Tea with T.

Samuel L. Jackson in an apron

When it comes to food, there are a few different personalities, such as: those who are bonafide Foodies hoping to eat only meals worthy of savoring, not just digesting; those who are gastronomically adventurous and like to eat as though they are filming a reality television show, climbing ever higher on the food chain; and those who eat, simply to survive.  I fall somewhere in between, depending on my mood and the day.  I love relishing the best of the best, sir (when I can); trying the rare and exotic (when I can) and even just eating what I must (when I have to).

 

The preparation of food is also a mixed bag of nuts for me, as I adore having the opportunity to take time to cook for those I love (when I can), I’m excited about the adventure of trying new and unusual recipes (when I can) and don’t mind rustling up just the staples of what’s living in my pantry and fridge after a long and exhausting day (when I have to).

 

Despite having varied emotions and opinions about food and cooking, it is safe to say that I am also very emotional and opinionated about food and cooking.  Harriet Van Horne once said that, “Cooking is like love.  It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”  Food and Love.  Love and food.  In my book, two of the best things.  Ever.  Combine the two and it can also be a recipe for… well, not quite disaster.  But, close.  Especially when cooking for the one you love, who is more of a Eat-to-Live individual.

 

The other night, I served some soup to the Viking Beau (now fiancé) and asked innocently, “So, what do you think?” hoping for at least a 3, if not 4, star review.  What I got initially was: “It’s okay.” 

Samuel L. Jackson in an apron

When it comes to food, there are a few different personalities, such as: those who are bonafide Foodies hoping to eat only meals worthy of savoring, not just digesting; those who are gastronomically adventurous and like to eat as though they are filming a reality television show, climbing ever higher on the food chain; and those who eat, simply to survive.  I fall somewhere in between, depending on my mood and the day.  I love relishing the best of the best, sir (when I can); trying the rare and exotic (when I can) and even just eating what I must (when I have to).

 

The preparation of food is also a mixed bag of nuts for me, as I adore having the opportunity to take time to cook for those I love (when I can), I’m excited about the adventure of trying new and unusual recipes (when I can) and don’t mind rustling up just the staples of what’s living in my pantry and fridge after a long and exhausting day (when I have to).

 

Despite having varied emotions and opinions about food and cooking, it is safe to say that I am also very emotional and opinionated about food and cooking.  Harriet Van Horne once said that, “Cooking is like love.  It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”  Food and Love.  Love and food.  In my book, two of the best things.  Ever.  Combine the two and it can also be a recipe for… well, not quite disaster.  But, close.  Especially when cooking for the one you love, who is more of a Eat-to-Live individual.

 

The other night, I served some soup to the Viking Beau (now fiancé) and asked innocently, “So, what do you think?” hoping for at least a 3, if not 4, star review.  What I got initially was: “It’s okay.” 

 

Gentlemen, allow me to be your friendly guide in the forest-y jungles where the sometimes unhinged womenfolk with claws live: OKAY is never okay.  Not when assessing anything having to do with how we look, how we feel or what we have created in the name of love (this includes, but is not limited to, off-spring).  The word “okay” (and it’s bizarre abbreviated versions of “o.k.” and “ok”), has 1,001 interpretations that we, and only we, know the multiple definitions of and can scan through in our minds in a nanosecond.  Seriously, you’re so cute thinking it only has one meaning.  You’re an idiot.

 

While I worked really hard to maintain composure during the “okay” portion of the verbal evaluation of the meal, the Viking expounded, rather Zagat-like, spoon in hand.  “On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d say it’s a 7.”  He smiled (big mistake, considering what came out of his beautiful mouth next) and concluded with, “It’s edible.”

 

It was at this point I stopped the rolodex at “okay” classification #764 and found myself going all Samuel L. Jackson in an apron on him.  “Edible?  EDIBLE?!  Say edible one more time.  I dare you.  Say EDIBLE.  One.  More.  Time!!”

 

You can blanch vegetables all you want until the cows come home looking for alfalfa, but you haven’t lived until you’ve blanched your dining companion into paralysis where they sit.

 

I could not stop myself.  “Say EDIBLE again and I will mess you up.  You do not have to let the word EDIBLE ever fall out of your face again.  Not ever.  Not in MY kitchen!”

 

No.  If you’re going to use ‘edible’ in a sentence in my presence, when there is sweat on my brow and an apron bow on my back, you might first want to check to see if Abercrombie & Fitch has a flak jacket in your size coming up in their Fall Collection.

 

To be fair, this is a man who is cool, logical and is in the habit of assessing the world at large in an intelligent fashion and in an incredibly articulate way.  Which, I love.  For the most part, it is his Spock-like nature that just sends me.  However, when I’m wielding the knife and spoon and asking you how you like that which is laid before you, I do believe I want a little more James T. Kirk Lovin’ from the Oven and his broken syntax, whether from gratitude or stupititude (not a word, but you get my gist).  According to Captain Kirk, “Intuition.  However illogical... is recognized - as - a - command… prerogative.” (from the Star Trek episode Obsession).  I have no idea what that means, but I’m pretty sure Kirk would’ve exercised his prerogative not to use the word “edible” when being served interplanetary tubers in gopher Hollandaise sauce by a girl with hoses coming out of her head and a plutonium fueled taser in her hand.  While I’m not that girl, I’m not off by much.

 

Once my head stopped spinning, I explained that, to me -- cooking and serving is akin to baring my soul.  I’m serving up more than a meal.  I’m giving away a little bit of me as a side dish.  I cook for those I care for, or not at all.  Even when preparing a meal for myself, it is very telling what kind of space I’m in, as to what I choose to nurture myself with (or not).  How much time, thought and preparation goes into a meal is directly proportionate to how I’m feeling about myself.  So, if I cook for you and come up short on what your tastebuds were hoping for, I’m going to ask that you engage some of those other senses (and sensibility) to gauge the meal by.  Logic be darned, just smile and say, “Thank you.  It filled the spot.”

 

And go make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

 

“Dining with one’s friends and beloved family is certainly one of life’s primal and most innocent delights, one that is both soul-satisfying and eternal.” – Julia Child

 

“For the first time, I know what it is to eat.  I have gained four pounds.  I get frantically hungry and the food I eat gives me a lingering pleasure.  I never ate before in this deep carnal way… I want to bite into life and to be torn by it.” – Anais Nin

 

Samuel L. Jackson in an apron

When it comes to food, there are a few different personalities, such as: those who are bonafide Foodies hoping to eat only meals worthy of savoring, not just digesting; those who are gastronomically adventurous and like to eat as though they are filming a reality television show, climbing ever higher on the food chain; and those who eat, simply to survive.  I fall somewhere in between, depending on my mood and the day.  I love relishing the best of the best, sir (when I can); trying the rare and exotic (when I can) and even just eating what I must (when I have to).

 

The preparation of food is also a mixed bag of nuts for me, as I adore having the opportunity to take time to cook for those I love (when I can), I’m excited about the adventure of trying new and unusual recipes (when I can) and don’t mind rustling up just the staples of what’s living in my pantry and fridge after a long and exhausting day (when I have to).

 

Despite having varied emotions and opinions about food and cooking, it is safe to say that I am also very emotional and opinionated about food and cooking.  Harriet Van Horne once said that, “Cooking is like love.  It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”  Food and Love.  Love and food.  In my book, two of the best things.  Ever.  Combine the two and it can also be a recipe for… well, not quite disaster.  But, close.  Especially when cooking for the one you love, who is more of a Eat-to-Live individual.

 

The other night, I served some soup to the Viking Beau (now fiancé) and asked innocently, “So, what do you think?” hoping for at least a 3, if not 4, star review.  What I got initially was: “It’s okay.” 

 

Gentlemen, allow me to be your friendly guide in the forest-y jungles where the sometimes unhinged womenfolk with claws live: OKAY is never okay.  Not when assessing anything having to do with how we look, how we feel or what we have created in the name of love (this includes, but is not limited to, off-spring).  The word “okay” (and it’s bizarre abbreviated versions of “o.k.” and “ok”), has 1,001 interpretations that we, and only we, know the multiple definitions of and can scan through in our minds in a nanosecond.  Seriously, you’re so cute thinking it only has one meaning.  You’re an idiot.

 

While I worked really hard to maintain composure during the “okay” portion of the verbal evaluation of the meal, the Viking expounded, rather Zagat-like, spoon in hand.  “On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d say it’s a 7.”  He smiled (big mistake, considering what came out of his beautiful mouth next) and concluded with, “It’s edible.”

 

It was at this point I stopped the rolodex at “okay” classification #764 and found myself going all Samuel L. Jackson in an apron on him.  “Edible?  EDIBLE?!  Say edible one more time.  I dare you.  Say EDIBLE.  One.  More.  Time!!”

 

You can blanch vegetables all you want until the cows come home looking for alfalfa, but you haven’t lived until you’ve blanched your dining companion into paralysis where they sit.

 

I could not stop myself.  “Say EDIBLE again and I will mess you up.  You do not have to let the word EDIBLE ever fall out of your face again.  Not ever.  Not in MY kitchen!”

 

No.  If you’re going to use ‘edible’ in a sentence in my presence, when there is sweat on my brow and an apron bow on my back, you might first want to check to see if Abercrombie & Fitch has a flak jacket in your size coming up in their Fall Collection.

 

To be fair, this is a man who is cool, logical and is in the habit of assessing the world at large in an intelligent fashion and in an incredibly articulate way.  Which, I love.  For the most part, it is his Spock-like nature that just sends me.  However, when I’m wielding the knife and spoon and asking you how you like that which is laid before you, I do believe I want a little more James T. Kirk Lovin’ from the Oven and his broken syntax, whether from gratitude or stupititude (not a word, but you get my gist).  According to Captain Kirk, “Intuition.  However illogical... is recognized - as - a - command… prerogative.” (from the Star Trek episode Obsession).  I have no idea what that means, but I’m pretty sure Kirk would’ve exercised his prerogative not to use the word “edible” when being served interplanetary tubers in gopher Hollandaise sauce by a girl with hoses coming out of her head and a plutonium fueled taser in her hand.  While I’m not that girl, I’m not off by much.

 

Once my head stopped spinning, I explained that, to me -- cooking and serving is akin to baring my soul.  I’m serving up more than a meal.  I’m giving away a little bit of me as a side dish.  I cook for those I care for, or not at all.  Even when preparing a meal for myself, it is very telling what kind of space I’m in, as to what I choose to nurture myself with (or not).  How much time, thought and preparation goes into a meal is directly proportionate to how I’m feeling about myself.  So, if I cook for you and come up short on what your tastebuds were hoping for, I’m going to ask that you engage some of those other senses (and sensibility) to gauge the meal by.  Logic be darned, just smile and say, “Thank you.  It filled the spot.”

 

And go make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

 

“Dining with one’s friends and beloved family is certainly one of life’s primal and most innocent delights, one that is both soul-satisfying and eternal.” – Julia Child

 

“For the first time, I know what it is to eat.  I have gained four pounds.  I get frantically hungry and the food I eat gives me a lingering pleasure.  I never ate before in this deep carnal way… I want to bite into life and to be torn by it.” – Anais Nin

 

Patience, patience.

The Chinese Philosopher Lao-tzu said, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."  Well, that’s just great.  But, what if I’m just about done with the ridiculous treadmill of a journey I’ve been on and would like to stop now?  I’m tired.  Where’s the wise philosopher who will tell me exactly how many steps are left before I can finally catch my breath and rest? 

Some unknown wiseacre/smart alec/philosopher (it’s often a minor difference, no?) said that “Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. But, to keep going when the going is hard and slow -- that is patience.”

For the most part, I am pretty patient, but when you think about how I was raised it’s rather surprising, really.  The elders fed me pudding in a cup, instant breakfast and Tang, for crying out loud.  Then they went and invented the microwave!  They are, after all, the folks who set the standards of impatience and there wasn’t much in life I was really expected to wait for.  Is it any wonder I grew up chomping at the (just add water) bit?

Coffee Mate Personality Chart

So nobody is confused, the Coffee-mate Flavor Personality Chart was created so readers can see what flavor they match up with according to their personality characteristics or vice versa. There is nothing to actually FILL OUT. You will email T. at [email protected] or post your answer on the T. Katz Facebook Page.  Thanks!

Contest Time! Coffee-mate Free Flavor Friday

It is not a secret that I am a big fan of tea and coffee.  I happen to take mine with creamer, and my favorite happens to be Coffee-mate.  You should know that they do not pay me for my opinion or for sharing this information with anybody (tho’ I not-so-secretly wish they would).  I’m just a fan of their product.  But, I’m an even bigger fan of Free Stuff, and it is one of my great pleasures to share that Free Stuff with you.  So, on that note, I bring to you:

Coffee-mate’s Free Flavor Friday.  Which my Friends over at Coffee-mate tell me goes a little something like this: 

Stupid Cupid.

Valentine’s Day has come and gone and, for some, telling it to not let the door hit it in the rump on the way out is putting it mildly.  Made-up holiday or not, it does for one solitary day bring one’s focus to the subject of L.O.V.E. which I’ve found can be a sticky wicket for… well, everyone.

 

If you have a sweetheart on February 14^th then most people think you’ve got it made.  There are no worries about who you’re snuggling up to, your spot is reserved.  But, for said sweethearts there is an ugly pressure that leads up to Valentine’s Day that can be intense and uncomfortable, too.  Where to go (or DO you go) for dinner?  Did you make reservations/order heart-shaped pizza/shop for groceries in time?  Is jewelry going to be expected?  Must new outfits be procured?  I’ve known people married or in long-term relationships, some for decades, who still stress over the details of it.  They can’t help it.  Every media source and shopping facility known to man (the ads do seem skewed to appeal to them most) is put on high-alert in the days preceding it and even the least romantic among you cannot ignore The Day.

 

For those who don’t have someone to call up and call their own, the Hallmark Holiday can be seven kinds of wrong: 1) Disappointing 2) Disheartening 3) Depressing 4) Delusional 5) Demeaning 6) Detrimental 7) Dumb -- Actually there are a whole lot more, but we’ll stick with the D’s for now.  Honestly, I rally for those who have taken to calling it Single Awareness/Appreciation Day or Anti-Valentine’s Day (though I’m not a fan of the more distasteful V.D) and those that throw antagonistic shindigs with signature cocktails (“Party of One” and “Future Ex” among them).  I truly < heart > these folks that are taking love’s lemons and making the proverbial lemonade (with our without vodka) and making the best of it.  Or fun of it, at any rate.

 

A re-salute to that which I resolute. Again.

Another new year on the horizon and again I sit with pencil and paper to sketch out resolutions.  Notice I said pencil, not pen, as I’m not totally committed to this year’s list (which sort of resembles last year’s list) yet. It’s not that I think the resolutions are not worthy of being carried out, it’s just that I’m not sure I have the intestinal fortitude to do what needs to be done.  I’m a bit of a pansy when it comes to facing down my inner dragons, especially the ten to twelve pound one that’s been hanging on for dear life to my flank region for quite some time.  That little bugger just won’t let go (nor will he willingly be shoved into a pair of jeans I’ve got hanging in my closet that I’d like to get back into).

 

Misery loves her company and according to Time Magazine, I won’t be standing alone in the cold with a possibly broken resolution list. The magazine says the Top 10 Commonly Broken New Year's Resolutions are these:

 

How can you LIKE that?!

Let’s say you’re from Minnesota and you really dislike jalepeno peppers, or just don’t care for them as much as those folks in the Southwest.  Or, maybe you’re from Italy and you go to a Texas diner and decide that grits are just not your cup of polenta.  Chances are you’d be polite and simply chalk it up to simple differences in tastes or culture.  Right?  You wouldn’t make a face and blurt out something like, “Eww!  How can you LIKE that?  Nobody likes that!”

You wouldn’t do that.  Would you?  Huh?  Punk?!

Au contraire!  There are plenty of people who take it upon themselves to be vocal experts on what’s to be liked or not liked and they feel bizarrely compelled to pass judgment on what you happen to like.  Heaven kiss the foreheads of the design staff at Facebook for not yet altering settings (which they LOVE to do) to include a “Dislike” button.  People do enough of that in the real world, face-to-face.  Dang it.

Sitting in a theatre dressing room this past summer, one pink-cheeked boy-on-a-cracker upped the ante for me on the whole Like/Dislike discussion, as his dramatic (he is an actor, after all) knee-jerk reaction to seeing two middle-aged women eating black licorice was to rear back, spew his highly caffeinated lemon-line energy drink in horror, shouting for all to hear: “Ewwwwww!  How can you LIKE that?!  Nobody UNDER 40 likes that stuff!”

As I’ve promised throughout the years, I won’t curse in print.  But I’ve also said, repeatedly, that what falls out of my mouth I cannot be held responsible for.  In this moment I cursed, quite loudly, in this young man’s general direction.  I may or may not have even spat, a little.  Go ahead and publicly express your over-the-top disdain for the things I like, but if you’re going to base it on my age, too – then I invite you to take a ringside seat to watch my temperature rise.  Some lucky women out there glow, I irradiate.  And I will slice you in two. Distinct. Pieces.

Since then, I’ve calmed down and done a little informal survey about my beloved candy choice (I said I’ve calmed down, I said nothing about letting go).   It was surprising to me how talking about simply liking black licorice (aka liquorice) does bring out the weird and uncouth in some people.

To set the record straight, let’s first just throw red licorice out of the ring, because research will show that red licorice isn’t licorice, at all.  Candy companies started making red similarly into whips and twisted sticks like the original, which they then flavored with strawberry, cherry, raspberry, or cinnamon – but that ain’t licorice, kid.  That ain’t it.  And neither are those other colors now available flavored with apple, watermelon, blue raspberry, mango, etc.  They are imposters.  Sweet imposters created for those who don’t care for the piquant original black licorice.

When polling people about black licorice nearly everyone fell into the “love it” or “loathe it” category.  Those that love black licorice had favorite versions, such as the original form of whips and twisted sticks; Good & Plenty; Black Jack; Scottie Dogs; pick only black from a bowl of Jelly Belly’s; anise; fennel; and other varieties of the stuff (including the adult beverage versions like Sambuca, Ouzo, Absinthe, etc.).  People who love black licorice may have a preference, but for the most part are pretty happy with just about any variety they are presented with, unlike the red licorice people who are firmly divided into either Red Vines or Twizzlers teams.

What I did NOT discover while doing all this in depth research and surveying, was a division in age.  There were just some crazy strong opinions, across the board, from young to old, when it came to likes and dislikes.

Good people, listen to me when I tell you: Opinions… are like noseholes.  We all have ‘em and depending on how they’re wired, they help us sniff out our likes and dislikes.  However, if you are surrounded by the above-mentioned “experts” you may be left to second guess how you really feel about something.

A few months ago, I had a contest where I asked my readers to tell me what they LIKE (food, music, etc.) that somebody in their world really DISLIKES, robbing them of their good opinion. The many answers ranged from bleu cheese, to rainy days, to (and this one broke my heart)… laughter.  Having grown up in a world where I was surrounded by nuclear personalities (I could say “crazy” but, I hear lawyers dislike that kind of talk.  Or writing) – it was impossible to have an opinion.  It wasn’t just a matter of them not liking my youthful choices in music or clothing it was more of an epic battle of wills where I was also devalued for my opinions.  There is language one can use when expressing disagreement and phrases like “you’re crazy if you…” or “why would/how could you…” and the like are hurtful.  Combine the dialogue with tone and facial expressions that convey disgust, distrust and unjust about your opinion – you end up not feeling very good about your choices.  While I think such powerful communication should be used when addressing harmful choices that someone you love might be making, I firmly believe they have no place being used when talking about simple, mundane likes and dislikes.

William Hazlitt wrote that the mind “revolts against certain opinions, as the stomach rejects certain foods.”  How true that is.  My only wish is that rejection of another’s opinion of the things they like could be tempered with a bit of kindness and consideration.  If you don’t like something that I like, you can disagree, but it doesn’t give you the right to humiliate me for my choice.  You are, after all entitled to your opinion.  But, if you’re going to be unkind and inconsiderate about it, know that I am entitled to like the idea of possibly poking you squarely in the nose if the words, “Nobody UNDER 40…” ever fall from your pretty little lips again.  

     C

“It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference of opinion that makes horse races.” – Mark Twain, from The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson

“We're like licorice. Not everybody likes licorice, but the people who like licorice really like licorice.” – Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead

“Ok, we've had some word that there is some bad red rope licorice circulating in the crowd. Please stay away from the red rope licorice. Do not bite any off or chew it. It could cause a dental emergency... “ – Garth of Wayne’s World

Comfort food, in any language = L.O.V.E.

Most homes have a kitchen.  Some people actually know how to use ‘em, some people don’t.  It makes me sort of sad to visit a home with a great big, professional-style kitchen when I know that the owner doesn’t have an epicurious bone in their body.  Like Kitchen Zombies, they just wander to and from the fridge, microwaving leftovers or boiling water for tea bags or hot cocoa envelopes.  It is almost as though they are afraid to even turn on that big square device that contains gas flames or electrical heating coils.  I guess it makes sense.  Zombies (and the un-dead, in general) don’t like fire, or so I’ve been told.

 

Stands to reason then, that I have more than a healthy dose of awe and admiration for those who craft miracle meals in the most efficient of kitchen spaces (even boat galleys), by taking a handful of ingredients (some, I don’t even recognize) tossing them into pots and pans, chattering and moving – all the while making culinary magic, seemingly out of nothing, in no time at all.

 

Even more impressive are my friends who have lived in other countries without any modern conveniences and managed to survive like characters on, well… “Survivor” but doing so, with panache.  These people have cooked over hot coals or in fire pits, with no knobs to differentiate high to simmer.  They’ve bought rice by the pound in a marketplace, only to bring it home and have to sift out the rocks that unscrupulous merchants placed at the bottom to weigh the scale down to command a higher price.  If they wanted chicken, they actually had to bring home a live chicken to live in the cabinet under the sink until it was “time” for… dinner.  I’ll spare you the unsavory stories about them having to pick bugs out of cereal grains, flour and any and all vegetation before meal preparation.

 

Jeez.  This is no way to start a piece about food, is it?  Sorry ‘bout that.

 

As for me and my house, I stand pretty squarely in the middle of the playing field between making a meal from what’s on hand in the fridge and pantry to having to follow a recipe letter by letter (and calling in experts for help, if need be).  I am not intimidated by my stove, but I do find pressure cookers and candy thermometers to be a weird, sci-fi level kind of scary.  But, I love my kitchen and the chance to make meals for those I love.  Every autumn and winter I stand over my beloved stockpot to create delicious (so I’ve been told) soups and stews that are of my own imagination and momentary whims, no recipe needed, yet when it comes to making my favorite jalepeno cornbread or challah (egg bread) that my kids love, I have to put on reading glasses and follow directions to a “T” – I have never been able to commit those to memory.  Dang it.

 

The following recipe is from the mind of a friend, my blond haired, blue-eyed Janet who, along with her brothers and sister, went to boarding school in India as a child while her father served as a physician in that country.  During the handful of times she could visit her parents (it required an overnight train ride) she watched her mother and their cook prepare meals that sometimes involved that above-mentioned chicken, clucking away in the kitchen cabinet.  You can buy yours, from your local grocery store.

Simple Chicken Curry

2 Cups Chicken (cooked), chopped

1 Whole Sweet Onion (Vidalia or Maui), chopped

1 Cup Spinach (fresh)

2 Bell Peppers (1 red, 1 green), chopped

3 Carrots, peeled and sliced

3 Roma Tomatoes, chopped

3 Cloves Garlic (fresh), coarsely chopped

1 Teaspoons Ginger (fresh), finely chopped

2 Tablespoons Cilantro (fresh), chopped

*** If you like spicy, like I do – buy yourself a Serrano chili to add. :^)

1 Cup Greek Yogurt

 3 ½ Cups Boiling Water

Knorr Chicken Stock

2 Tablespoons Coriander Seed

1 Tablespoons Cumin Seed

2 Teaspoons Cardamom

1 Tablespoons Coarse Sea Salt

1 Tablespoons Canola or Safflower Oil

 

Sautee onion and garlic until translucent.

Grind coriander seed, cumin seed, cardamom and sea salt.  Add to sautéing vegetables and stir.

Add broth, bell peppers, carrots, tomatoes, ginger and cilantro.  Stir.  Bring to boil, then simmer.

Add chicken, spinach and yogurt.

While dish simmers, make rice – bringing water to boil, adding stock and rice then simmering for approximately 20 minutes.

 

Basmati Rice

2 Cups Basmati Rice

3 ½ Cups Boiling Water

1 Tablespoons Canola or Safflower Oil

Knorr Chicken Stock

 

Put rice in pan, add oil and stir.  Add water and bring to a boil, turn heat to low, cover rice for 20 minutes and it’s ready to serve.

Once the rice is cooked, you can serve alongside the curry – OR, put curry in the fridge overnight to let the spices settle in for a richer, fuller flavor.

*** 

My friend Janet serves Iced Chai Tea with this meal and here is her recipe:

 

Chai

1 ½ Cups Water

1 Cinnamon Stick (approx. 1 ½ inch)

8 Cardamom Pods

8 Cloves, whole

1/4 inch Ginger Root (fresh), sliced thin

2/3 Cup Milk (whole, low or non-fat is fine)

6 Tsp Sugar (or sweetener)

3 Tsp Black Tea (leaves or 3 tea bags)

 

Place water, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and ginger in a pot.  Bring to a boil.

Cover and lower heat to lowest setting and simmer for 10 minutes.

Add milk and sugar and again bring to simmer.

Next, add the tea leaves, remove from heat and cover.

Let steep for 3 minutes and strain. Enjoy!

 

Or, like me, you can go the even easier route on this one --

 

Simple Chai

3 Chai Teabags

2/3 Cup of Milk (whole, low or non-fat is fine)

6 Teaspoons Sugar or Sweetener of choice

 

Make tea and add milk & sweetener.