The Bhaji

I am not a fan of reality TV. I could never get into Survivor,  Lost,  Bachelorette, or The Real Housewives series. I found the premise of the shows unrealistic, the characters unbelievable, and the conflicts preposterous. Clearly, they have some kind of appeal for audiences. Otherwise, these shows would not be running into multiple seasons. I know several highly educated, intelligent, and rational people who follow these shows religiously. When asked how they can watch something as ridiculous as Keeping Up With The Kardashians, they contend that they watch it specifically because it is ridiculous.

Not surprisingly perhaps, the only reality TV shows that I end up watching are those that are food-related. Even these, if produced in the US, seem to take on a glitzy, hyper-competitive aura, that distracts from the actual matter at hand -- the food. The same does not appear to be true of British reality food shows like The Great British Baking Show or The Big Family Cooking Showdown. Somehow, these shows are able to retain their focus on food and cooking. The judges are experts in their craft and pointed in their criticism, but never mean. Can anyone resent Mary Berry or Paul Hollywood even while they are tearing apart your Victoria Sponge cake? The personal lives of the competitors are woven into the show, but they are believable, real people who are shown in their modest home kitchens, cooking for their families. They do not wear a lot of make-up and do not dissolve into tears at any given opportunity. I appreciate that.

Another reason why I love these British cooking shows is because of the diversity of food and flavors that they showcase. Ok, so we all know that Chicken Tikka Masala is the unofficial national dish of Britain, and that fact is a testament to the multicultural influence on  the current British food scene. However, even in a baking show, where we would expect European flavors and techniques to dominate, we find participants using spices like cardamom, turmeric, and saffron and aromatics like rose water. And more often than not, the competitors who experiment with these new combinations are the ones who succeed.

I recently watched My Million Pound Menu, a Netflix series where participants pitch their restaurant ideas to a panel of judges. The winners secure funding for their own brick and mortar restaurant. Every episode features competitors who are either cooking authentic food from their cultures (Indian, Swedish, Middle-eastern, Filipino, Burmese) or riffs on international cuisines. One of the entries to the show was Baba G's, a burger joint that serves Indian-inspired burgers. The owners, who operate a food truck in a popular London market, did not appear to be Indian. However, they integrated Indian flavors and ingredients into every aspect of their Bhangra burgers -- from the naan-style buttermilk buns, the spiced lamb patty, to the mango-mint raita sauce. I enjoy a good burger. I was so thrilled with this exciting new take on the basic American burger, that for a few minutes, I found myself seriously considering the possibility of opening an Indian-inspired burger joint in the US. Though Indian food is still not at the grown up table in mainstream America, I could see Indian-inspired burgers taking off here. The kicker in the Baba G's burger was the onion bhaji that sat between the lamb patty and the bun, an Indian take on caramelized onions, an optional topping for burgers. Bhaji, a batter-fried, onion fritter, would add a robust layer of texture and flavor far exceeding those of a clump of limp, caramelized onions. This idea of a bhaji in a burger completely blew my mind. After watching the show, I found myself craving the bhaji as much as the burger.

I had a big head of purple cabbage sitting in the fridge. This is not a vegetable we typically buy or cook with. When making summer slaws or noodle stir fries, a bag of shredded purple cabbage is more than enough. Since we are trying to load up on any fresh vegetables that are available in the store when we happen to do our grocery runs, we came home with a whole head of purple cabbage last time. I have been looking for ways to use it up and thought it would make a good addition to the bhaji I was craving. Being sturdier than its green counterpart, I thought the purple cabbage would be able to hold its own in a thick batter of chana besan (gram flour or chick pea flour).




What You Need:
2 loosely packed cups of shredded purple cabbage
1 loosely packed cup of sliced yellow onions
1tbsp salt
2 Thai bird chilies (chopped)
1 cup chana besan (gram flour)
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
Oil for frying

Directions:
Toss cabbage, onions, and chilies with salt in a big bowl. Cover bowl and set aside for 20-30 minutes.
Give the cabbage mixture a good toss to evenly distribute the liquid released by the vegetables.
Gradually add besan and flour, coating the cabbage and onions in a thick batter.

If the vegetables release enough liquid, you do not need to add any water. If the mixture appears dry and crumbly, add splashes of water to bring everything together. The mixture should not be runny.

Heat enough oil in a frying pan to deep fry the bhajis. When the oil is ready, a drop of the batter will brown and gradually rise to the surface.

Take heaping tablespoons of the batter and ease them into the pan. Gently press the bhajis so that they expand a little in thee pan while retaining a bird's nest-like shape.

Do not crowd the pan. Maintain medium high heat so that the bhajis are cooked inside while gradually turning golden brown.

Fry bhajis -- about two minutes per side. Remove from oil with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels.

Serve hot with chutneys of choice.