Nothing can lure me out of a funk faster than planning a party. And not just any party. This particular mood improver was a celebration of Indian foods, which I love, and, more importantly, it was the first official cooking party for my fledgling company Conscious Crumbs. But there was an obstacle and it was a big one–my experience with Indian cooking was, err, um, well, limited, and teaching people to do things that I don’t know how to do wasn’t part of my business plan.
For years, I’ve been plodding my way through Julie Sahni’s Classic Indian Cooking and Madhur Jaffrey’s Simple Indian Cookery. A flaky but sad little paratha here, a chickpea curry there, the meals were good, but they paled in comparison to the delicious Indian cuisine I can easily find in Chicago. Yet with every saag paneer (greens with cheese) I ordered at my favorite Indian spot on Devon, I vowed that one day I’d be able to make authentic Indian food at home. So I let my “yes, I’ll do it” fly before my gremlins could start talking. Besides, I had a month to prepare.
Sahni’s recipes for braised meats and curries are solid though they often call for more oil than I like to use in my cooking. I was confident that I could adapt her recipes using less oil, but the samosas and the naan bread that I’d so eagerly suggested should be on the party menu (along with lamb korma, egg curry, and saag paneer) stopped me in my tracks. Both foods are technique intensive and require special equipment. When I’m faced with an intimidating to-do list that reads something like “learn how to make awesome naan bread and perfectly crisp, flavorful samosas,” Greg is quick to remind me to “eat the biggest toad first.” I considered the characteristic triangular shape of the samosa. It was a far cry from the pierogi and ravioli that I could make with ease. On shape alone, I chose the samosa as the biggest toad.
Though my Indian cooking experience was about 9,985 hours short of meeting Malcolm Gladwell’s
Making naan dough is a lot like making pizza dough–a little leavening, some flour and water, and a bit of kneading. Baking naan, however, is nothing at all like making a pizza. Traditional naan is baked in a 900°F tandoor oven, but at a cost of $600-$1000 for a domestic version, I had to draw the line on my equipment investment at the deep-fryer. Then I discovered that Julie Sahni didn’t include a recipe for naan in Classic Indian Cooking, because she considers it the kind of bread that’s easier to buy than make. Maybe the samosa wasn’t my biggest toad after all.
First I had to find a reliable recipe for the dough, which wasn’t the straightforward task I’d hoped it would be after Julie let me down. Many recipes are leavened with baking powder, while others rely on yeast. I tried both, again, and again. The yeast recipes require a longer lead time, but all resulted in softer, chewier breads than those made with the baking powder. The information for cooking techniques varied even more than the recipe ingredients–oven, stove top, baking sheet, pizza stone, open flame, skillet, lid on, lid off. Oh my! I went through ten pounds of flour and countless more YouTube videos (
The party was a success. Was it the naan? Or the crispy samosas? Was it the egg curry? Or was it having the kitchen filled with vibrant women and laughter that made it a night we wouldn’t soon forget?
Adapted from the recipe at Manjula’s Kitchen.
melted butter or ghee to finish the naan
Makes 6 naans.