Slice of Life, #13

            Last December my daughter and I went on a tour of India, seven cities in two weeks. We hit the high spots – the Taj Mahal, Mumbai, etc. – including Cochin in the south. There, in a neighborhood called “Jewtown” (seriously, it’s where Jewish people have lived for 2,000 years), we went to the Spice Market, with burlap bags of spices outside

and dozens of jars of spices inside 

Among the many spices we bought was a jar of tandoori spice powder, and tonight I made tandoori chicken.

            Last night I mixed the spice powder with yogurt, minced garlic and ginger, olive oil, and lime juice to make a paste. Put skinless drumsticks and thighs in a large ziploc bag, added the paste, and massaged the paste into the chicken pieces. Squeezed most of the air out of the bag and stuck it in the refrigerator. A couple of times today, I took out the bag and squeezed the paste around the pieces to make sure they were marinating well. Tonight, I put the chicken pieces on a rack in a roasting pan, roasted for 35 minutes, turned over and roasted another 15 minutes, then turned off the oven and let the chicken rest for another 30 minutes.* Served with rice and Indian spiced green beans, and I was almost back in India. (Interestingly, neither the tandoori chicken we ate in New Delhi nor the chicken I made had the characteristic red color I associate with tandoori dishes I’ve had in New York.)

            And here is a culinary poem inspired by dinner last night, with apologies to the B. Kliban cartoon:

            Love to eat them parsnips

            Parsnips what I love to eat

            Cut they little hearts out

            Nibble on they fleshy meat.

-----------------------------------------------------------

* If you’d like a more exact recipe, e-mail me privately.