MODULAR EXPERIMENT
A quick bit of knitting to keep the fingers occupied.
Using some of the yarn I got during the Wild & Woolly’s close-out sale, I started an improvised modular blanket. I’ve seen lots of these on line, knit in small units with a double decrease providing the shaping. Some are worked in modular style as the piece grows so there is no seaming later, others are produced one unit at a time and then stitched into the final form. Because of the directionality and relatively small width of the individual squares, they can be used to show off a gradient, long repeat, or self striping yarn.
I’m not using a pattern, I’m just noodling this out as I go, knowing that others have done so before me. This isn’t invention, it’s reverse engineering on the fly.
I chose the simplest of shapes – the square. It’s fifteen stitches on a side, worked in garter stitch, with a center double decrease providing the fish-scale or tree-leaf spine. I also chose to use the modular knit-on style.
I started by making two single unit squares (the rightmost two on the bottom row). Then I made the dark top square just underneath the needle, starting it by picking up stitches along the top edges of the two established squares. Having established a diagonal direction of working, I then picked up half of the stitches to make the middle square on the right edge, casting on the remaining half. When I finished that one I broke the yarn and started another diagonal row of squares to the left of the finished ones. You can see that I’m mid-way through yet another diagonal run right now.
I’m using JC Brett Marble Chunky, a very soft all-acrylic that comes in large 200g/341 yard (312m) puffballs. It’s slightly reminiscent of Lion Homespun (also made in Turkey), but in nicer colors, and without the annoying thread binder that tortures Homespun into its crinkly shape. Marble is machine wash in cool water. I’d dry it flat to keep its texture.
I’m working on US #11 (8mm) needles in order to get a nice drape on the finished item. It’s a quick knit – about 15 minutes per square, so this should move along at a good clip. The yarn is interesting, with the shading of the two constituent plies meandering from rose to deep maroon, with side trips that introduce a little bit of orange and purple. I like the loft and texture of the finished garter stitch on the #11s. I had tried this on smaller needles (the label recommends 6mm – US #10, but the fabric was too stiff for a blanket, although adequate for a sweater). However, I am not fond of the yarn’s tendency to shred and split. It’s relatively softly spun, and needle tips – even massive #11 needle tips – catch on stray bits as I work. This makes ripping back difficult, especially on the center double decrease (slip 2 tog knitwise, k1, pass slipped stitches over). Still, the annoyance is mostly passed, now that I’ve decided on what to do with the stuff, and what size needles to use.
As usual, I’m bungee-jumping here. The particulars are being decided upon as I go. I’m not sure how big the final piece will be, or whether I’ll stick with the established pattern of squares throughout, or even how big this center area (if it ends up being just a center area) might be in relation to any framing or edging elements. I may add edge triangles to norm the zig-zag sides, then do something else for an edging. There are several possibilities once the thing is a nice, even rectangle:
- A couple of rounds of concentric I-cord, or perhaps double I-cord
- Another round of some type of modular units
- Narrow strips knit perpendicular to the blanket’s body, so that the yarn’s gradients show well, probably with mitered corners, just for fun.
- Some kind of edging that uses garter texture and diagonals, to echo what will be happening in the center area.
Why a blanket now, and not continued work on the lace-in-process? Well first, new yarn burns a hole in one’s pocket with an urge to cast on SOMETHING. Of the yarns I’ve gotten at the sale, this is the only project that would be quick enough to complete before my return to India, and all of the yarns I’ve gotten are too massy to fit into my luggage. Also, aside from three warm days, it’s been rather cool here for spring in Massachusetts. A nice, cozy throw just appealed to me.
Finally, the last point of pondering… ANOTHER blanket? Who’s going to get this one? Younger Daughter has piped up, so it may end up being hers.
WORLD IN AN ONION
So, I’ve been back in the US now for roughly four weeks, with several more to go before returning to India for a year. I’m seeing things differently, with the new perspective afforded by the five month stay just completed.
Take the humble onion. Onions are everywhere, and just about every really tasty recipe in just about every food tradition starts out with “take an onion…”
Onions in Pune are small and red-skinned, with white flesh. If you find one the size of a billiard ball, you’ve found a giant. They’re neither as sharp nor as sweet as selected varieties here. But they’re very tasty. And it doesn’t matter where you shop for onions. The same variety is available everywhere, from the most exclusive supermarkets catering to the well-heeled elite, to the smallest street vendor’s basket. I’ve also seen the same variety, picked when the bulbs are barely there (but larger than scallions here), and sold as spring onions. Now to be fair, there may be more available after monsoon season, and what I saw may be just the tail end of the agricultural year.
In contrast, I counted the variety of onions available in our local supermarket here in Arlington, Massachusetts. It’s a plain old supermarket in a standard suburban area, and not a fancy gourmet store. There are plain yellow keeper onions, big white Spanish onions, huge red sweet onions, Vidalias, tiny white boiling onions, the small, ovoid yellow Cipollinis, Bermuda onions, ordinary white onions, scallions/spring onions, shallots, and leeks. Plus several of these varieties are also available as “organically grown.” Counting the organics, that’s about 15 separate and distinct onion types, for sale side by side.
One or two of these might be considered local. The Pine Island area of New York near Hudson Valley is still considered a major onion growing area, but by and large – this embarrassment of onion riches is trucked here from all over the country, and some of it is even imported from Mexico, or even flown in from South America or Europe. That means there’s a huge perishable-goods transport and storage network, enabled by cheap shipping, and established distribution channels.
India is evolving very rapidly, but it still has a long way to go before it can match the infrastructure required to support this variety. Produce there is local. Intercity roads and trains exist, but what’s there isn’t sufficient for major distance transport of perishables. Even the sturdy onion.
For example, Mumbai and Pune are major cities, about 95 miles apart – about six miles closer together than Boston and Hartford, CT. Googlemaps shows the travel time between Boston and Hartford as being about 1 hour, 45 min. Having done this trek many times, I know it’s 4-6 lane interstate highways all the way, and (unless it’s rush hour) most folk exceed the mostly 65mph speed limit where they can.
The road from Pune to Mumbai is well traveled, and is considered a major toll highway. It’s 2-4 lanes throughout, with some interchange areas a bit wider, and for India is pretty uniformly paved. It twists and winds a good bit, ascending up steep hills, and goes through several rock-cut tunnels. However, traffic moves extremely slowly, even on this best-of-roads. Traffic moves slowly, winding around lumbering trucks, three-wheeled goods transporters (Tempos), and a sea of two-wheeled vehicles. On parts there are even local three wheeled taxis and animal carts, although other parts of the highway are restricted. Googlemaps says that it should take about 2 hours and 25 minutes. However cars even in uncrowded times would be lucky to 80kph (about 50mph), tops, and that only on the few straight sections with good visibility, if no slowly lumbering trucks are around. The trip rarely takes less than three hours, and often significantly longer, with mammoth multi-mile traffic jams of the type seen in the US mostly on holiday weekends being the daily norm.
Now, if travel on this best of highways is “twice as far” in terms of travel time compared to US roads, you can begin to see the logistics challenge. Add to that the high cost of fuel, the lack of refrigerated trucks, the average size of a farm’s plot being something smaller than a third of a football field, lack of distribution centers, and the challenges really pile up. For a supermarket just to obtain onions in a quantity sufficient for its sales, it would have to deal with a middleman who collected produce from several smallhold farmers. Then the goods would have to make their way over land to the city. Slowly. So it’s no wonder that eating in India is a localvore’s experience, that produce is only available in season, and that varieties are limited.
I’m sure that there are other cross-cultural lessons to be learned by peeling back the layers of this onion – land ownership and transfer, relationships between agricultural and urban areas, the economics of small vs. large scale farming, how limited transportation on the part of consumers shapes retail buying, and the like. But for now, I look at the wealth of onions and marvel at the profligacy and indulgence, and have a First-World Guilt moment as I mince my way through some while cooking dinner.
SADNESS
It’s true that when one travels, one expects to come home to find everything as it was. But life marches on, and nothing ever stays the same. For example, in my little corner of Massachusetts, several destination or iconic, cherished local businesses have shuttered, or are about to:
Johnnie’s, Arlington – An old school supermarket, not chic, not trendy, and with a limited selection. BUT they did have the only store-made corned beef in the area, and still had in-store butchers who knew how to cut meat, without the fancy gourmet counter prices. Johnnie’s shuttered over the winter months. We’ll eventually be getting a small Whole Foods in the same location, but it won’t be the same.
Nicola’s Pizza, Arlington – Yes, you can’t swing a pepperoni in town without hitting a pizzeria, but Nicola’s was special – hand made as opposed to institutional dough; rich family-recipe sauces; real cheese; excellent quality toppings, all cooked to bready/crispy perfection. Word is murky, that the site, store, and recipes have been sold, and a new owner will continue the Nicola’s tradition; or that the site will continue to be a take-out and sit-down eatery, but with a new menu. In any case, the old family’s ownership and touch will be sorely missed.
Higgins Museum, Worcester – A private museum of arms and armor, endowed by a steel magnate about a hundred years ago, and housed in unique building, set up to feel like a castle. The Higgins will be open until the end of the year, but after that the collection will (in part) be housed by the Worcester Art Museum. Go now, because you’ll never see all of those artifacts in one place in such an atmosphere again.
Wild & Woolly, Lexington – This is the hardest and most personal blow of all. W&W is a specialty yarn shop. It had the biggest selection of yarn in Eastern, Massachusetts, along with the personal touch that only experienced help can give. I counted W&W as more than just a store. It was a “home away from home” – the first place I visited when we moved up from Maryland, and the first folk who befriended me here. Over the years I’ve taught classes there, and helped out during inventories and big sales, or when I was between jobs. I’ve put in a little bit of time helping them prepare for their final clearance sale, which is going on now. Eventually I’ll find other places to buy interesting knitting supplies (especially the non-commodity yarns that need to be assessed in hand for drape, texture and color); but I’ll never replace the “store family” who will now scatter to the winds.
So in summary, you blink and things change. Nothing is forever, so appreciate even the small things, places, friends and services that surround you, because everything is impermanent.
CHECKING IN
Where have I been? In Pune, but now home in the US for a brief visit. What have I been doing? Mostly wallowing in ennui. For whatever reason, I have not been motivated to do much, not working on projects, researching, or writing here.
I can report that aside from the transoceanic trip, we did do one major thing. We hosted a “happy hour” party for 25 of The Resident Male’s coworkers, holding it at the apartment. I did all of the prep and cooking. I made samosas, falafel, hummus, guacamole, and Chinese scallion pancakes (adding some minced hot peppers to the scallions). I also improvised a mixed olive salad, and paneer with a Thai-style peanut sauce. Everyone had a good time, and using consumption as a barometer – the snacks were well received. The scallion pancakes in particular were prime, and a do-again, for sure!
There is some minimal progress on my latest shawl. I test-knit a new MMarioKnits product, but others were far speedier than me. Most of the corrections I found were posted by others, and my finished project was not completed in time for photography for the cover of the pattern. The main reason for this was a major lace disaster. While photographing the piece, I managed to drop upwards of 90 stitches, and needed to ravel back to a solid point and re-knit. After coming in so slowly for completion, I decided to punt the official as-written, minimal bind-off treatment, and add a knit-on lace edging. I selected a simple one from Sharon Miller’s Heirloom Knitting, picked both for complimenting the lines of the shawl’s main motifs, and for being a multiple of 12 rows, and began. I’m about two-thirds of the way around my circumference, and hope to be done soon.
However, just because I’ve been a slouching, IPad/browser game playing slacker, doesn’t mean the rest of the world stands still.
I’ve said before that I get an enormous kick out of seeing what people do with the patterns and designs I post. Occasionally, folk write to me to ask questions, or send me photos. Other times, I track links to my pages back to the point of origin. If I stumble across something I ask the owner if I can repost their work here, with links or attributions as they desire. Here are the products of two people who sent me pix of their stitching this month.
Elaine from Australia delighted me with these two projects that include filling motifs from Ensamplario Atlantio:
Both were presents for friends. I’m not sure which one I like more – the piece for the Kiwi audiophile, or the one for the Lovecraft aficionado.
Meanwhile, Jordana in New York used two of the Ensamplario designs for the cover of a charming two-sided needle case. Here are her photos of the work in progress, and the finished item:
Well done to Elaine and Jordana! Special thanks to both of them for making my day!
HISTORY THROUGH NEEDLEWORK
I was wandering through the free-for-public-use pictures collection recently opened up by the National Archive of the Netherlands, looking for interesting photos of needlework or knitting. “Merklap” is the Dutch word for sampler. Using it, I stumbled across these:
Clicking on each image above will bring you to the original archive site, complete with a very useful zoom feature for close inspection.
Now, from what I understand from the captions, these three unusual counted thread pieces were stitched by Her Majesty, Queen Ingrid of Denmark, consort to King Frederick IX of Denmark. The archives captions says that the three samplers bear images relevant to her life with her parents, King Gustav VI of Sweden, and Princess Margaret of Connaught, and the photos were collected in 1954 (One of the pieces bears a date of 11 November 1952.)
Queen Ingrid was born in 1910 and died in 2000. Reading through the bio snips available, she was an early feminist and thoroughly remarkable woman, widely respected for personal courage and support of the Danish people during the German occupation of Denmark during World War II.
Historical context aside, just look at those motifs! Worked in double running or back stitch, with the background done in cross stitch, the items shown are full of exquisite detail. That horse in the center of the second sampler is on my list for regraphing, for sure. I love the humor, the juxtaposition of high heraldry and honors with the totally mundane.
The first sampler bears Swedish heraldry (the three crowns), and honors her parents. The other two seem to be about her own life and interests, with her seal, and images of her education, sports and leisure activities; and pursuits including art, biology, horticulture (she redid many formal gardens), geology, and antiquities. How can you not be charmed by a Queen who stitches a box of spaghetti, fishing lures, a pilot’s wings, Canasta cards, and a cabin in the woods?
In short, Ingrid may have been a highly influential and important person, but these pieces now offered up to the public make an instant connection to her as an individual with curiosity, energy, and humor. I’ll seek out some better books on her life and times. And I’ll think of her the next time I have spaghetti with a salad, with candy canes (polka grisar) for dessert.
MINAS TIRITH?
Now that I’ve got your attention, this weekend past, during a trip to see the sights around Aurangabad in Maharastra, we climbed up to the top of Daulatabad Fort (aka Devagiri or Deogiri). It’s a vigorous hike up 200 meters (656 feet) of uneven stone steps and steep ramps, winding through dark passages, up to spectacular views of the surrounding countryside.
Daulatabad and its fort have a long history as a key military and economic stronghold, dating back to the late 1100s. Devagiri was a fortress of the Hindu Yadava dynasty kings from the late 1100s before being seized by Moslem rulers around 1300, who saw its advantages as a military headquarters, and moved their capital to it in 1328. Water and resource shortages later led them to relocate back to Delhi. However it continued to be a center of power and contention for the next several hundred years, passing back and forth among various earlier Hindu, Mughal, Maratha, and later Maratha Peshwa rulers. These struggles, alliances, and inter-ethnic détentes are the foundation of Maharashtra province’s cultural mix to this day.
Devagiri’s defenses include many fortified gates, watchtowers, and multiple moats, one of which used to be spanned by a retractable leather bridge, traversable only on foot. Today’s bridge is sturdy iron and wood, a good thing because the moat still retains water, green with algae in this drought.
There is a twisty, steep and in places – a very dark passage on the main entry route, with deliberate drop-offs and false paths to lure invaders to their doom (thankfully roped off to protect clueless tourists).
There are sluice gates through which rocks, scalding water or burning oil could be dropped on the unwary; archer holes, hidden sally ports, and cliffs hand cut and polished to make climbing impossible. Later defenses included gigantic brass cannon (as long as a van) mounted on towers. These are cleverly balanced on center pivots so they could batter besieging armies coming from any direction.
The ramparts are massive, cut into or assembled from the hard basalt stone of the region. Building across the entire site clearly shows multiple periods of construction, ranging from the mighty initial citadel, to later Moghul palaces of graceful stonework, decorated with imported Chinese porcelain tiles and painted stucco.
Re-use of older fragments in newer construction is common:
Now why did I invoke Minas Tirith for this post? I’m no Tolkien scholar, but to my novice eyes Devagiri presents some strong parallels to his descriptions. For one, Devagiri is chiseled into a butte-shaped rock outcropping, a freestanding mesa overlooking the surrounding lands. The fort itself is built into, on top of, and around this massive prow-shaped stone:
The fortifications are nested in winding layers, with gates widely offset to delay attackers, and to lead them past ambush points. There are quarters, cisterns, and storehouses all the way to the summit. The lower circles of defense sport wide avenues that circle the hill, passing through defiles that could shelter large numbers of defenders ready to pounce on any incoming troops. Many of the towers, shrines, palaces, and walls (with the exception of a later brick-red minaret) were once covered with white stucco, and must have been an imposing presence, a multi-tiered, gleaming set of ramparts on top of the hill’s sheer, black, hand-chiseled cliffs.
Of course there are many differences, too. Tolkien describes a much larger city, with more circles of defense, and an entire population living inside. There was a town to support Devagiri, inside the outermost circle of fortifications, but it was arrayed at the base of the hill, rather than on the hill itself.
Dautalabad itself is far inland, up on the Deccan Plateau – on an arid high plain punctuated with other hills of similar configuration. There is no navigable river or port for ships, be they from Dol Amroth or Umbar. And while there are far-outer rings of defense enclosing what may have been support lands for agriculture or fodder-lands for war horses and elephants, there is no great wall of Rammas Echor enclosing a Pelennor-sized expanse before the gate.
Devagiri was well-known to the British, and was widely described and depicted as early as the late 1820s, although by the time they arrived it had past its glory, and was no longer a military stronghold. I would not be surprised to learn that the professor had read about it, perhaps as a boy learning the history of Marathi Empire and the three Anglo-Maratha wars that culminated in the British consolidating power over the majority of the Indian subcontinent. Perhaps some student of literature will take this idea as thesis fodder and delve more deeply into it…
No longer the contended redoubt of fierce warrior poets, today Devagiri is the slowly crumbling home of tour guides, elderly temple wardens, souvenir hawkers, gray langur monkeys, stray dogs, and clouds of bats. Romance and idle speculation aside, visiting the fort has taught me much about the area’s history and onion-like culture, with layers of influences laid one on top of the other.
I marvel at the scope of effort and breadth of power a monument of this size still represents.
SAMOSAS AND STUFF
An eventful week here at String India, punctuated by the refusal of Windows Live Writer to run without crashing, which explains the lack of posts.
First, I present the results of a local yarn crawl. Local Ravelry KnitPal RedHeadedWoman and I went on a yarn and stitching supply locating expedition to the center of Pune. We crawled in and out of tiny shops that offered the most amazing variety of trims, beads, sequins, pre-stitched blouse yokes, and brocades. No where on earth does bling with the variety and joyful elan of India. Yarn was harder to find, and real wool or silk was unicorn-rare. But there were lots of colors of man-made fibers in various weights.
I came away with some crimson laceweight. It’s about a 2/20 weight and in all probability, either all acrylic or an acrylic/nylon blend. I’ve got roughly 400 grams (about 14 ounces), so I’d estimate that I have in the neighborhood of 4,500 yards. I also got two fistfuls of small metallic beads, one silver tone, and one antique gold. The princely haul below set me back about 600 rupees, roughly $11 US.
Special thanks to RedHeadedWoman for the fun of poking around the market stalls!
Second, I present a happy food triumph of the slightly misshapen variety: Samosas.
Samosas are one of the 10,000 snack foods for which India is famed. It’s a highly adaptable fried or baked turnover, turning up with all sorts of fillings, in all sizes, and at all venues, from the most posh cocktail parties to street food stands. About all I can see that unites them is a vaguely triangular shape and the happiness with which they are greeted.
I tried my hand at one of the most common types – a “truck stop size” samosa, filled with potatoes, peas and onions, spiced with lots of garlic and masala (a spice mix that varies from region to region and cook to cook). We had ours with soup for dinner, but this is the type that’s most commonly available as street food, at roadside rest stops, or other places where food on the go is appreciated.
I started with this recipe, but quickly veered off on my own. Note that the filling can be prepared way ahead and fridged, then brought back to room temperature before stuffing the samosas and frying them.
Therefore, not pretending to offer up anything remotely resembling “authentic,” I present my own version.
LATE BREAKING UPDATE: IF YOU WANT TO MAKE THESE IN A WESTERN KITCHEN, USING WESTERN INGREDIENTS, I HAVE POSTED A REVISED RECIPE HERE.
One American Chick’s Sort-of-Samosas
Makes 16 “truck stop lunch size” filled fried pastries
Outside pastry:
3/4 cup white all-purpose flour (maida)
3/4 cup whole wheat flour (atta)
2 Tbsp ghee or butter – MUST BE SOLID, NOT MELTED
1/2 cup water
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
Oil for deep-frying
Filling:
2 medium size onions, chopped
2 Tbsp oil for sauteeing.
8 cloves garlic, minced fine
2 cups frozen or fresh peas
5 fist-size potatoes, peeled
2 tsp garam masala*, or other spices to your taste
1 Tbsp salt
Instructions
1. Peel the potatoes, chunk them into two or three pieces and set them to boil until tender. Drain the potatoes and salt them.
2. While the potatoes are cooking you’ll have some time. Mix the two flours, the salt and baking powder together. If lumpy, sift. Work the hard ghee or solid butter into the flour mix with your fingertips or a fork, as if you were making scones or pie crust, until all the butter is incorporated, and the flour looks crumbly and grainy – past the point at which you’d stop if this was pie crust.
3. Add about half of the water to the flour/butter mix and combine. Keep adding water slowly and mixing until the dough can be gathered up and briefly worked into a smooth mass. Do not over-knead or the shells will be hard as rocks. Set the dough aside under a damp cloth or in a plastic box.
4. Take about half of the cooked potatoes and dice them into small chunks, about 1.5 cm (1/2 inch). Precision isn’t important, you just want them to be small but noticeable bits in the stuffing. Rough mash the rest of the potatoes with the back of a fork or large slotted spoon.
5. In a large frying pan, saute the onions in the oil until light golden. Add the minced garlic and saute for a minute or two more, until the garlic is fragrant, but not brown. Sprinkle the masala mix onto the onions and saute for another minute or two. Toss in the potato cubes and let them get coated with the oily spicy oniony garlicky mix. Then toss in the mashed potatoes and stir all together. When incorporated, stir in the peas. Taste it and add more salt if needed. Let the stuffing heat on low for another ten minutes for the peas to thaw and cook, and for the flavors to meld. Stir occasionally to scrape up any yummy bits from the bottom back into the filling, and to keep the potatoes from sticking to the bottom. This fully cooked filling can be made way ahead and fridged until needed, although I suggest taking it out and letting it warm up before stuffing and frying the samosas, to ensure that the center doesn’t remain cold.
6. To assemble – have your filling ready. Have a small rolling-pin ready. Take the rested dough and divide it into 8 equal parts. Put the parts back under the damp cloth towel or back into the plastic box until needed. Take the first lump of dough. Flatten it into a pancake and pat it into some loose flour. Roll it out into a circle, as large and as thin as you can (mine was about 10 inches around, and about an eighth of an inch thick). Take a knife and cut the circle into two halves. Each half will make one samosa.
7. Try to follow this video’s folding logic. Moisten the straight edge of the half circle with water, then pat it into a cone. Hold the cone in one hand and fill it with the other hand, patting the filling in to make sure there are no air holes. Pinch the top of the samosa closed in the center (where the cone’s seam is), then pinch the seam shut left and right of that point. Finally, fold the left and right corners of the newly formed seam together and pinch them, too. The professional samosa chef does this by plopping the thing down on the counter and using the side of his hand to make the second seal, at the same time giving his pastry a nice, flat, triangular bottom. Mine were more free-form, looking sort of like the back end of a fleeing chicken. In spite of the laughably unorthodox shape, mine did stay closed while cooking, which is what counts.
8. As the samosas are done, place them on a plate or rack, making sure that they do not DO NOT touch each other. If you are forming them ahead of time and intend to refrigerate before frying, this is an absolute necessity. You can stack them in a large plastic box, but if you do, make sure each one is separated from the others, and waxed paper or plastic wrap between layers is highly advised.
9. When the samosas are all formed they can be either baked or deep-fried. I have no oven and have NOT tested my variant of the pastry for baking. I fried mine, two at a time in a small, deep saucepan, and drained them on paper towels.
* Masala just means spice mix. Garam masala means hot spice mix. There are as many masala mixes as there are Indian households and cooks. The one I dipped into for the potato filling was a home-made gift from Driver Rupesh’s family. It’s a mix of red chili powder, anise, cloves, coriander, cumin, cinnamon and lord knows what else, pan roasted together and ground into tasty goodness. I have another one that’s a home-made gift from work colleague Bavouk’s family. It’s very different, with a subtle lemony/astringent perfume, and is especially delicious on vegetables and chickpeas.
BLINTZES IN BHARAT
Yes! Blintzes! Bharat being the name of this land to those who live here. Perhaps missing comfort foods just a tad, I had a Stranger in a Strange Land kitchen interlude today, and share my results.
Long time readers here may remember that I shared my grandmother’s blintz recipe a while back. Making them even in the US can be problematic because workable cheeses can be hard to find. I’ve experimented with lots of different cheese mixes over the years, because the ones my grandmother used were not always available where I was living. But inspired by paneer, which is like a super-dry farmer cheese, I was determined to make them here in India. And make them, I did, with excellent success!
Here’s a modified blintz recipe, adapted to local ingredients and availability, and halved in quantity from my for-freezer storage original. For the record, the paneer, dahi (an unsweetened thick yogurt) can be found in every market in India. Mascarpone (a soft, spreadable cheese in the cream cheese family) was found in Auchan Hypermarket – the supermarket a couple of blocks from my apartment. I’ve also seen it in Dorabjee’s.
Please note that blintzes are dairy, but not totally vegetarian, because both the crepes and the filling contain eggs. For equipment you’ll need a grinder/blender, although a hand-held electric mixer would work even better, also a non-stick slope-sided omelet or crepe pan, a paper towel or basting brush, a couple of clean non-fuzzy/non-terry kitchen towels, and a ladle or scoop of some type.
Bharat Blintzes
Makes about 28-30 or so
For the crepes:
10 enormous heaping table tablespoons (as opposed to measuring spoons) of all-purpose flour (pile these so high that more can’t balance on the spoon)
3 pints of water
6 eggs
2 tsp salt
Vegetable oil for frying
For the filling:
600g paneer
200g mascarpone cheese
1/2 cup dahi
2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
3 eggs
Directions
Making the crepes
Using the grinder/blender, and working with only HALF of each quantity above at a time (due to small blender carafe capacity), Combine water and flour until completely smooth with no lumps. Blend in the eggs. Repeat with the other half of the ingredients, and mix the results of the two batches together. This should give you a very runny vaguely yellowish batter. It will be a bit frothy at first – let it sit for about 15 min to disperse some of the foam.
Spread out one clean kitchen towel in a safe spot near the stove. Pour a VERY SMALL quantity of oil into your omelet pan, wiping most of it out with the paper towel. Reserve the towel because you’ll use it again between crepes. Set the pan to heat. When the pan is hot, take it off the heat and ladle just enough batter into it that when the pan is swirled, the bottom is covered. Set the pan back on the flame. The edges of the crepe will release from the side of the pan and curl in, and the top of the crepe will eventually look dry and less shiny. When that has happened, take the pan over to the towel and inverting the pan and rapping it on the towel, turn out the cooked crepe. If it landed folded, spread it out to cool, with the cooked side up. Wipe the pan with the oily paper towel.
Keep making crepes until you run out of batter. It should take only a minute or two for each new crepe to cool. As they cool, stack them in a pile with the cooked side up. The crepes should be thin enough that any pattern or printing on the kitchen towel should show through. If they crack or are totally opaque, they are too thick. You won’t get 28-30 from the recipe. The crepes can be made ahead and left to sit, covered with another kitchen towel, but they should be filled on the same day as they are made. If they are fridged between making and filling, let them come up to room temperature before you attempt to separate them.
Making the filling:
I made the filling in three batches, again because of the limited capacity of my blender/grinder. If you are using an hand-held electric mixer, there’s no reason not to do it all at once.
Using a third of the filling ingredients at a time, blend all together until smooth. Combine the three batches and stir them together, just in case the division was less than perfect.
Filling and cooking the blintzes:
Place a crepe in front of you, cooked side up (you want the cooked side of the crepe to be in contact with the filling, and the uncooked side to be on the outside of the blintz) . Spoon one or two tablespoons of filling onto the bottom third of one side. Fold the bottom edge up over the filling. Fold in the left and right sides. Roll the crepe away from you to make a cylinder roughly the size of a Chinese eggroll. The filling should be entirely encased.
These may be frozen or refrigerated at this point – both of these processes work best if the blintzes are not touching each other. Otherwise they might stick and the outsides might tear.
Saute lightly in vegetable oil starting with the “flap” side down. Blinzes are done when the skin is golden and the filling is firm. Serve with dahi, sour cream, or with applesauce or another sweet condiment. This being India of course, any manner of savory, hot and sweet chutney might be used.
Moral of the story: where there is a will (and cheeses) there is a way!
157 AND COUNTING
Well, here I am on row 157 of Dozen, with about another 20 or so to go.
It’s a wild zaggedy thing, for sure. I also have to say that this is the last picture I’ll be posting of the thing spread out until I’m all finished and bound off. I lost 30 or so stitches in pinning this, and am not relishing going back the five or six rounds I need to now, in order to rescue them.
The directions end with a plain bind-off. I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’m planning on knitting an edging onto the live stitches. Which one, I’m not sure yet. It needs a very solid element in order to frame all this wild zappage, along with some sort of coordinating triangle or dag to carry the theme forward. I may end up having to cobble something together, or design my own to work with the last row’s stitch count.
Am I pleased with the result so far? Yes and no. I’m having fun knitting this, but I have to say that I now that I see it all expanded, I think that the outermost 20 or so rounds shown above are too textured, and detract from the star-like center.
Off to perform CPR on those 30 stitches…
PRECISION IN ALL THINGS?
First, for Davey – the wildly loud sofa pillow covers to coordinate with the wildly loud rug:
I picked the blue, red/orange stripe, and turquoise/gold from memory, and they work, even in spite of my equivocal photographic skills, and the flash-wash that makes the red pillow look paler than in real life. There are six pillows in total, two of each fabric.
Moving on, here’s progress through Row 103 of the Dozen shawl that I’m test-knitting:
It’s growing into a feral, interlaced dahlia of a design, which you can begin to see in this rough pin-out. Additional width will be more of the same.
And then there’s the Sarah Collins sampler kit, upon which I’ve started but have made no real progress:
Maybe I’ve ridden at liberty for too long, working at whim instead of direction. Maybe I’m too much of a tinkerer to do a stitched design laid out by someone else, or I have a touch of compulsive perfectionist in my soul – but for whatever reason, this kit is already driving me nuts. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a complete kit, thoughtfully laid out and as a reproduction, extremely well documented. The unruly element is me.
For example, it pains me to mindlessly duplicate the mistakes laid down by the original stitcher. See that twist column to the left of the frame? That’s verbatim to the pattern’s directions. But I tried, and tried, but just couldn’t let it sit that way. See the twist inside the frame, with the completed centers? I **had** to do it. I’ll probably pick out the offending imperfect twist and re-do it to match the edited bit.
There’s also working up the double running for this panel in two colors of sienna. The blue flower doesn’t bother me, I find that adorable. But using two threads for the framing spiral, alternating colors is maddening. It’s clear to me that dear Sarah might not have marled and finger-spun her threads properly, or perhaps ran out of one of the two shades, and that’s why the panel is done in alternating two-tone. It’s all I can do to grit my teeth and work as directed, because if I don’t, I risk running out of a color before the kit is done. Getting more matching thread, especially here, would be difficult in the extreme.
And then there’s the format of the charts. They’re huge, and orchestrate a stitch for stitch path, with every single one numbered. There are sufficient map pages in the thing to chart one’s way from Boston to Mumbai by rail (including the sunken parts via Atlantis). Paging through them is an exercise in where-the-heck-is-page-2b-left-got-to-now?” – then finding it under the sofa.
I’m also not fond of the indicated stitch logic. The paths described are not the ones I would choose. I tend to key off established bits, so that I can proof new sections against clean counts as I work. There’s too much “where no man has gone before” in this piece, with extremely long runs worked in advance of the growing body of work, and no way to confirm fidelity as one progresses.
Is there a moral to this story? Perhaps, not. But I have to admit that today’s post reveals that I’m a ruthless stickler for detail, caught up in color matching from memory, precision adherence to knitting patterns (where forays into originality are better left for after one has grokked the source design); but temperamentally incapable of similar fidelity to oh-so-obvious stitching directions. Mark it up as another character flaw, pass me a glass of wine, and move on, please.
String-Or-Nothing 