After three weeks in India, eating a minimum of two samosas a day, I knew I had to make my own. Warm, fat samosa straight from a somewhat unhygienic looking road-side shack are in a league of their own. I’m now ruined for any of the small, hygienically made samosas from my favourite Indian takeaways. There’s something special about standing in the street with a warm samosa nestled in a sheet of newspaper, picking at it as you watch rows and rows more being folded and stuffed. It’s all about the filling to crust ratio. A jolly belly full of spicy, gooey potato with little pops of peas, and three salty, crunchy corners. The joy was that each one tasted different; new street, new samosa. Sometimes the filling was bright yellow and spicy, other times it was dark brown, slightly sweet and full of cinnamon.
We practically lived on street food. Unless is was in or attached to a hotel, there didn’t seem to be many restaurants. The income gap in India is huge, and I got the impression that restaurants were only for the upper echelon with more western tastes. In the smaller villages, the streets were full of carts of fruits and vegetables, and women sitting cross-legged on corners with complete spice markets at their feet. I got the impression that main meals were kept inside the home, where families ate together away from the over crowded streets. Outside of the home, however, is this wonderful snacking culture. Pop up stalls that make fresh Masala Dosa while you huddle around the counter, politely asserting your presence with you elbows so you don’t get cut off from you food. We weren’t even hungry but we had to stop for one. Eating that tube of crispy, fermented pancake with its fluffy potato filling and spicy sauce, touching elbows with a woman sharing the same thing with the child on her hip, and watching more being made by a man who looks to have done it the same way every day of his life so far. No hesitation, no touching up, just a fluid motion of pouring, spreading, filling, rolling, cutting, and flicking onto those shiny metal plates.
We practically lived on street food. Unless is was in or attached to a hotel, there didn’t seem to be many restaurants. The income gap in India is huge, and I got the impression that restaurants were only for the upper echelon with more western tastes. In the smaller villages, the streets were full of carts of fruits and vegetables, and women sitting cross-legged on corners with complete spice markets at their feet. I got the impression that main meals were kept inside the home, where families ate together away from the over crowded streets. Outside of the home, however, is this wonderful snacking culture. Pop up stalls that make fresh Masala Dosa while you huddle around the counter, politely asserting your presence with you elbows so you don’t get cut off from you food. We weren’t even hungry but we had to stop for one. Eating that tube of crispy, fermented pancake with its fluffy potato filling and spicy sauce, touching elbows with a woman sharing the same thing with the child on her hip, and watching more being made by a man who looks to have done it the same way every day of his life so far. No hesitation, no touching up, just a fluid motion of pouring, spreading, filling, rolling, cutting, and flicking onto those shiny metal plates.
Around every tourist attraction was a little shantytown of fried good stalls and small old men with giant pots of chai. Although we took advantage of every single one, these places weren’t really for the tourists. They were there for the drivers and tour guides who were waiting around for people like us who were leisurely wandering through mesmerizing ruins or intricate temples. Our driver spoke very little English, so every time we stopped somewhere we would say a time, both smile and nod, and go our separate ways. He always headed straight for the chai, while fishing in his pocket for a cigarette, handed over a few coins and was given a little white paper cup of steaming tea straight from the pot. Rather than sit somewhere quietly on his own, as people do in Australia, glued to their phones, this was a little community. He would chat to the chai walla for a while and then move on to sit with some other drivers, drinking his tea and smoking happily. There are millions upon millions of people in India and he was from a small village outside Dehli, he pointed out to us as we drove along the long, straight highway that looked out over fields of crops. These had to be strangers. Nonetheless, he was always busily chatting as we wandered off and was still surrounded by a group of men with steaming cups tea or deep fried pastries in hand when we returned. This culture of communal snacking highlights the meaningful connection that can be made through food. It is not the mindless snacking on junk food that is rife in the western world. A hand moving from packet to mouth and back again while eyes are glued to the TV does not have the same social significance. The snack carts become a communal space where people can chat and connect outside of the household.
I’ve slowly learnt that there are no rules when it comes to spices. Use them liberally and to your own taste. I have a collection in my cupboard that I put in every single curry I make, just varying the proportions depending on my mood. I always go a little heavy on the turmeric, chilli, and ginger. Turmeric is amazingly anti-inflammatory which is something that can benefit your entire system, allowing your body to function at it’s best. Chilli and ginger both add that deep warmth that is so comforting and fires up our digestion. It is also wonderful for you circulation, something I dearly need in winter to stop my feet from freezing completely. All three are great for the immune system, one of the many reasons they are used so liberally in Indian cooking. I’ve added a few cardamom pods and some cinnamon to the filling because I love the floral sweetness that hides underneath the bold turmeric, cumin, and coriander.
Fenugreek seeds are a recent revelation to me. They look like tiny sandy pebbles but they have a sort of mysterious fragrance. It’s that smell that you find lingering in every Indian restaurant. Fenugreek is another of the prolifically healing spices, it is know to reduce cholesterol, balance blood sugar levels, ease digestion, and apparently promotes breast growth (I’m still waiting to see evidence of this). It contains high levels of fibre and mucilage, which soothe the stomach lining and help with issues like indigestion and acid reflux.
Fenugreek seeds are a recent revelation to me. They look like tiny sandy pebbles but they have a sort of mysterious fragrance. It’s that smell that you find lingering in every Indian restaurant. Fenugreek is another of the prolifically healing spices, it is know to reduce cholesterol, balance blood sugar levels, ease digestion, and apparently promotes breast growth (I’m still waiting to see evidence of this). It contains high levels of fibre and mucilage, which soothe the stomach lining and help with issues like indigestion and acid reflux.
Mucilage is the real hero of this recipe. It is the basis of my buckwheat pastry. Chia seeds, flaxseeds, and psyllium husks are all highly mucilaginous (such a great word!), which basically means that they absorb water to create a jelly like layer around themselves. It’s the seeds store of protein, sugars and water as it gets all ready to germinate. This slippery, absorbent layer makes these seeds a great source of fibre to help with any bowel issues (from either end of the spectrum). Most importantly this is process we exploit for gooey chia puddings and binding egg replacements. It’s what holds this pastry together; giving back some of the flexibility that you lose using a gluten-free flour so that it can be rolled out thinly and handled without disintegrating. It’s thin and crunchy, and does it’s job well – acting as a vessel so then we can eat gooey spiced mash potato without getting it all over our hands.
Buckwheat Samosa with Coriander Sauce
| Filling: 1 tsp each Fenugreek, Coriander, Cumin, and Mustard seeds 2 green Cardamom pods 1 tbsp Coconut oil 1 spray of Curry leaves 3 cloves Garlic 3 tbsp grated Ginger 1 Green chilli 8 cups Potato, cut into small cubes 2 tbsp ground Turmeric 1 tsp ground Cumin 1 tbsp Garam Masala 1 tsp ground Coriander ½ tsp Cinnamon Water to half way ½ tsp Salt Cracked Pepper 2 cups shredded Kale 2 cups Peas 1 tsp Apple Cider Vinegar 1 tsp Coconut Sugar | Pastry: 4 tbsp Chia seeds 4 tbsp Flax seeds 1 tsp Psyllium husk 340ml Water ½ cup Oil (Coconut or olive works best) 1 tsp Mustard seeds 3 cups Buckwheat flour 1 tsp Salt Cracked Pepper Green Coriander Sauce: 1 small clove Garlic ½ cup Coconut milk 3 Coriander stalks, root included ½ Green chilli, deseeded Juice of 1 Lime ¼ tsp Salt |
Gather all your spices and tip the whole spices into a dry pot over and medium to low heat. These can toast away gently while you finely chop the garlic and chilli, and grate the ginger. Shake the pot every now and then to make sure the spices toast evenly. Once you can smell all those beautiful spices, add the coconut oil to the pot. As it melts the seeds will start to pop merrily in the pan. Once this starts, strip the curry leaves from their stalks and toss them into the pot (there will be more popping and spitting) followed by the garlic, chilli, and ginger.
Fry gently until you can smell the garlic and ginger in the air and the chilli starts to catch in your throat. Then toss in the potatoes and the ground spices.
Stir almost constantly to stop any sticking and to make sure the potatoes become full coated in all that spicy oil.
After five minutes or so, pour in enough water to come half way up the potatoes. Add in the salt and put a lid on the pot. This will simmer away slowly, the potatoes absorbing all the spices and slowly breaking down into a chunky mash. This should take 20-30 minutes. Once all the potatoes are cooked through give it a very aggressive mix with a wooden spoon. Somewhere between mashing and whipping. Then add in the kale, peas, vinegar, and sugar. Stir again to circulate everything through the mixture and then remove from the heat to cool down.
Fry gently until you can smell the garlic and ginger in the air and the chilli starts to catch in your throat. Then toss in the potatoes and the ground spices.
Stir almost constantly to stop any sticking and to make sure the potatoes become full coated in all that spicy oil.
After five minutes or so, pour in enough water to come half way up the potatoes. Add in the salt and put a lid on the pot. This will simmer away slowly, the potatoes absorbing all the spices and slowly breaking down into a chunky mash. This should take 20-30 minutes. Once all the potatoes are cooked through give it a very aggressive mix with a wooden spoon. Somewhere between mashing and whipping. Then add in the kale, peas, vinegar, and sugar. Stir again to circulate everything through the mixture and then remove from the heat to cool down.
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Use this time to make you pastry. Combine the chia, flax, psyllium and water in a bowl. Let this sit for a few minutes to start to mucilaginate (such a great word!!). Pour in the oil, add the mustard seeds, salt, and pepper, and slowly mix in the buckwheat flour with a wooden spoon. Start with two cups and add the rest as you need it. Once the mix starts to come together turn it out onto the floured bench and knead it gently, only a few folds, to bring it into a smooth log. Cut into golf ball sized pieces and roll into balls.
Take a ball and roll it out into a circle about 2mm thick. A little cracking at the edges is no problem.
Cut this circle in half. Move one half to the side and lay the other in front of you with the curved side towards you. Grab a small cup of water, dip your finger in, and run it across the left half of the straight side of your half moon.
Here comes the fun part. It’s like making pancakes, the first one may be a bust, the second may be a bit funky looking, but you’ll get into the swing of it the more you do.
Lay your hand, face up, in the middle of the crescent. Fold the right hand side over your hand and the left hand side over that to make a triangular pocket. Rub down the seam and press down on the point to seal.
Hold the cone in your hand with the seam facing you and fill with the cooled potato filling. Fold the lip away from you, smear the other side with water and fold over to seal. Done.
Step back, admire, know that it will get easier, and repeat. It’s a great all hands on deck activity.
If you end up with more samosas than you think you can eat you can put the folded parcels into the freezer to take out and bake for instant snacking.
Lay on a lined tray, seam up, and bake in a 180 degree oven for 10 minutes. Flip them over at this point, and continue baking until the complete surface of the pastry is as golden and crisp as any deep fried samosa.
While these are baking, through all of the coriander sauce ingredients in a blender and blitz until smooth.
Eat while they’re still hot and steaming, straight off the tray is completely acceptable, drizzled with the green sauce.
Take a ball and roll it out into a circle about 2mm thick. A little cracking at the edges is no problem.
Cut this circle in half. Move one half to the side and lay the other in front of you with the curved side towards you. Grab a small cup of water, dip your finger in, and run it across the left half of the straight side of your half moon.
Here comes the fun part. It’s like making pancakes, the first one may be a bust, the second may be a bit funky looking, but you’ll get into the swing of it the more you do.
Lay your hand, face up, in the middle of the crescent. Fold the right hand side over your hand and the left hand side over that to make a triangular pocket. Rub down the seam and press down on the point to seal.
Hold the cone in your hand with the seam facing you and fill with the cooled potato filling. Fold the lip away from you, smear the other side with water and fold over to seal. Done.
Step back, admire, know that it will get easier, and repeat. It’s a great all hands on deck activity.
If you end up with more samosas than you think you can eat you can put the folded parcels into the freezer to take out and bake for instant snacking.
Lay on a lined tray, seam up, and bake in a 180 degree oven for 10 minutes. Flip them over at this point, and continue baking until the complete surface of the pastry is as golden and crisp as any deep fried samosa.
While these are baking, through all of the coriander sauce ingredients in a blender and blitz until smooth.
Eat while they’re still hot and steaming, straight off the tray is completely acceptable, drizzled with the green sauce.
