playing with fire and water

dessert and stories of India

I've never been to India but I know people who have.

I've listened to their stories and impressions; some are Utopian glimpses of a country as seen through Merchant Ivory colored lenses. They tell of majestic vistas, magnificent carved stone temples, sultry gardens vibrating with exotic fruits and flowers, and women with dark mysterious eyes draped in silks the color of jewels.

Then there are those who tell of a different India and speak only of oppression, abject poverty, suffocating crowds, dust and lost children. The dichotomy of their tales makes me wonder if they all traveled the same country. But when I think of the places I've been, I realize that India isn't so different from anywhere else.

One recent traveler spoke at length about the food of India: the diversity of street food, rustic dishes in private homes, and a lavish multi-course meal served in a palace. I listened to the descriptions with equal interest, although one in particular captured my imagination. It was of gulab jamun— deep-fried semolina pastries soaked in rose syrup— served with yogurt, pistachios, coconut, and dried fruits. The pastries themselves were described as very dense and sweet, but it was the combination of aromas and flavors that spoke loudest to me of India.

I was thinking of that dessert when I puffed pasta tubes that were cooked in cardamom tea and stuffed with coconut yogurt. Even then I realized that I had made a type of cannoli, which holds no place in Indian cuisine, but I went ahead and added rose and saffron macerated apricot and crushed pistachios. The dish, like the stories, is an impression of a place.

Someday I'd like to see India for myself, but in the meantime I can experience it through food. The flavors and aromas of a cuisine tell the most authentic stories.

 

shrimp toast

Remember shrimp toast? Seasoned shrimp paste spread on sliced white bread and deep fried— an ubiquitous offering on Chinese appetizer menus and dim sum carts.

Although it's been ages since I've even thought of shrimp toast, it was the first thing that came to mind when considering fillings for stuffed puffed pasta. That's because I saw it as a solution to a problem. The problem being greasy, fried bread— too many pores to soak up and store oil.

But frying the stuffed dehydrated pasta posed another problem: the moist stuffing prevented the interior of the pasta shells from puffing. The solution was to fry the shells briefly, then stuff and finish frying. 

Tasty little morsels.

shrimp toast

230g shelled and deveined shrimp, minced
9g minced scallion
4g finely chopped ram rau, or a blend of cilantro and basil
2g grated gingerroot
1.5g salt
1g sesame oil
1 egg white, whipped to soft peaks

30 cooked and dehydrated large pasta shells (about 1 1/2" long, not the giant ones for stuffing)
vegetable oil for deep frying

In a small bowl, toss the shrimp with the scallion, ram rau, ginger, salt, and sesame oil until well blended. Fold in the whipped egg white. Set aside.

Heat the vegetable oil to 190C/375F. Drop 4-5 shells into the hot oil and fry just until they puff, but are still pale (2-3 seconds). Remove quickly and drain on paper towels. Repeat with remaining shells. Reduce oil temperature to 176C/350F.
Fill each of the puffed shells with about 1 teaspoon of shrimp mixture. Fill shells in small batches so that they can be immediately fried. Drop filled shells into hot oil and fry just until filling is cooked through. Serve immediately.

 

seasoned puffed pasta

Seasoned puffed pasta makes a great snack. I like to keep cooked, dehydrated pasta in ziplock bags to fry and season for last minute munchies, cocktail snacks and soup garnishes. They're really good tossed in salads, too.

The potential seasonings are infinite. Here are two of my current favorites:

Quintessential Mac 'n Cheese: Cabot makes a product called Cheddar Shake— a sharp white cheddar powder that has enough moisture to cling to and thickly coat puffed pasta.  These really are The Cheesiest.

For something more exotic: I toast fenugreek and coriander seeds, grind them with grains of paradise (melegueta pepper), fennel pollen, meyer lemon zest, salt, and a touch of citric acid, and sprinkle it onto the pasta as soon as it comes out of the fryer. The spices cling better when the pasta's surface is still wet and the heat releases their essences.

Note: Virtually any sauce or paste can be spread thinly on silpat and dehydrated along with the pasta (to save energy), then ground and used as a seasoning. I've had success with (reduced) marinara sauce, bbq sauce, mole, and curry pastes.

 

puffed pasta

When I was first learning to cook, I found a recipe for fried pasta that intrigued me. As I recall, the instructions were: cook the pasta in boiling water, drain, deep fry. Being a novice, I didn't fully understand the hostile incompatibility of hot oil and water. But when I dropped the still-wet pasta into the pot of hot oil and watched it violently sputter and overflow, I at least had the sense to step back and turn off the flame. 

I think every cook has a hot oil story, some punctuated with scars. I have those too, but from a later incident. That first traumatic encounter taught me that hot oil is no joke. With new respect, I cleaned up the mess and attempted another batch after thoroughly draining the remaining pasta and patting it dry. It still protested— but it didn't overflow. 

I served the fried pasta with a marinara dip at a gathering of friends. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, which pleased me, although I didn't think that I would ever make it again.  

But, you see, I was wrong. I have made it again... many times. But only because I learned of a better way. 

Learning is about making connections. We gather bits of information and experiences and link them together into something cohesive that we can hold on to. Life's epiphanies— whether large or small— come from finding the missing links.

And so it was, while attending a workshop at The French Culinary Institute with Dave Arnold and Nils Noren that I was given the missing link for fried pasta: dehydrate the cooked pasta before frying. Yes, it's an extra step that adds 4-6 hours to the process, but it makes a world of difference. Not only does the dry pasta fry neatly and efficiently, it also blisters and puffs out extravagantly.

Lots of drama, none of the trauma.

puffed pasta

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook until very tender (double the time on the package). Drain well. Spread out on dehydrator trays and dehydrate at 50C/120F for 4-6 hours until completely dry. Alternately, cooked pasta can be spread on a rack or silpat-lined baking sheets and dried in a low oven, or in the sun on a warm, dry day. (Note: tubular pasta may need to be supported with straws or dowels to prevent it from collapsing and loosing it's shape.) Pasta can be dehydrated in bulk and stored in airtight containers for months. 
To puff: drop small batches of dehydrated pasta into a pot of oil that has been heated to 190C/375F and fry until puffed and golden. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with desired seasoning or serve with a dip.