Unpack the words. And, kedgeree.
Not a lot today. Only an aside to share before we get to the food.
In my head, I write letters. Not formally. There is no salutation or farewell. But, there is often a skein of words unwinding. Knotted in patterns of story.
I realized I’m often writing to people no longer in my life.
Those who have passed away, or those who have simply left my knowing. Who have passed out of my day-to-day in grand gesture, or who have faded like a sigh.
Through those letters unpack the words I need in stories. It’s a trick from writing classes. When you can’t pin down the pattern to it all, imagine calling someone. Talk around it. Convey the important elements, the things you want them to take away. To remember.
Describe the place, the feel of the chair if that was essential. The fragrance as held in the air. Weight of the bowl*, the balance of the spoon. The expression you can’t forget on a face at the edge of your vision.
YOU MIGHT WANT TO MAKE THIS
*The lure of kedgeree is in its combination. It isn’t meant for to be disparate elements set apart or laid in stylized arrangement. How the fish, sort of fry-steamed here instead of smoked, melds into the nap of the rice is an essential quality to a successful bowl.
And it should be a jubilant bowl. The resulting coral chevrons of fish unabashed in their blush. The eggs tinged Day-Glo as the whites are stained with curry powder. If you use petit pots as I do, then the peas will be luridly jade. If, like mum, you use fat english peas they end up something more khaki. It is a messy kaleidoscope of a meal, and all the better for it.
Kedgeree is of course the Anglicized version of kichidi, a dish of lentils and rice bound together into a source of pure solace. The latter was the first food of both my sons, offered from my fingertips to control the temperature and size of their bites. Now they eat it from their own. If I had had some around I might have added cooked mung beans or split yellow peas to the kedgeree, to further evoke kichidi and similar feelings of being cared for.
TWO WAYS TO (SORT OF) KEDGEREE (Feeds 4 generously to 6 or even 8 less so, depending how hungry y’all are.)
I’m telling you what I did, in the aim of the fastest way to this kedgeree. What you could do follows, if you were better organized than I was the other day, and are looking to optimize timing and flavour building, and subtract one from dish-washing. That said, the fast way scarcely felt like a shortcoming.
Boil 4 eggs to your how you like them and plunge into ice water. I want my yolks with glowing translucence, so aim for 6 1/2 minutes, simmered.
In a large, wide braiser or skillet heat a scant pour of neutral oil across the base. The important features of the pan: heavy, lidded, and one in which you’re reasonably confident the fish won’t stick. (This or this are examples, neither sponsored.) Heat over medium flame, then lay in a 454 g | 1 lb piece of skin-on salmon, skin side down. Season the flesh side with kosher salt and freshly ground pepper (do I need to specify each time? If I say season, does that feel like enough?) Lower the heat to something gentler, put on the lid, and cook the fish until beginning to flake at its middle. The timing will depend on the thickness of your piece, Just keep checking until it looks good. Good to you might be with a jewelled middle or a more matte preparation. It’s your dinner so confidently follow instinct.
Transfer your fish to plate. Into the juices and fat in the pan, back on medium heat, melt in more ghee if that feels the move. Tip in 300 g | 1 1/2 cups well-rinsed long-grain rice, sella basmati is what I’d point out to you in the store, and stir until slicked and slightly toasted. Pour in 2 1/4 cups water and a three-finger pinch of salt. Pop the lid back on, bring to a boil over high, then turn the heat down to maintain a simmer for 15 minutes.
While the rice is getting on, mince 2 onions and the tender stems of a generous clutch of cilantro—the leaves are for later. Let 2 tablespoons ghee (I really didn’t measure) go liquid in a medium skillet over medium-low-ish. Scrape in the onion and cilantro confetti, along with maybe 3 or 4 fresh curry leaves if you happen to have them. Season with salt. Cook, stirring, to make everything soft, frizzled edges are not the aim. The rice timer should be going off by the time they’re done. Dye it all ochre with 2 teaspoons curry powder, Bolst’s is the only I buy.
Carefully lift the lid from the rice’s sauna, and deftly, quickly fold in the marigold onions in a few turns. There will still be water in the pan at this stage. Press the lid back on once again and cook for 10 minutes more, at which point the water should have been absorbed. Peel the eggs and flake the salmon into large chunks whilst waiting.
Scatter frozen peas across the rice. More than 1 cup. The rice can take quite a lot, and if you’re generous with them then I feel we’ve had a vegetable. I free-pour from the freezer bag, and thus exactitude is not provided here. Strew the salmon atop. Fold to combine, employ that handy lid on a final time, turn off the heat and leave alone for 5 minutes. Thinly slice 1 red chile, seeded or not, and lightly chop the saved cilantro leaves. Halve or quarter the eggs.
Reveal your kedgeree. Pluck out the curry leaves if fussed. Season well. Tuck in the eggs, shower with chile and cilantro leaves. Serve with lime wedges nearby for squeezing and flaky salt encouraged. A highly unorthodox move I regularly practice is the addition of crackling tablespoons of those coated, crispy fried onions. Not the shoestrings meant for casseroles—though they’d certainly work—the rubbly ones. Give them a go.
Note. With a pot for the eggs, one for the rice, and one for the onions, the kedgeree takes about 30 minutes once the salmon hits the pan. I rarely cook it by stopwatch, though. If I was taking my time, and to take fully take advantage of available flavour, I would cook the onions in the big pan before the rice, then cook the rice in the vegetables from the start.
Other recipes: Nik Sharma makes gulab jamun, inspires cravings.
THINGS I WOULD TEXT IF I HAD YOUR NUMBER
It is almost impossible to talk about only one dispatch from Alicia Kennedy. Her piece on grief echoes weeks later, and is part of the start of what was up above.
Defining, honouring, claiming multi-racial identity.
Fable and Mane’s holiday trunk. (The brand supports wild tiger conservancy, thus the handsome fellow on the box.)
Meena Harris on girls and ambition.
The fanciful, joy-inducing whimsy of Viviana Matsuda’s pottery.