Breaded fish tikka for the picky eater

As featured in The Daily News Egypt

I've been on a bad food binge. Throughout years of conscientious Asian-influenced eating in Kuala Lumpur, I missed the grease that many Egyptian dishes brought to the many mouths I've shared meals with. “Bring it on, Cairo!” I squealed as my big feet clumsily trampled onto the Egyptian soil that they so sorely missed, warm with coatings of blessed sunlight.

I had dreamed of a rice-stuffed peppered pigeon slipping through my fingers as I grip it with my teeth; thick flakes of green pistachios dotting old-fashioned stretchy mastic ice cream clinging to my dessert spoon. Four years of cravings abroad had resurfaced to thoughtlessly wreak havoc in my stomach. After a short three months, I've learned my lesson well.

What I am yet to comprehend is how we are not giving ourselves the chance to miss this nagging urge for some extra fat, how we are replacing our native dietary habits with fat-laden imported ideas. The only conclusion I can provide lies somewhere in the realm of distressed emotions that heavily influence our eating habits, today more than ever. With an overwhelming job or an overpowering family, Egyptians are sticking to comfort food like Velcro, letting out an aching screech when pulled away.

Maybe we continue to treat ourselves as repressed children who cannot become anything but picky eaters because that is the only escape, the sole personality trait we've got left to call our own.

Unmarried adults obligated to live in their parents' homes despite their age turn to eating out more often, openly chomping on snacks that their parents once said and still say they should not consume. Younger newlyweds, with various new pressures placed upon them, shun their homely eating habits to incorporate many hefty recipes that rely heavily on the packaged food industry, filling their lives with a heightened risk of illness and future heartache. And many of our children, especially children of the educated, are the biggest victims of their parents' lost values – frozen breaded chicken and French fries have become their ultimate companions at meal time.

Meeting many Egyptian honeymooners in Malaysia, you would think that those couples were filled with an adventurous spirit but adventure in Egyptians appears in many activities, seldom in their eating. Traveling far from home, many of us stay and sup in reminders of our beloved country, steering clear of anything remotely Eastern that is not “ours”.

After a while, I could predict more often than not that the majority of Egyptian honeymooners would end up at a place like Planet Hollywood. I've even known honeymooners to eat a double whammy of Pizza Hut and Kentucky Fried Chicken for the length of their stay while tangy sauces, succulent seafood and soft and sweet Chinese bread buns were around the corner.

Why are we making way for flab? Why are we allowing it to become an extension of our emotions? Why can't we break free? I understand that it is not an easy habit to break but a seemingly minute change can make all the difference — all I ask is to stop or even limit your buying of frozen breaded chicken, frozen burgers, frozen kofta and frozen crepes. All it takes is one night of the week to prepare these and freeze them yourselves.

Let go of your old hang-ups. If you're still living in your parents' house, learn to cook already. You might teach them a thing or two. If you're not, search for your adult palate and give new flavors a chance to pop in your mouth. For the time being, marinate fish fillets in a revised way, ethnicize them with the ancient aromas of India, cover with breadcrumbs and pan-fry in sizzling butter. It's not a hard thing to do.

Besides, let's do what we're good at — let's batter those delicate flavors of life until we can learn to openly (and politely) express our honest feelings, tame our invisible flames of wrath and eat like grown ups should.

Breaded Fish Tikka

You'll need:
2 fillets of white fish
125 grams of yogurt
1 tablespoon of lemon juice (½ a large lemon)
1 teaspoon of chili powder
1 scant teaspoon of ground turmeric
½ teaspoon of ground ginger
½ teaspoon of ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon of allspice
¼ teaspoon of ground coriander
5-7 drops of hot sauce, optional
A pinch of black pepper
coarse salt, to taste
2 tablespoons of vegetable oil
4 tablespoons of butter

Empty the yogurt into a bowl. Add the chili powder, turmeric, ginger, cinnamon, allspice, ground coriander, pepper, salt and lemon juice. Stir until completely incorporated – no lumps or uneven tones.

Arrange your fish on a tray and pat dry with a paper towel. Place the fillets carefully, laying flat and side by side, in a large food storage bag. Pour the previously prepared marinade into the bag. Stick one hand in and lightly rub the marinade into the fish on both sides. When you're done, seal the bag and place it on a plate to avoid breaking the fillet. Chill it in the refrigerator until ready to cook. I prefer to leave it to soak in the flavors for a few hours.

When you're ready to cook, pour the breadcrumbs onto a plate. Cut the storage bag open with a pair of scissors and remove one fish fillet at a time dipping it first on one side into the breadcrumbs and then slowly turning it over to coat the other side and set aside on a clean plate. Repeat with the rest.

Heat the oil and the butter in a frying pan on medium heat. Once the butter begins to foam, lay your fish down and let it fry for 4-5 minutes on each side. Be careful when you're flipping over the fish. Salt and serve immediately. This can also be baked.

Coconut milk mussels & unlikely flavors

My latest for The Daily News Egypt
There's an odd story recanted to me that goes like this: A four year old girl, upon returning to Cairo and being invited along with her parents to her relative's house for dinner, glared intensely at the thing presented at the table then slowly moved her head sideways to blankly stare at her mother. “Mommy, it's fish with eyes.”

I had never seen fish with eyes at a dinner table before, only boneless fish fillets and fish fingers coated in breadcrumbs before delicately frying up to crispy tenderness. Fish with eyes belonged in gleaming fish tanks, also in the big blue sea. They ate the bread you would throw at them, similar to the ducks at the Giza Zoo that I too used to love feeding; and if you were feeding something, it would be unthinkable to fish it out and consume the thing, eyes and all. I bet I was thinking, “Why are people eating fish with eyes and not the fish fingers that are so much more humane?”
That sensitive being that was me was repulsed by the fresh oysters her parents loved and didn't like much other than pizza. Of course, I still have a penchant for pizza but have thankfully moved beyond thinking that shells belong solely on a beach to be collected by little girls in frilly swimsuits.

Getting a little older, I would sit at the table with my feet dangling off the chair and eat bone marrow from the mutton curry I'd share with my father. Since the dish didn't have eyes or a face, it didn't strike me as strange or disgusting. It was just a bone; nothing there to give it personality.

Today, vegans would hate me. I prefer to cook my fish with eyes and happily whistle as I look down at the dead body staring up at me. Without a second thought, I stick my fingers under a chicken's skin to butter it up before it's placed in the rotisserie. I try to coax as much flavor as possible out of all that I've bought. I make shrimp stock out of the heads and peeled shells and leave the tails on for presentation. My childhood empathy is lost when I try to maximize flavors. Am I so wrong?

If I'm not going to become a vegetarian or even a vegan overnight purely because of my selfish love for meat, then I would think it the honorable thing to do — to cook not only quality cuts but also those neglected cuts of meat and join the nose to tail eating movement. Fergus Henderson, an English chef and father of nose to tail eating, explained his philosophy in an interview with the Daily Telegraph newspaper some years ago: “It seems common sense and even polite to the animal to use all of it. Rather than being testosterone-fuelled blood-lust, it actually seems to be a gentle approach to meat eating.”
It seems today that inviting people for dinner comes along with beautiful beef fillets from a moist tenderloin but lacking at the table are slow-cooked briskets and seared livers, chicken and beef, spiced up and served right off the stove. Elegant guests shudder at putting their lips to a bone and most unstylishly drawing in the insides as they would the contents of their sparkling drinks.

If you too aren't planning on becoming a vegetarian anytime soon, open your mind up to the countless cuts presented to you on a daily basis and create something new. Introduce your young children or narrow-minded friends to seafood besides fish and teach them to appreciate fish still attached to the bone. You'll end up with copious ideas for meals and will probably, at times, spend a little less on the cuts of meat that most people aren't buying.

This recipe bathes the mussels in coconut milk and doesn't need much more than good bread and a cool night that holds the promise of winter.

Coconut Milk Mussels
You'll need
4 tablespoons of vegetable oil
1 medium onion, finely diced
1 tablespoon ginger, minced
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
2 bird's eye chilis, sliced
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
2 cups coconut milk
1 cup of water
salt and pepper to taste
1 kg of mussels, scrubbed and debearded
1 tablespoon of lemon juice
Handful fresh coriander, chopped

Pour the oil into a large pot over medium high heat. Add the onions to the pot and cook, stirring often, until lightly browned. Add the minced ginger and sliced chili and cook for a minute, stirring constantly. Add the coriander, turmeric and chili powder and cook for another minute, again stirring often.

Pour in the coconut milk with one cup of water. Bring to a boil and then add the mussels. Add some salt and pepper and stir until the mussels are well coated. Cover the pot, reduce the heat and cook for about 7 minutes. Turn off your heat. Add the lemon juice and coriander and spoon into bowls. Serve.

Tom Yum Goong - The Egyptian Way

Here's my new column for The Daily News Egypt.

My husband relocated to Malaysia a few months before I did. While I was busy boxing up what little we had made of our first makeshift home and saying my weepy goodbyes to Cairo, he was getting acquainted with Kuala Lumpur, what was to be our new home and what is often highlighted as a honeymoon destination.

By the time I arrived, Husband had developed an affinity to the scandalously hot Thai soup, Tom Yum Goong, or as he liked to call it, “Yum Yum soup.” Being a lifelong soup lover, I became excited at the prospect of finding this magical soup around every corner of Kuala Lumpur.

What I couldn't understand was why he, who generally looked down on soup, had suddenly become enthralled with that particular combination of flavors lying in a pool of steaming orange water. That was until I had it myself, in its true form, the way it is prepared for beggars and kings alike, with its fiery goodness defying the humid heat of Kuala Lumpur.

Combining the elements of Thai cooking this spicy, sour, and salty but sweet soup, pungent with fresh aromatics and savory depth, came alive with the final lashings of limejuice. Considering the abundance of Tom Yum Goong I consumed, I rapidly started understanding the delicate balance of flavors. It became instinctive; you would know the minute an ingredient was lacking. Was it the chili powder? Did they use fresh shrimp stock? Are those canned mushrooms?

One sip, my nose runs. Second sip, my eyes water. Third sip, this is child's play, I think. I'm half Indian and I'll continue to hydrate myself with the spiciest of liquids consumed in Asia. Who knows? Establishments serving the soup might be overtaken by neighboring fast food chains sooner than we think.

It took me three years in Malaysia to gather up the courage to make it. I prepared all of the ingredients carefully and operated as though I was being tested. If I failed, the disappointment would be great. Little did I realize that it was in fact quite a simple dish in need of a little attention and a mouth that constantly tastes to find the answer to the equation.

This week, I found myself trapped by a storm at home with fresh prawn, a craving for Tom Yum Goong, and a lack of fresh Thai herbs. After finding a great recipe, taking the tom yum jump and succeeding at recreating it at home a month ago, I decided to try the method out using flavors that were more particularly Egyptian. If it goes horribly wrong I thought and I can’t get the salty, sweet, sour, spicy combination right then I’ll call it something else, won’t tell anyone and eat it anyway.

It worked! Yes I’m as surprised as you are. It all boils down to the fundamentals of a cuisine and in this instance, Thai. I don’t have magic in my fingers and my skills are not gasp-worthy. Not at all. The sweetness came from the aromatics, the peppers and the prawn, the spiciness from the fresh ground chili, the sourness from the tomato paste and lime juice and the saltiness from the salt and accompanying spices. In essence, you’re just tossing it all into a pot and watching the magic unfold from a simple simmer. Use as much chili as you can handle. Live a little.

Beginners' Egyptian Tom Yum Goong

1 kg of medium-sized prawn, deveined
1 medium green pepper, diced
1 medium red pepper, diced
2 medium onions, finely sliced.
½ a cup of chopped celery
2½ teaspoons of ground cumin
1 teaspoon of ground coriander
salt/pepper to taste
2 heaped tablespoons of tomato paste
2.5 cups of shrimp stock or water
3 bird's eye chili, sliced (Feel free to increase the amount of chili.)
½ teaspoon of chili powder (I used 1 teaspoon)
Juice of 1 large lime
A handful of chopped parsley, to garnish

You can make this on the stove for a quicker meal but I prefer the richness that it develops in the oven if I have the time. Place the peppers, onions, celery, and sliced chili into a deep oven-proof dish. Add the ground cumin, coriander and chili powder then season with salt and pepper. Mix together until the spices coat everything evenly.

In a separate bowl, Add the tomato paste to 2 cups of freshly boiled shrimp stock or water and stir until the paste dissolves. Pour the prepared liquid onto your vegetable mixture and cover. Place in a preheated oven of 200 degrees Celsius for 30 minutes. Lower the heat to 180 degrees Celsius, remove the lid and allow to simmer in the enclosed heat for another 20 minutes.

Remove from the oven, add the lime juice then the prawn. Make sure it is immersed in the soup. Return to the oven and continue to simmer for another 20 minutes. Garnish with chopped parsley. Serve in a bowl with a side of rice or crusty bread.