Trout off!

They say one is either pregnant or not - precise and no haziness. I wish I could say the same when it comes to trout. I like it, I do not. Or do I?  It’s always been a see-saw relationship with trout. Something fishy about it! The family and friends always seem to be relishing it. I mean it is tasty, if cooked well, but is it something to die for? Well………….

It has I think to do more with the kinds of fish one likes – the Ilish (Hilsa), the chital (clown knife fish), koi (carp but not the brightly coloured ones), pabda (pabo catfish?), bekti (Barramundi), the white pomfret; in fact the list is endless. I also have no hesitation in saying that I am crazy about imported salmon and though I valiantly try to cook Indian salmon, it is no match. It is like having vodka with freshly squeezed orange juice and vodka with the tetra pack substitute, Hic!

Could it be because the trout and I have a history? It was the Banjara Camp in Sangla Valley (Himachal Pradesh) so, so many years ago that the fish got the better of me.  The camp, I guess by now all know, has Swiss cottage tents with attached baths and the works and is a little paradise on earth. So there we were knee deep in the gushing Baspa river next to the camp, armed with   fishing rods with colourful baits and above all, armed with utter confidence. Okay I admit a somewhat supercilious mien too, after all wasn’t I a true Hilly-Billy, pahadi by blood and birth and hadn’t I fished in less friendly waters.   And when my line went taut I was bursting with pride. Well pride does go before a fall and after a hectic struggle – the trout had the last laugh. It managed to flee leaving me a laughing stock.  I was determined to have nothing with the damned trout ever.   But as they say never say never, sigh! Especially when getting packages of trout from Manali is a regular affair.

And for all those who think snagging trout involves fancy fishing gear, think again. Of course, one learnt this in an unusual manner. This was at Raju’s Cottage, at Goshiani, next to the Tirthan River, (Himachal Pradesh again) that haven of warmth, comfort and natural beauty.  (Village and PO Gushaini, Via Banjar, Kullu-175123, Himachal Pradesh . Phone: +91-9459833124. Email: goshaini@yahoo.com. Website:http:/tirthanvalley.blogspot.in/) This was many moons ago too, much before the delightful double storied Himachali wooden cottage was covered by creepers (as it now). After overnight stays at state tourism bungalow at Chindi, the Banjara Camp at Shoja, we drove through the Jalori Pass and on to the cottage run by Raju Bharti and his wife Lata. We preferred to opt for sitting in the trolley over the river, pulled by Raju’s guys instead of driving further up, crossing the small wooden bridge and walking through the orchard to the cottage.  

 

An old picture of Raju Bharti's Cottages

 

This is how you access Raju's Cottage!

  

There were other guests too and someone decided to go fish for trout that was part of the lunch menu. I kept a safe distance, though to be honest I would have laughed the loudest if yet another trout gave the heave-ho and scooted off. Nothing happened; no one came anywhere near to even baiting one. Just when the fun was wearing off, one of Raju’s guys who had been keeping an eye on the antics, waded into the gushing river armed with a wooden bat like implement (the ones you see wielded by dhobis and people washing clothes in hill streams), peered into the river, gave two hard thwacks, put his hands into the water, came up with two fat trout and walked into the kitchen without even looking back. Lata made trout curry Indian style, not too spicy, not too oily just perfect, simple and just divine. The Johnson’s Café at Manali (run by Piya Johnson) is another place where you can varieties of trout dishes, from fried trout with roasted almond sauce to baked ones with different sauces to what-have-you, every bit delicious.

But somewhere in me, I still can’t get myself to buy trout or even bother to find out interesting recipes. Let’s agree that it is a little bland fish and it’s the sauce and the accompaniments that make it appetising. A somewhat stretched theory I propound whenever there is any trout talk is that since it was the Europeans who introduced the fish to the Himalayan waters, apparently around the 1860s first in Jammu & Kashmir and later in Himachal Pradesh, we tend to treat trout as a delicacy because of the herd mentality, if the colonial rulers took pains to introduce in Indian waters, there must be something good. Sure, remember yoga had to be imported into the country for us to take to it in a big way.  If that sounds churlish so be it, Amen!

I could easily turn a vegetarian but for the fish and oh the pork too! Fish is something I can eat anytime, anywhere. There was this eatery in Burano, a fishing village off Venice.  We went there because naturally one had to see a fishing village. Village? I guess there are fishing villages and there is Burano.

Burano village!

 

Fishing for compliments!

 

And so to sea......

 

We had lunch at one of those sunny cafes with seating outside where you can turn a happy lotus eater and watch the world bypass. It goes without saying that since were in a fishing village the main  course had to be fish.It was nothing extraordinary, nothing to rave about or compliment the chef, bit on the bland side but whether it was the ambiance, the company or whatever, we devoured all but the head. The waiter of course thought it was a testament to the delicacy quotient of the dish,  more so when we Indians had eaten every bit, that he insisted we record it for posterity, of course with him as the star. We did.    

 

Just head, not tails

 

Back on the trout trail, during the trout season, thick fat ones, frozen and packed find their way to our kitchen, thanks to generous friends in Manali. So once again I found myself staring at trout that I didn’t know how to convert into tasty items. 

 

Triple trout

 When in doubt what does one do? I chose to play it ultra simple.  Just marinated the fish with generous dollop of lemon juice, a bit of lemon zest, some salt and layered the insides with thin lemon circles. It was sauce making time – after foraging around in the kitchen cabinets I decided that it had to be simple too so it was orange juice (Ceres – I like the natural tartness it has), a bit of diced capers, one fresh red chili, de-seeded and diced minutely, freshly ground pepper and a bit of  brown sugar. Dunked the whole thing in a saucepan, put it on high flame and stirred around till it reduced to half and slid in a bit of butter. It was time to tackle the fish -heat up the grill pan, put in a few drops of olive oil, wiped with a kitchen towel ,put in some butter, let it melt and lined the fish in the pan, sizzling all the way.   After 5/6 minutes on each side, the fish came out somewhat charred and crispy on the outside. To go with the fish was a salad of rocket, baby spinach (all homegrown on the terrace ahem!), iceberg lettuce, orange segments, pips removed and each segment cut into two. The dressing was olive oil, lemon juice, a bit of sugar, a bit of salt, pepper and a dash of red chili powder whipped up properly.  The other salad  was boiled potatoes cut into cubes mixed with very finely minced onion and generously dressed with hung curd whipped with mustard powder, salt, pepper and lemon juice.

So how was the trout, I think the sauce worked fine!!

Homegrown rocket and spinach!

 

Side by side - terrace grown rocket and spinach

 

All time favourite- potatoes!

Friendship, Fish and a Birthday

 

Some years ago on Independence Day, which was a Friday, a childhood friend and I decided to drive down to Jharipani, between Dehra Dun and Mussoorie to celebrate the occasion (Yeah believe that!) and the weekend before returning, to home, hearth and work, on a Sunday night.We had been planning to do that for a long time but somehow it never materialised. That year at the last minute everything fell into place but because it was too late to get the train tickets, we opted for the drive. We started out early morning and about half an hour into the trip, the skies opened up but thankfully the heavy rain petered out soon. We should have been all excited and chirpy right? Very wrong! Everyone and I mean everyone, in fact the whole world and his wife and family and the extended family seem to be having the same brilliant idea that we did- to get out of Delhi and for some strange reason everyone seemed to be heading for Mussoroie. It was like being in an endless convoy, some vehicles with music blaring and assorted body parts hanging out of the car windows. If that wasn't enough, at some point we were all asked to leave the highway and driver into inner lanes and by lanes of Uttar Pradesh as some accident had occurred and the highway was off limits to all for a particular stretch. It was like being forced into a nightmare of mazes - mostly kutcha muggy water logged roads.  We groaned, moaned, cursed, prayed desperately but nothing helped. Moving ahead meant literally crawling inch by inch and stalling for hours in the jam. Naturally there was no question of going back either, we couldn't even if we wanted to. At one particular point - an elevated  narrow road with dusty sides tapering down to a miserable muddy stream, we watched helplessly as one Smart Alec decided - it was indeed an open jeep crammed with bulky guys sporting moustaches of every kind- that it was not his lot to follow the snail line and dramatically swung his vehicle, intending we surmised, to drive on the slope. Maybe it would have worked if he had driven gently and cautiously. But nah! He did it furiously and with full force and in a scene straight out of a third rate movie, the jeep slopped straight into the muddy stream.There was lot of cursing, foul words flying and rage inspired impotent kicks showered on the poor jeep. The vehicle was finally manoeuvred out of the quagmire like stream and there was this incredible sight of muddied bulky guys pushing up the jeep, huffing and puffing and profusely cursing. Clearly they felt that there had been not enough action around so next came the ludicrous scene where after finally managing to push the jeep right up to the edge of the narrow road, they had to stay put as they - using all their combined strength to ensure that the jeep didn't slide back - because with the other vehicles bumper to bumper without even a millimetre of space to space, there was no way they could have pushed their vehicle back into the snail line. Of course one member of the mustachioed team went around yelling, shouting and trying somehow to manipulate a way to get the jeep  back into the queue. Nada, nothing happened. As other times we might have laughed and even applauded the revenge by the jeep, but drained, exhausted and frustrated we watched like Zombies till we managed to crawl our way further and the tragic-comic scene was left behind.

The only thing that kept us going was the assuring knowledge and feeling that we were on way to meet another childhood friend and that we would get there come what may. All along I remembered a poster I had eons ago in my room, a rather cheap shiny one, of a long narrow tree lined road that meandered into the fading horizon, ending at the gate of a hazy wooden cottage. The slogan below in bold letters said - The road to a friend's house is never long. It certainly wasn't and isn't.

From then to now, we (the childhood friends) have evolved a better way to meet. Once a year out we have a night out. No not the regular kinds, there's no dressing up, no hitting the pubs or doing such things. We get together at one single friend's home and live it up, we barely sleep the night. We all met at school, a strict convent in one of the hill stations, we grew up together, we formed a gang of our own, we virtually lived in each others' pockets and home. We moved on to higher studies, careers, some to marriage and kids. We have seen each other grow up from gawky kids to what we are today(ahem!)  We have always been there for each other or so we would like to believe, maybe not physically , in good times and bad times, especially bad times. There is so much of catching up to do; sip our favourite poisons, we eat, we binge and we talk, talk and talk and talk more. We just let go. We call it our Independence Day (and night) There is no fixed day or date. After juggling work, home and all the myriad responsibilities we  feel that we can reward ourselves by being together for that one day and night, by being just us. It is a day and night we look forward to eagerly and it keeps us going till the next one. It's not easy  managing being together when you don't live in the same city, it means some of us have to take extra day off from home and work and fly in and out but they do it. We do it. Not all manage to make it every year and for those who don't, it means  continuous phone calls and feeling miserable for not being part of it. It's our annual fix, our emotional sustenance. We have known each other forever and there are no pretences; there we are just we are - scars, warts (and I hope it's OK to say farts!)

The menu at such gatherings is always a big jumble - some dishes are made to accommodate something is dying to eat but hasn't been to for whatever reasons, some dishes are made because nobody can make it the way that particular friend does, some because one friend has just learnt to make it and naturally we have to have a taste of it. Some dishes are ordered and some are potluck.  But somehow Thai red chicken curry and momos seem to be perennial. This time round the gathering was all the more eventful because it included a birthday celebration. So there we were the five of us this time, hooting and yipping it up. The cake was a simple home baked chocolate  cake, the tastiest one because the chief ingredient was love.

Happy Birthday!

The best and a lovely surprise was the baked Basa fish. Personally I am not much of an advocate of Basa especially texture. Let's say I was not an advocate because this time I just loved it and had the
most. What my friend had done was to marinate the fish fillets with lemon juice, mined garlic , ginger and some green chillies and seasoning, threw some diced coriander leaves and baked it for about 40minutes, the 20 minutes at 250C for the remaining at about 175-180C. Not a drop of oil. Straight out of the oven, a further squeezing of lemon juice and it was finger licking delicious. Did l like the Basa, which I earlier avoided, because of the occasion or did I carry a jaundiced attitude to it? Why not try it out at home? I did, but with a few tweaking and it was equally tasty. I accept that it was not the Basa but me. Girl friends do that to you - they make you realise that you might have been stupid, silly and biased about some things. They do it with love and laughter.

Here's the Basa experiment:

Basa fillet, 1 kg
Garlic cloves,(large) 4
Kaffir leaves, 6-7, minced
Red pepper (long ones)2, de-seeded and diced  
Green chili, 1 (optional)
Lemon juice, 4 tbsp 
Lemon zest, 1 tsp
Thai soya sauce, 3 tbsp
Sweet soya sauce, 1&1/2 tbsp
Salt, to taste (remember the soya sauce has salt content too)
Basil leaves, a few

Method:

Cut each fillet into 2/3/4 pieces, depending on the size you prefer.
Rub the pieces gently with the lemon juice and keep aside for some time.
Pound the garlic cloves, Kaffir leaves, red pepper, green chili (optional) and salt, preferably in a mortar and pestle. If you don't have one, place the ingredients to be pounded on a wooden chopping  board, wrap your rolling pin with soft muslin cloth or polythene and smash and pound gently till you have a  decent paste.
Mix in the lemon zest, Thai soya sauce, the sweet soya sauce and marinate the fish pieces.
Heat the oven to 250 degree C.
Place the marinated pieces in a baking dish, roughly tear and scatter the basil leaves over. Bake for about 35-40 minutes. After 15 minutes or so lower the temperature to 180 degree C.
Serve hot.

Basa fillet pieces with lemon juice

The pounded ingredients without the sauces

This is how it comes out!

With fish, potatoes might not sound like an appetising accompaniment but I added a potato dish just because I felt like and it actually turned out well. I parboiled some medium sized potatoes (little bigger than the marble like potatoes available in the markets), half smashed them skin and all, and put them in a baking tray. In a bowl I put together salt, a dash of brown sugar, a teaspoon heap of freshly ground dry roasted cumin seeds, a pinch of red chili powder, pepper, a tablespoon of apple cider vinegar, stirred them and poured over the parboiled potatoes. After coating the potatoes well, in  went
the tray into the oven at 180degree C for about 30 minutes or so. The Basa fish, the roasted potatoes, a green salad with lots of rocket, shredded iceberg lettuce and handful of cherry tomatoes with a tangy dressing and brown bread made a satisfying meal.

Hearty potatoes

And oh! don't forget the glass of wine.