "It is instilled in me to get my morning dose of caffeine while I get hit by the morning news here.
The filter coffee is so much different if taste, smell than the instant ones and I never actually like the instant powders. We have la little club of sorts and get chatting; it is a great way to start your day with such gusto."
Couches, television sets, air-conditioned rooms and well-designed interiors have not claimed their space in the city even with the case of youngsters. The Aathikudi Coffee Club has been serving their cup of coffee since 1916 and it is now run by the fourth generational owners. Once the favourite hangout spot for many yesteryear celebrities like Shivaji Ganesan, MR Radha, Gemini Ganesan it still remains the same old-fashioned shop filled with little wooden tables and stools. Youngsters who come here sip up this divine drink and have a chat at the "famous round table" which was once shared by stalwarts in the Tamil cinema industry. Chandrashekharan Sriram, who owns a shop quite close to NIT, explains that students do enjoy a cup anytime. "They do not mind that there are no spaces to stand as long as the coffee is good. They do have a good time and I have students who come here regularly, I try and make the shop different as I sell other stuff to keep them interested."
To people who adore the city they never complain about the absence of coffee houses and cafe spots like Sriram Krishnamoorthy, a businessman who was brought up in the city, says, "The strong scent of coffee served in the small traditional 'davaras' transports you to heaven with just one sip. With a view like the Srirangam Rajagopuram in front of you and the flavorful morning coffees nothing can beat the experience at least to people like me who have been born in the city. So we Trichiites never complain about the lack of hangout spots for coffee as long as we have the concoction right."
If you are a true blue coffee lover get sipping on this sinful cup of soul stirring coffee the south Indian way!
The filter kaapi
Coffee was introduced by Baba Budan to south India in the 17th century and became very popular under the British Rule.
The south Indian filter coffee is made from dark and roasted coffee beans which is heavier and more pure (70-80%) with chicory (20-30%), and is quite popular in Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. The most commonly used coffee beans are Arabica and Robusta grown in the hills of Nilgiris District, Yercaud and Kodaikanal; Coorg, Chikkamagaluru and Hassan in Karnataka, and the Malabar region in Kerala.
Call it coffee, espresso, kaapi or anything you want but every south Indian would wish to wake up to these sinful, little cups of coffee served the traditional way. Trichy has had a long standing affair with this traditional cup of south Indian filter coffee and is home to some of the best coffee spots.
Unlike the ones that we see in the movies, with beautifully decorated posh interiors, these stalls have been owned for generations and still remain quaint and crowded and serves coffee the 'old school' way. Starting as early as five in the morning some areas in the city are full with customers who regularly drop in after morning walks, like Ravindran Sankaran, a railway employee who has his coffee and can never skip the habit. "It is instilled in me to get my morning dose of caffeine while I get hit by the morning news here.
The filter coffee is so much different if taste, smell than the instant ones and I never actually like the instant powders. We have la little club of sorts and get chatting; it is a great way to start your day with such gusto."
Couches, television sets, air-conditioned rooms and well-designed interiors have not claimed their space in the city even with the case of youngsters. The Aathikudi Coffee Club has been serving their cup of coffee since 1916 and it is now run by the fourth generational owners. Once the favourite hangout spot for many yesteryear celebrities like Shivaji Ganesan, MR Radha, Gemini Ganesan it still remains the same old-fashioned shop filled with little wooden tables and stools. Youngsters who come here sip up this divine drink and have a chat at the "famous round table" which was once shared by stalwarts in the Tamil cinema industry. Chandrashekharan Sriram, who owns a shop quite close to NIT, explains that students do enjoy a cup anytime. "They do not mind that there are no spaces to stand as long as the coffee is good. They do have a good time and I have students who come here regularly, I try and make the shop different as I sell other stuff to keep them interested."
To people who adore the city they never complain about the absence of coffee houses and cafe spots like Sriram Krishnamoorthy, a businessman who was brought up in the city, says, "The strong scent of coffee served in the small traditional 'davaras' transports you to heaven with just one sip. With a view like the Srirangam Rajagopuram in front of you and the flavorful morning coffees nothing can beat the experience at least to people like me who have been born in the city. So we Trichiites never complain about the lack of hangout spots for coffee as long as we have the concoction right."
If you are a true blue coffee lover get sipping on this sinful cup of soul stirring coffee the south Indian way!
The filter kaapi
Coffee was introduced by Baba Budan to south India in the 17th century and became very popular under the British Rule.
The south Indian filter coffee is made from dark and roasted coffee beans which is heavier and more pure (70-80%) with chicory (20-30%), and is quite popular in Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. The most commonly used coffee beans are Arabica and Robusta grown in the hills of Nilgiris District, Yercaud and Kodaikanal; Coorg, Chikkamagaluru and Hassan in Karnataka, and the Malabar region in Kerala.
Perhaps it’s something to do with this land, there’s something in the air here,- Thoothukudi macaroon- a vestige of European colonisation
In search of
- The Hindu Macaroons are made by mixing egg white, cashew and sugar at bakeries in Thoothukudi. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu In Thoothukudi, it is stuffed with cashew and shaped into a cone with a round base and a pointed peak. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu A peek inside the bakeries. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu A peek inside the bakeries. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu A peek inside the bakeries. Photo: N. Rajesh
-
Bakers reveal to Olympia Shilpa Gerald how they reinvented a vestige of European colonisation into a much-coveted confection.
I gingerly lift the waist-high wooden plank that cordons
off swarming devotees of bread and cakes from the baking gods, who turn
out the confection that the seaport of Thoothukudi (or to give its
anglicised name Tuticorin) is celebrated for — macaroons.
Squeezing
into the tiny space between the wall and the display cabinets, I emerge
behind the sales counter of a bakery that opens out into a narrow room
lined with gilded cardboard boxes. The anterior chambers of the bakeries
in this city, like those behind church altars where garments and
vessels are stored, are privy only to a select few. It takes much
cajoling, coaxing and running around in circles till the custodians of
confectionery secrets condescend to allow us a peep into their mystery
shrouded rituals. That too only after ascertaining I am not from the
income tax department or a nosy apprentice of a rival baker.
What
strikes me as strange is that I am yet to spot the macaroons, though
all around me orders are flying and so are the cardboard boxes. The
macaroons are missing among the tempting puffs and plum cakes that dress
up counters. “This is not a roadside snack,” my local friend
accompanying me informs quite snobbishly. “One kg costs Rs.600,” she
nods to the price list, where the macaroon tops the list. The snack that
sells by reputation alone has an elitist air to it and understandably
its makers are viewed as royalty, so much so that the hole-in-the-wall
bakeries double up as landmarks in a city synonymous with pearl fishing,
feisty freedom fighters and salt pans.
“There was a
time when we used to store the macaroons in glass jars. But the rise in
demand meant frequently opening them to transfer the contents,” says
Suresh of Gnanam Bakery, established 45 years ago by his grandfather
Isravel who named the bakery after his wife. “Watch,” says Suresh,
finally producing a macaroon. “It won’t taste the same five minutes
later. The macaroon tends to absorb moisture and is best stored away in
air-tight containers.”
Chellappa, who has been making macaroons for 30 years, places one on my palm. Unlike other Indian pedas with
ethnic flavours, the Thoothukudi macaroon is a European export and a
vestige of colonisation, albeit reinvented in a unique shape. For around
the world, the macaroon is mostly flat and filled with almonds,
chocolate or coconut; only in Thoothukudi, it is stuffed with cashew and
shaped into a cone with a round base, bulging middle and a pointed
peak.
Nutty affairs
I sink
my teeth into the crunchy sugary tip that gives way to gluey and gooey
cashew crumbs. For all the secrecy that shrouds the pastry,
deconstructing it reveals just three ingredients — eggs, cashew nuts and
sugar. No water, no oil and no secret ingredient! The secret rather
lies in technique — in blending each ingredient into the hat-shaped
pastry, says macaroon master Chellappa. “It involves using high grade
cashew nuts (most shops source it from Kerala), knowing when to add each
ingredient and baking in firewood ovens.” Suresh paces to and fro,
wrapping loaves of bread and heading back to answer my questions. “I
challenge you to get the shape or taste of the Thoothukudi macaroon at
home in an electric oven or microwave. We have tried, it never works.”
When
I get curious about the origins of the pastry, I’m directed to
Dhanalakshmi Bakery, one of the oldest around town, where Thoothukudi’s
association with the confection is believed to have been shaped, much
before Independence. Though the bakery has lost its yesteryear
prominence, I find it still makes the nuttiest of macaroons, with the
base choc-a-bloc of cashew granules. In the kitchen, I peep into a
closet size hollow kiln built of brick, inside which are rows and rows
of pearly white macaroons, just baked. “The firewood furnace is just
right for macaroons in the morning as it reaches the ideal temperature
after all the baking the previous evening,” says owner Velammal. But how
does she get the temperature right? “O, I put my hand inside the wall
of the kiln and I know when it’s right.” Pointing to a portrait of the
late Arunachalam Pillai, his daughter Velammal claims it was her father
who popularised the macaroons in Thoothukudi. “He worked in a
confectionery at Tiruchi and later at Spencers in Chennai and learnt to
bake cakes and other European confections from Anglo-Indians and
foreigners there. He came here and began selling pastries, and the
macaroons which he shaped like this. Many ‘masters’ or confectioners
learnt from my father and set up their own bakeries.”
Though
many of the bakers in the city acknowledge Velammal’s
story, Dharmalingam at Ganesh Bakery, arguably the most popular in the
city (courtesy the milling crowds at any time of the day), believes that
macaroons must have been around in Thoothukudi much earlier, but gained
popularity in Arunachalam’s period. “The Dutch and Portuguese occupied
Thoothukudi before the British and the fondness for continental pastries
over Indian snacks is seen here even today. The ships that anchored off
the shores of Thoothukudi must have required local labour. These men
improvised on the flat almond macaroons.” Macaroons at Ganesh Bakery are
handed out in gift-wrapping paper. “What matters as much as quality is
the way you present the product,” Dharmalingam says.
Unlike
many of their counterparts, folks at Ganesh believe mass production
calls for modernisation, and macaroons are baked both in firewood and
electric ovens. I watch as men in vests crack the egg gently, pouring in
the gummy albumin inside a vessel, while the yolk hovers precariously
in the shell. The rest of the ingredients go in one after the other as
given in the recipe (see box).
Around half a dozen
men stand over a table squeezing the cones as little peaks materialize
on greased trays. The trays are assembled on a rack and wheeled into the
massive glass fronted oven. As I nibble at the macaroons that scream of
sugar than cashew at Ganesh Bakery, I wonder if Dharmalingam has tried
his hand at export. Like many of his peers, he notes, “The delicate
crumbly texture of the macaroon does not lend itself to transportation
over long distances.”
But industrialist S.G.
Ponseelan, who entered the confectionery business recently is determined
to make the city’s coveted confection available to pastry worshippers
in other cities. Packed in aluminium packs and Halal certified, Abi
Macaroons guarantees a shelf life over two months. “We have come up with
baby macaroons to minimise risk of breakage during transportation,”
says Ponseelan who got started with the macaroon production after a
company producing miniature versions adored by his daughter, closed
down. The macaroons maybe a treat for children but miss out on the
fulsome delight of crunching into a conventionally packed one.
Though
improvisations like macaroons with pistas and chocolates have been
tried by bakers, as Sridhar, proprietor at Shanti Macaroons established
in 1964, will tell you, cashew macaroons are unparalleled in popularity.
Sridhar has two stores slated to open in Chennai and Bangalore, but
insists that the macaroons will be carted from Thoothukudi. “I have
tried baking them in firewood ovens in other cities with masters from
Thoothukudi, but the taste was not the same.” Though none of the
ingredients is sourced from the city, almost all bakers I have met swear
that attempts to produce the macaroons elsewhere have failed miserably.
Some say it is the expertise of veteran macaroon masters, others
believe it is the firewood ovens, but everyone admits to a certain je ne
sais quoi. “Perhaps it’s something to do with this land, there’s
something in the air here,” Sridhar smiles.
Interestingly,
however varied their techniques might be, I notice that they are
unequivocally similar across major bakeries. The paper cones that give
the confections their distinctive shape is shaped out of thick
newspapers — all invariably The Hindu. A utility for the newspaper that I never dreamt of!
HOW IT’S MADE
Ingredients
Eggs 12 to 15
Cashewnuts (Some recommend 1/4 kg)
Sugar 1/2 kg.
Method
Powder
cashew nuts, set aside. Crack eggs and separate the whites ensuring not
a single drop of yolk falls in. With an egg beater, whisk the egg
whites in a large bowl. When they turn frothy, start adding sugar little
by little while continuing to vigorously whip up egg whites. Keep
beating till the mixture rises into stiff peaks. Gently fold in the
powdered cashews. Scoop batter into a stiff paper cone and squeeze cone
to shape pointed macaroons. These macaroons are generally baked in
firewood ovens, but baking them in electric ovens at 70 degrees may also
achieve a similar result.
Keywords: Thoothukudi macaroon, Food safari column
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Making a difference: Stirring up memories
- The Hindu DISHING OUT PROVINCIAL FLAVOURS: Samundeswari. Photo: Soma Basu
- The HIndu Samundeswari's platter. Photo: Soma Basu
Homemakers like Samundeswari are entering star hotel kitchens to revive grandma’s recipes and the homely taste of food
Who wouldn’t envy M. Samundeswari? At 52 and without a
formal degree, she has walked into a job at the gourmet kitchen of The
Gateway Hotel of the Taj group at Pasumalai. She wears the apron and cap
and rubs shoulders with English-speaking chefs armed with degrees in
Catering and Hotel Management.
Yet, she is the
lovable “Amma” in the five-star kitchen, single-handedly dishing out
home-made recipes for in-house guests and visitors to the hotel. The
young chefs don’t mind when she corrects their cooking style or
portions. As the only woman chef in the kitchen, she gives them tips on
how “the food should just taste right”. She is on duty daily from 10
a.m. to 4 p.m., rolling out a platter of rural cuisine which seems to be
increasingly in demand. She is quick, focussed, meticulous and unfussy,
say her colleagues.
Samundeswari is the hotel’s
discovery in a new approach to serving food. “She has been hired to dish
out authentic provincial flavours,” says General Manager Devraj Singh,
“as part of our group’s Home-Style Regional Food menu launched across
all Gateway Hotels.”
Samundeswari has been briefed
but she is her own master. “I enjoy cooking and cook the same way I do
at home. Given my age, local guests must be getting a taste of their
mother’s cooking and for the foreigners it is something new,” she says.
Taj
Corporate Chef K. Natarajan’s initiative has caught on. “Why would
anyone go out to eat home food? But there are guests who come to hotels
craving for it. Locals want a break from their home kitchen or a change
in taste, people travelling often on business look forward to eating
simple ghar ka khana and foreigners ask for typical local food,” says
Mr.Devraj.
Common items like sambar, rasam, poriyal,
gravy and sweet constitute Samundeswari’s cyclic menu. “Daily I prepare
six to eight varieties and decide which vegetables and in what
combinations after I get the basket of items from the hotel every
morning,” she says.
She makes her own masalas. “Once
I finish preparing the day’s lunch, I roast, pound and grind the
condiments and spices that I will require the next day. Packet masalas
in the market don’t have the same aroma, I never use them,” she says,
adding her food has always been liked by all her family members. “I do
it with the same love and care here. Guests often tell me they enjoyed
the food. For me, cooking is something very natural and effortless.” She
chooses to cook in less oil, without artificial flavours, colours or
additives. Every dish is cooked in clay pots. “That’s where nostalgia
and taste comes from,” she smiles. “I feel comfortable inside my
territory, the kitchen, and like to do everything by myself.”
The
home-cooked menu is not available for room service. “Like at home, it
should be served piping hot straight from the kitchen,” she says. Her
favourites are kathrika pulikuzhambu, potato masala and kathrikai chutney. But her hit item is the killi potta sambar. “Whenever I make it, some guests will enquire and I give them on-the-spot demo on the trolley,” she says.
She
has an inherent confidence about the food she cooks, yet she is anxious
to serve a fully satisfying meal to the guests. There is little doubt
that from reigning as the little-known queen in her own kitchen,
Samundeswari has become a speciality chef and is drawing people to The
Gateway’s dining tables.
Samundeswari’s platter: ‘Tulsi vetrelai saru’, a starter drink made with garden fresh basil and betel leaves. , Vazhaipoo vadai, banana flower infused with lentils and grounded South Indian spices, the kara paniyaram, rice and lentil batter tempered with select south Indian spices and pan fried and Moru kali urundai, rice dumpling tossed in aromatic Madurai spices and paruppu podi, as accompaniments.
For the main course, rice and chapatis come with butter beans masala, poondu and paruppu urundai kozhambu, athalakkai poriyal, seasonal vegetables tempered in South Indian spices and coconut and murugakeerai thovattal, a regional delicacy with young drumstick leaves wilted with pearl onions and coconut.
The kavan arisi pongal made with black rice and paal kozhukattai, rice dumplings cooked in condensed coconut milk, make a sweet ending.
(Making a difference is a fortnightly column about ordinary people and
events that leave an extraordinary impact on us. E-mail to
soma.basu@thehindu.co.in to tell about someone you know who is making a
difference)
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Your highness, dinner is served
Dining halls that spell opulence, decadent elegance, well-guarded thousand-year-old recipes, mustachioed chefs and a pageantry that is reflective of India's princely states. Dining with the Maharajas is a stunning time piece on the life, food, and fanfare of some of these families by Neha Prasada with photographs by Ashima Narain. We invited Narain to pick her five favourite photo stories from this memorable journey
AWADHI REGALIA The Mahmudabad Qila is beautiful and charming partly because of it’s architecture, but largely because it is a ‘living palace’, which includes a zenana where women cook, sew, laugh and learn. Exploring it was unique.
GLASS ACT The preparations to set the table at the Falaknuma Palace for 101 people begun the evening before our shoot with Princess Ezra the next day.
We walked in and were all blown away by the sheer majesty and scale of it — it felt as though we were going to dine with Maharajas. Made entirely of Italian marble, it was built in Hyderabad in 1893.
A ROYAL FEAST It was a rare privilege to have three royals cook for you and that makes this image very special. They were all relaxed, and enjoying each other's company and the food. It was lovely to be privy to this side of the Patiala royals.
Baby Appams from Mysore These were just delicious. Priya (Kapoor, Publisher, Roli Books), Neha (Prasada, author) nor I had ever tried these before, so we had to really restrain ourselves from eating them, in order to save them for the shoot.
Dining with the Maharajas, A Thousand Years of Culinary Tradition, Neha Prasada & Ashima Narain, Roli Books, R4,000. Available at leading bookstores Ashima Narain, photographer
STATE OF CALM I love this image, because I loved this place — it had the magic of a bygone era. Here, Ali showed me where the horses are taken to exercise.
The fields, the horses, the mist, the quiet, as well as Ali’s (Mohammad Khan) personal style came together at that moment. These elements really translated what I was experiencing, and how different it was from Mumbai city life. Each year, he takes a break from his studies at Cambridge University, England, to spend the month of Muharram in Mahmudabad, along with the rest of his family.
From the Maharaja files
>> The dining table at the Falaknuma Palace in Hyderabad is the world’s longest, and is called the 101, as it seats those many diners.
>> In the Kashmir royal family, yellow food items are made on Basant Panchami, and sundh, an energy portion, is made out of ground dry fruits for the pregnant women in the family.
>> The Umaid Bhavan Palace has 347 rooms, making it one of the largest private residences of the world.
>> Once upon a time, Mahmudabad chefs would add gold coins in the baghar (tempering) of desi ghee and spices to temper the Raja saheb’s food.
>> The Mysore Maharaja, Srikantadatta Narasimharaajawadiyar (or Wadiyar, as he is known) is an avid collector of jewellery and art and has an enviable collection of 35,000 miniatures.
>> It was the weakness of the Patiala royals for fine spirits that led to the term ‘Patiala Peg’ being coined for drinks that were much stiffer than the accepted 60ml.
>> The lone shortcut that Rampur cooks take while cooking for royals is using gas burners for expediency, all other preparations are done by hand.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Tales of cookery from the remote village of Jarpen in Sweden
In a fairy tale land – think the darkly beautiful landscapes
of the Brothers Grimm – far, far away on the shores of Lake Kallsjön
nestled under the eastern slope Åreskutan, in the small (some 1500 live
here year round) village of Järpen, Sweden, lives a wild haired giant
who serves those who come by strange edibles like reindeer lichen,
vinegar matured in the burnt-out trunk of a spruce tree, cow’s heart,
turnip leaves that have never seen the light of day, fermented paste of
pulses and fermented juice of mushrooms and oats. His dishes have long,
terrifying sounding names – Broth of Autumn Leaves and Wild Trout Roe in
a Warm Crust of Dried Pigs’ Blood.
This giant can often be seen with a bloody knife in his hand and dead animals hang from rafters in his fiefdom. He is, some might say, the Norse god of Fäviken, described as a former agricultural hamlet and now a collection of slättbrännas, Swedish mountain farms, and if he doesn’t like you he will throw you out of his lair which is called Fäviken Magasinet before you even get a chance to taste his duck-egg liqueur or Pine Tree Bark Cake.
Reality check, please.
Magnus Nilsson isn’t really a giant and his blondish hair is more tousled than wild. He doesn’t wantonly kill animals but he was raised foraging, hunting, fishing and butchering and after time spent cooking at several Michelin three-starred restaurants in Paris, he has returned to the lands of his ancestors and embarked upon an approach to cooking hyper-regional food “that is real.” As for being far, far away, well that part is true. Fäviken is 400 miles southeast of Stockholm in a remote region of lakes, mountains and forests. It is far from Paris, not only in miles but in concept. But if you want “retun mat” or real food from the nearby land with great attention to detail, it is the place to go. Bon Appetit magazine describes it as the world’s most daring restaurant. Oh and about throwing people out – he once did that to a customer who was beyond rude to a waitress.
Most of us can’t make the long and complicated trip to eat at this 12-seat restaurant open only for dinner, but we can read Fäviken (Phaedron Press 2012, $49.95), Nilsson’s wonderful cookbook, a homage to the bounties and a way of life in this remote region.
“It’s important to make the most of what you have,” Nilsson says in a wonderfully Scandinavian accented English. “And it’s about respecting the obstacles and limitations of wherever you have. I want people to understand what we do. This book isn’t for people just trying to cook the recipes, it’s nearly impossible in some cases given that they don’t have the same circumstances and equipment. I want them to understand what we do, why we do it and whom we do it with.”
For Nilsson, who says that the inspiration for his food comes not only from his surroundings but the real food of his grandparents style of cooking, “whom we do it” with means the farmers such as Leif and Stephen Kullen who raise Fjallko mountain cows whose milk Nilsson describes as “tastier and more perfumed” and the eccentric Mr. Duck who raises poultry.
Reading Nilsson’s writings takes us into a different world as we walk with him through the woods, gathering leaves which will be aged for a year before turning into soup, hearing the crunch of nettles under his feet (another soup ingredient), visiting honeybee keepers whose practices have changed little over the centuries and picking the vast selection of delicate berries with such seductive names as Bird Cherries, Cloudberries, Arctic Raspberries and Crowberries.
Though most of his recipes are stuck firmly in rural northern Sweden, some of the recipes let us enter into his world without having to make pine bark flour-- though Nilsson tells us how to make it noting that the first step is to chop down a pine tree or cook over juniper branches.
“The shortbread cookies, the linseed crackers and the bread are all things we serve at the restaurant,” says Nilsson, “and can easily be made in any kitchen.”
He also tells many stories like that of like that of Slättbränna Fabodara, a farming hamlet dating back to the 1850s though roads didn’t reach it until the 1930s, reciting from the diary of 17-year-old Signe who wrote about her experiences moving to Slättbränna Fabodara in 1917 with her large family and the life they led. His tales, whether they’re about the legends of his place, the seasons and what they produce or how to dry marigold petals to use the following year, seem magical in the telling.
It is like a fairy tale indeed.
Recipes
Douglas’s Shortbread Cookies
2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
10 1/2 tablespoons salted butter, room temperature
1 large egg, room temperature
1 large egg yolk, room temperature
3 tablespoons (about) raspberry jam
Preheat oven to 400°. Whisk flour, sugar, and baking powder in a large bowl. Add butter; using your fingertips, rub in butter until coarse meal forms. Whisk egg and yolk in a bowl; add to flour mixture; stir just to blend.
Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Measure dough by 2 tablespoonfuls and roll into balls. Place on prepared sheets, spacing 2" apart. Make an indentation in center of each ball; fill each with 1/2 teaspoon jam.
Bake cookies until golden, 12–14 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
This giant can often be seen with a bloody knife in his hand and dead animals hang from rafters in his fiefdom. He is, some might say, the Norse god of Fäviken, described as a former agricultural hamlet and now a collection of slättbrännas, Swedish mountain farms, and if he doesn’t like you he will throw you out of his lair which is called Fäviken Magasinet before you even get a chance to taste his duck-egg liqueur or Pine Tree Bark Cake.
Reality check, please.
Magnus Nilsson isn’t really a giant and his blondish hair is more tousled than wild. He doesn’t wantonly kill animals but he was raised foraging, hunting, fishing and butchering and after time spent cooking at several Michelin three-starred restaurants in Paris, he has returned to the lands of his ancestors and embarked upon an approach to cooking hyper-regional food “that is real.” As for being far, far away, well that part is true. Fäviken is 400 miles southeast of Stockholm in a remote region of lakes, mountains and forests. It is far from Paris, not only in miles but in concept. But if you want “retun mat” or real food from the nearby land with great attention to detail, it is the place to go. Bon Appetit magazine describes it as the world’s most daring restaurant. Oh and about throwing people out – he once did that to a customer who was beyond rude to a waitress.
Most of us can’t make the long and complicated trip to eat at this 12-seat restaurant open only for dinner, but we can read Fäviken (Phaedron Press 2012, $49.95), Nilsson’s wonderful cookbook, a homage to the bounties and a way of life in this remote region.
“It’s important to make the most of what you have,” Nilsson says in a wonderfully Scandinavian accented English. “And it’s about respecting the obstacles and limitations of wherever you have. I want people to understand what we do. This book isn’t for people just trying to cook the recipes, it’s nearly impossible in some cases given that they don’t have the same circumstances and equipment. I want them to understand what we do, why we do it and whom we do it with.”
For Nilsson, who says that the inspiration for his food comes not only from his surroundings but the real food of his grandparents style of cooking, “whom we do it” with means the farmers such as Leif and Stephen Kullen who raise Fjallko mountain cows whose milk Nilsson describes as “tastier and more perfumed” and the eccentric Mr. Duck who raises poultry.
Reading Nilsson’s writings takes us into a different world as we walk with him through the woods, gathering leaves which will be aged for a year before turning into soup, hearing the crunch of nettles under his feet (another soup ingredient), visiting honeybee keepers whose practices have changed little over the centuries and picking the vast selection of delicate berries with such seductive names as Bird Cherries, Cloudberries, Arctic Raspberries and Crowberries.
Though most of his recipes are stuck firmly in rural northern Sweden, some of the recipes let us enter into his world without having to make pine bark flour-- though Nilsson tells us how to make it noting that the first step is to chop down a pine tree or cook over juniper branches.
“The shortbread cookies, the linseed crackers and the bread are all things we serve at the restaurant,” says Nilsson, “and can easily be made in any kitchen.”
He also tells many stories like that of like that of Slättbränna Fabodara, a farming hamlet dating back to the 1850s though roads didn’t reach it until the 1930s, reciting from the diary of 17-year-old Signe who wrote about her experiences moving to Slättbränna Fabodara in 1917 with her large family and the life they led. His tales, whether they’re about the legends of his place, the seasons and what they produce or how to dry marigold petals to use the following year, seem magical in the telling.
It is like a fairy tale indeed.
Recipes
Douglas’s Shortbread Cookies
2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
10 1/2 tablespoons salted butter, room temperature
1 large egg, room temperature
1 large egg yolk, room temperature
3 tablespoons (about) raspberry jam
Preheat oven to 400°. Whisk flour, sugar, and baking powder in a large bowl. Add butter; using your fingertips, rub in butter until coarse meal forms. Whisk egg and yolk in a bowl; add to flour mixture; stir just to blend.
Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Measure dough by 2 tablespoonfuls and roll into balls. Place on prepared sheets, spacing 2" apart. Make an indentation in center of each ball; fill each with 1/2 teaspoon jam.
Bake cookies until golden, 12–14 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
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