Crispy Eggplant Ruben

Over the years, my mother has taught me that rarely is restaurant food out of reach for the home cook. Once, she and I went to a Thai restaurant in Tenleytown; while I proceeded to heap spoonfuls of fish curry into my mouth, she speared a small piece of eggplant, took a bite, then another, and thought a long while before saying, “yep, I can make this one.” And sure enough, she did.

Since adopting her practice, I’ve made Thai pomelo salad, Indian dosas, and Japanese ohitashi. I’ve developed a habit that waiters and cooks are almost guaranteed to find horribly annoying, where after trying something especially delicious, I ask just a million questions about what’s in it, how it’s cooked, what spatulas they use to flip it, etc. What’s a girl to do? I can’t schlep out to Woodlands every time a dosa craving sets in.

But last week, I attempted a new party trick. This one’s called “recreate a restaurant dish you’ve never even tried.” Ballsy? Yes.

But you know what? It totally worked.

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I encountered the Eggplant Ruben – or, rather, my friend Megan encountered it – when we went to DGS deli after work one day. What started as “just drinks” ended in hefty sandwiches and lots of napkins on the patio. I had my beloved pastrami, but Megan, a vegan, went with DGS’s Eggplant Ruben, a riff on the traditional meat-filled, Russian-dressing-oozing number. Two slices of rye bread, lots of spicy mustard, Russian, sauerkraut, Emmenthaler cheese (which, needless to say, they omitted for her) and two big slices of spice-rubbed fried eggplant. I’ll be honest: as I watched her bite down on that grilled beauty, I was a bit jealous.

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So naturally, I did the only thing there was to do. I went straight to the market, bought an eggplant, and recreated the sandwich at home the next day. I didn’t have Emmenthaler at home, nor did I have Swiss (a natural substitute), but I did have a lovely sharp cow’s milk cheese from Cowgirl that melted perfectly. You, too, can use whatever you have on hand.

I read online that DGS used its pastrami spices to season the eggplant for the Ruben – that’s coriander, fennel, and black pepper. I ground equal measures of each with quite a bit of salt, and sprinkled that onto my eggplant before frying it.

When it came to frying the eggplant, I wanted soft insides and crispy outsides, but I worried about the eggplant-as-sponge problem, where the thing emerges flaccid and full of oil. To avoid this, I experimented with a couple different methods for crisping up the eggplant. First was this method from Danny Bowien, chef at the amazing Mission Chinese. Bowien has you soak the eggplant in ice water, which – in the words of Saveur – “shocks the surface of the vegetable and fills tiny air pockets between the cells, preventing the oil from entering them.” I believe that this works for Japanese eggplants, as he suggests, but my slices of regular eggplant did not take well to this approach.

Fortunately, my tried-and-true technique from Chow worked great here. Chow has you first steam the eggplant in a covered pan with a bit of water. Only after the eggplant has softened to you brush each side with oil to brown it. This way, each eggplant slice needs only a small amount of oil and still gets plenty crisped.

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In this case, after steaming the eggplant, I brushed it with oil and sprinkled on the spices. I also added a few more drops of oil to the pan, because I wanted more than just a browned exterior – I wanted crispness. Feel free to adjust the oil used to your preference.

The rest is simple: good rye bread brushed with olive oil, plenty of mustard and sauerkraut, Russian dressing if that’s your thing (not mine), cheese, and the eggplant slices. Fry up the sandwich grilled-cheese style, and you’ve got yourself a bang-up lunch that'll please vegetarians and meat eaters alike.

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Crispy Eggplant RubenInspired by DGS Deli Makes 2

4 slices rye bread 4 1/2-inch bias-cut slices of eggplant, scored in a crosshatch pattern 1/4 cup olive oil (or more, as needed) 1/2 teaspoon ground fennel 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper 1/2 teaspoon salt 4 slices Emmenthaler, Swiss, or other sharp, meltable cheese spicy grainy mustard Russian dressing, optional 1/2 cup sauerkraut

Cook the eggplant: Set a wide shallow nonstick or castiron pan over medium heat and add 2 tablespoons of water to the pan. Set the eggplant slices in the pan, cover with lid or foil, and steam for 2-3 minutes on each side, until softened but still fully intact and slightly firm. While eggplant steams, grind (if needed) and mix spices and salt in a small bowl. Remove then lid; all the liquid should have evaporated. If not, drain the pan.

Paint the face-up side of each slice of eggplant with a generous coating of olive oil. Sprinkle a bit of the spice mixture on top. Then crank the heat up to high, flip each eggplant slice over, and repeat brushing and seasoning on the second sides while the first sides crisp up. Fry for about 2 minutes on each side, until eggplant has crisp edges and a soft, tender center. Transfer to a plate in a single layer, lined with paper towel if you wish. Reduce heat to medium.

Prepare the sandwich: Lay the slices of bread on a work surface so the sides you eventually want on the inside of each sandwich are face-up. Spread slices with your perfect amounts of spicy mustard and/or Russian dressing. Lay two eggplant slices on one side of each sandwich.  Top each with sauerkraut and two slices of cheese. Lay the second slice of bread on top and press down firmly on each sandwich.

Add some olive oil to the pan. I like to add about half a tablespoon per side per sandwich, but you can also just brush each side of bread with olive oil, which probably uses less overall. Lay the sandwiches in the pan, and fry each side for 3-4 minutes, until the cheese has melted and the bread is fully browned and crispy.

Remove sandwiches to a workbench or plate, slice in half, and enjoy immediately.

Aromatic Burmese Fish Stew

As promised, here's the companion dish to the Burmese black eyed peas I made last week.

Can we have an honest moment about fish stew? It's usually a pain in the butt. Many recipes call for fish stock; they require you to brown the fish before stewing it, which makes a mess and smells up the house; and at the end of the day, after painstakingly browning lots of little pieces of fish, perhaps some onion and other vegetables, you end up with a big pile of nondescript food that doesn't always seem worth the effort.

Not this stew. This one's different.

Naomi Duguid is the genius behind this recipe. It comes from her new book, Burma, and it fed a dinner party of 8 people Friday night, plus leftovers for both of us the next day.

Unlike its more fussy compatriots, this fish stew contains only fish, tomatoes, spices, and water. If you have a food processor or spice grinder, you're good to go. You just blend a bunch of spices into a paste, add them to water to make a broth, and cook fish and tomatoes in that broth for scarcely 10 minutes. Then, you eat.

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Because I was serving this at a dinner party, I wanted the cooking time to be more flexible. After bringing the broth to a boil, I turned the heat so low you could barely see the flame. Then I added the fish. The fish basically poached in a hot water bath, taking its merry time while we schmoozed and sipped wine. By the time we got to the table, about an hour after I added the fish, it had cooked perfectly. It was flaky and firm, but not at all tough. The tomatoes had melted into the broth. Over white rice, topped with some herbs, it was just perfect.

If you serve this for a more casual dinner, you might consider skipping the sides entirely and just serving the stew in bowls over rice, topped with herbs or even a dollop of yogurt. It's a pretty brothy stew; you'd be missing out if you couldn't slurp it all up. Because we served it on plates with a bunch of sides, I ladled out a couple spoonfuls of the broth and mixed them with 2 tablespoons of rice flour, then poured that makeshift slurry back into the stew. The slurry thickened the broth just a bit, giving it a texture somewhere between broth and gravy. Still very liquidy, but with enough body to not be wholly out of place on a dinner plate.

I'll give the Burmese food a rest for a while, but I'm not promising I won't be back with more of it at some point. I can hardly help myself.

Aromatic Burmese Fish StewAdapted from Naomi Duguid's new book, Burma

serves 6

Notes: Ideally, you'll make the spice paste in a food processor. That's certainly easiest. However, if you don't have a processor, you can make it in batches in a spice grinder. Duguid also says you can use a mortar and pestle, which I assume is traditional, but it'll take you forever, and you'll wind up with a somewhat coarse paste. I'm not so into the texture of lemongrass, but if you are, don't let me stop you from doing things the old-fashioned way.

I've included instructions for thickening the broth below, but that's optional. If you're serving the stew in bowls, you definitely don't need to do it. Just be sure to serve it with both forks and spoons.

If you can find whole tumeric root, definitely use it here - it has a bright, floral flavor that really adds something to the stew. That said, Duguid offers ground tumeric as an acceptable substitute.

If you happen to have Burmese crumbled toasted soybean disks, you need two tablespoons for this recipe. For the rest of us, I've offered Duguid's recommended substitutions below.

Lastly, because you'll be dumping all the herbs and spices in a food processor anyway, no need to be precise in your cutting. Just chop everything up and dump it in the processor bowl. In a pinch, you probably can get away without chopping the garlic or shallots.

1/4 cup chopped lemongrass (1 stalk yields almost exactly this much) 1 2-inch knob of tumeric root, chopped; or substitute 1 tablespoon ground tumeric 2 tablespoons kosher salt 4-5 medium shallots, sliced (about 1/2 cup) 5-6 cloves garlic, sliced (about 1/4 cup) 2 tablespoons chopped cilantro stems (Duguid calls for roots but I couldn't find them) 1-4 green cayenne or other green chiles, sliced (Duguid calls for about 1/2 cup, but I'm warning you, that is a lot of chiles. I used only 2 serrano chiles and the stew was plenty spicy for me.)

8 cups water 2 medium tomatoes, cut into wedges 2 teaspoons miso (preferably brown but any works) 3 pounds skinned, filleted mild but thick white fish, such as halibut, cod, or hake; cut into 2-inch pieces 2 scallions, minced 2 cups loosely backed Thai basil and/or cilantro leaves 2 tablespoons rice flour, optional

Combine lemongrass, tumeric, shallots, garlic, ginger, coriander, 1 chile, and 1 tablespoon salt in the bowl of a food processor and blend until smooth. Add a couple tablespoons of water if necessary, and scrape down the sides occasionally.

Meanwhile, bring the water to a boil in a large pot or casserole. Add the spice paste, the remaining tablespoon of salt, and the tomatoes. When the water returns to a boil, boil hard for 10 minutes.

Turn the heat to medium-low. Scoop out a little broth into a small bowl and dissolve the miso in the broth, then add back to the pot. Add the fish, cover, and simmer for about 10 minutes, until the fish is cooked through. Add most of scallions and herbs, stir to combine, and remove the stew from the heat.

Serve over white or brown rice, with the remaining herbs and scallions.

* If you want to thicken the stew, follow the instructions for the miso: scoop out some broth, stir the rice flour into the broth until smooth, then pour the slurry back into the broth and stir to combine.

Burmese Black-Eyed Peas

On our trip to Thailand, we spent some time biking up north between Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai. For two days of our bike trip, we rode along the Thai-Burmese border. It's amazing how you can see into one country from the other - they essentially share a big plot of land - and yet, the topography changes when you cross over. The ride reminded me of a trip I took to Amman, Jordan, while I was living in Jerusalem. The two cities are probably only 50 miles apart, and at that latitude, there isn't even a river separating Jordan from Israel. And yet, where Jerusalem has rolling hills, Amman's main highway runs along a straight cliff.

Apparently, the foods of Thailand and Burma are like the topographies: similar, but also quite different. I've been working my way through Naomi Duguid's wonderful new cookbook, Burma, for the past couple of weeks. Before these peas, I hadn't cooked anything from it, but I've been reading it in bits and pieces, and her stories and recipes are really beautiful. The balance of spicy, sour, and salty flavors in each dish recalls Thai food, but from what I can tell, Burmese cooking is less sweet, possibly spicier, and perhaps slightly funkier as well.

Many of the recipes call for things I don't stock in my kitchen, like dried anchovy powder and preserved soybean disks. But Duguid lists substitutions (fish sauce, miso) where they work, which makes the book more accessible.

We had a couple family friends of D's in town last weekend. Their sons are both chefs, so they know from good food. I decided it was the perfect time to take Burma out for a ride.

Okay, so I was noncommittal at first. I started out with these black-eyed peas, figuring if they didn't turn out to be special, I could take the meal in a different direction. But the peas, quite simply, blew me away. The recipe is called "Peas for many occasions," and Duguid says she makes them in large batches and freezes them for quick meals later. I can see why: the peas are cooked simply, then seasoned just before serving, so the flavors really pop. Once the peas are done, pretty much all that's between them and the table is a quick saute of shallots and tumeric and a squeeze of lime.

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Confident in Burmese food's deliciousness, I dug deeper into Duguid's cookbook, seeking another recipe for Friday night dinner. I settled on a simple but memorable fish curry, which I'll be posting later in the week. Dinner was curry, the peas, some plain rice, and asparagus roasted with sesame oil and salt. It's a meal I'll definitely be making regularly.

If I'd had more time, I might have tried my hand at one of the many condiments Duguid shares in the back of the book. Some are marinated salads, others quick pickles, others spicy, sour pastes. All look amazing.

Since apparently I'm on a south/southeast Asian kick, I'll tell you about one other recipe on my very-shortlist: mango with sticky rice. Champagne mangos were at the grocery store yesterday, and I'm now the proud owner of a bamboo steamer. I'll let you know when I take that on. For now, I'm going to heat up some fish curry.

Burmese Black-Eyed PeasAdapted from Naomi Duguid's new book, Burma

Notes: This recipe calls for fish sauce. You can replace it with soy sauce, but add only half the amount upfront, and taste to see if your beans need the extra teaspoon. Also, I loved the beans just as Duguid made them, but I found that a couple teaspoons of maple syrup really pushed them over the edge. Feel free to skip it, as it's not in the original recipe.

1 cup dried black-eyed peas (Duguid says this recipe works for chickpeas as well) 4 cups water 1 large shallot, coarsely chopped, plus 1/4 cup sliced shallots (about 5 shallots total) 1 inch-long knob of ginger, minced or grated 2 tablespoons peanut or other neutral oil 1/4 teaspoon ground tumeric 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons fish sauce or 1-2 teaspoons soy sauce juice of 1 lime 3 tablespoons chopped cilantro, dill, or mint (or a mixture) 2 teaspoons maple syrup, optional

Put the peas in a large bowl, cover with water by at least an inch, and soak overnight.

Drain the peas and put in a medium pot with the water, the 1 chopped shallot, and the minced ginger. Do not add salt. Bring to a vigorous boil, then reduce the heat to low, cover the pot, and simmer the peas for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, until tender. Check periodically to make sure there's enough water in the pot; add more if the water gets low. When the peas are tender, drain them and transfer them to a medium bowl.

About 10 minutes before the peas are done, heat the peanut oil in a small sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add tumeric and the 1/4 cup sliced shallot, and cook, stirring occasionally, until shallot is soft and browned, 3-4 minutes.

If planning to serve now, add the tumeric-shallot mixture to the beans and toss. If serving later, keep the shallot mixture separate (or just plunk it on top of the peas but don't mix it in).

Add either fish sauce or 1 teaspoon of soy sauce, the juice of one lime, the chopped herbs, and the maple syrup, if using. Taste, and add the second teaspoon of soy sauce if needed.

Serve at room temperature.

Masala Dosas

When I was a kid, my favorite restaurant was a spot called Siddhartha, in downtown Silver Spring. Siddhartha was unfussy, inexpensive, and – at least when we started going – patronized almost exclusively by Indians. In retrospect, I suppose it’s a parent’s dream: kid loves cheap, relatively health Indian food more than pizza, chicken nuggets, whatever. But when we were at Siddhartha, chicken nuggets were off the menu. I could think of only one thing, and that was masala dosa.

For the uninitiated, a masala dosa an Indian pancake, crisp and lacy outside but soft within. It’s cooked like a crepe, and then filled with a mixture of spiced potatoes and onions. Dosa batter is made of ground rice and lentils which have been fermented, so the pancake takes on a slightly sour, funky flavor (like sourdough bread: less sour, but equally distinctive).

If it isn’t clear already, I am obsessed with dosas.

If I’m being truthful, dosas fell off the map for me. There were probably 5 or 6 years when I didn’t have a single one. Looking back, that was pretty stupid. I went without because I couldn’t find a decent restaurant nearby that made them. Now I realize I could have been making them at home, all along.

Dosas came back into my life, of all things, because of a food truck. Actually, two food trucks.

Do you know about food trucks? We’ve got them all over DC, but we’re hardly the first city to develop mobile cuisine. Austin has had them for years, and the last time I was in town, strolling down South Lamar, I stopped at the food trailer park for lunch. There, set up on the gravel, was a shiny silver truck called Nomad Dosa. Natch, choosing my lunch spot was no challenge. I had one masala dosa, returned the next day at lunch for one more, and came home thinking half-seriously about quitting my job and starting a dosa truck in DC.

Seriously, if two Texan hippies with one trip to India under their belt could make decent dosas, why couldn’t I? Right then and there, I committed to finding and perfecting (perfecting!) the recipe.

Fortunately, I’ll be keeping my job for now. There’s a newish food truck in town, and it’s called Chatpat. If you live in DC and haven’t yet tried it, stop wasting time. Chatpat is a South Indian food truck that serves a slew of appetizers, one thali, and two dosa options every day. Not only do they park at my office two times a week – making a daily dosa a real possibility – but Mr. Chatpat worked with me, over several weeks, to perfect my dosa recipe so that it tastes like my best meals at Siddhartha.

You guys, I am over the moon. In the past month, I’ve had dosas for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack. It seems I could eat nothing but dosas for weeks straight. And now, thanks to the magic of I-tested-this-recipe-1500-times , you can make them – and eat a million of them – too.

So thank you, Mr. Chatpat! And Todd, the Nomad Dosa man, for reminding me that dosas exist and are wonderful. I’m indebted to both of you. Perhaps, one of these days, I’ll show up with a token of my gratitude: one perfectly cooked, perfectly filled dosa. My treat.

Masala Dosas with Coconut ChutneyLoosely adapted from this, this, this, my friends Trial and Error, and tips from Mr. Chatpat

Don't be fooled by the abundance of notes and the long recipe: dosas aren't hard to make, and they require minimal active time. However, there's a learning curve when it comes to making good ones, which is where my miniature bible of notes comes in. 

Notes:

For those of you who try to avoid buying “special” ingredients, my apologies. I’ve managed to do away with the special rice some recipes call for, but you do need to buy washed urad dal and fenugreek seeds. For the urad dal, you want “hulled and split black gram.” You don’t want the flour, and you want the lentils to look pale taupe, not black. The black ones have not been hulled. Urad dal are available at Indian grocery stores, as well as Kalustyan’s and Amazon (the small bag is cheaper, but the big bag is a better value). Fenugreek seeds are also available on Amazon and Kalustyans. Lastly, to make the filling and chutney, you'll need curry leaves. Available on Amazon and at Kalustyans.

Dosa batter is made by allowing raw rice and lentils to soak and soften in water, then blending them smooth, combining them, and fermenting the combined mixture. Because rice and lentils soak up different amounts of water depending on quality and age, it is impossible to say with certainty how much water you will need for your batter. Mr. Chatpat confirmed this for me. So we’re all going to have to be comfortable with a little trial and error of our own. Here’s the good news, though – if your dosa batter is too thick, you can add water as needed, at any stage of the process. My best dosas have come from batter to which I added water by the tablespoonful as I made the dosas. Tried one, too thick, add some water, tried another, etc. You’re going for batter with a consistency somewhere between pancake batter (gloopy) and crepe batter (very runny). As your dosa skills improve, you may find you want to adjust the thickness of your batter. Again, you’ll have to play around with it.

But it’s worth it. It really is.

And if you want to be really traditional about it, make sambar and/or coconut chutney to go alongside. We also served it with purchased tamarind chutney, which certainly isn’t traditional, but it is very tasty.

Sorry, one last thing. I’m told that dosa batter is supposed to double in volume while it ferments. Mine never, ever has doubled. It has increased in volume marginally, but it’s never even come close to doubling. This may have to do with the fact that it’s cold out, or it may have to do with my tap water being DC’s finest. If you want your dosa batter to rise, use room temperature filtered water, and live somewhere warm. Jokes: I’ve got strategies for keeping your dosa batter toasty below. But I have a feeling that part will be much easier come summer. Okay, onto the recipe.

1 ½ cups regular, unfancy, long-grain rice (basmati will also work, but the former is cheaper)
½ cup urad dal
½ teaspoon methi (fenugreek) seeds
1 teaspoon salt
A few tablespoons of olive oil or ghee
Wedge of an onion, for cooking the dosas

Soak the Grains: Put the rice in a medium-large bowl, and fill with room temperature water so the water level is a couple inches above the rice. Put the lentils and fenugreek in a separate bowl, and fill it, too, well above the level of the lentils. Cover the two bowls and set on the counter to soak for at least 5 hours (no harm if it’s longer – I typically leave mine overnight). The lentils and rice both will have soaked up most of the water in the bowls, and the rice will be soft enough to break with your fingers.

Make the Batter: Strain the lentils. If you reserve the water, you can use some of it to blend the lentils; otherwise, you can just use water straight from the tap (or Brita). Pour the lentils into the bowl of a food processor (best) or blender, add 2 tablespoons of water, and turn the machine on. After 30 seconds or so, stop the machine and scrape down the sides of the container. Then recover and blend until the lentils are absolutely, positively smooth. You may need to add a few more tablespoons of water as you go.  In my food processor on high, this took about 4 minutes. You’re looking for light, fluffy clouds of whipped lentil batter. Think liquid marshmallows.

Use a spatula to scrape your whipped lentils into a large pyrex or other mixing bowl – the more insulated, the better. You’re going to want your dosa batter to stay warm as it ferments.

No need to clean the processor bowl; just strain the rice (reserving the liquid), and transfer it straight into the bowl, with 1 cup of the soaking liquid. Blend until the mixture is runny, milky white, and as smooth as possible, about 3 minutes. The mixture may feel ever so slightly gritty if you pinch some of it between your fingers, but you’re going for as smooth a mixture as possible.

Pour the rice mixture into the lentil mixture and use a spatula to gently fold them together. Keep folding as you would chocolate mousse or soufflé batter, until the mixture is totally uniform.

Ferment the Dosa Batter: Cover with a towel or with plastic wrap into which you've poked some holes. Set in an area that hovers around 80 or 90 degrees, and leave it there to ferment and (hopefully) grow in volume, 8-12 hours.

If your house is cold, you have a couple options. One is to turn your oven on to about 100 degrees, then put the dosa batter inside and turn off the oven. It won’t stay hot forever, but if you choose an insulated bowl, your dosa batter will have a couple warm hours at the start of its rest. You can also turn on the light in the oven to raise the temperature inside slightly. But best case scenario (which, note, I’ve never done) would be to ferment your dosa batter while you’re awake, so you can adjust the oven temperature from time to time.

If your kitchen is particularly cold, your dosa batter may need up to 18 hours of fermenting time, so be sure to make the batter in advance. The beautiful thing about making it in a cold house is that you can basically leave the batter out on the counter for a day or so, and it will get slightly more sour, but not too much. You’re looking for the batter to have become slightly frothy, and grown slightly in volume. However, if it’s cold, this may happen either slightly or not at all. Don’t worry about it. I’ve made great dosa from batter that looks exactly as it did when I first mixed it up.

Cook the Dosas: Keep in mind that dosas are like crepes. The first one, you will most likely throw away, and the best dosa comes with practice.

Set your largest cast iron or other very well-seasoned pan over medium-high heat. Nonstick is a second-best option here; you ideally want a pan with heft, but that won’t allow the dosas to stick. And you want the pan hot enough that when you sprinkle a couple drops of water, they immediately sizzle and disappear – but not hot enough that it smokes.

When the pan is hot, drizzle a couple drops of olive oil or ghee onto the cut side the onion wedge, spear the wedge with a fork, and rub the cut side of the wedge onto the pan to coat it ever so slightly with oil. (The onion will sizzle).

Use a ¼ cup measure or a ladle to pour a puddle of batter into the center of the pan, and then use the back of a wooden spoon or (if you have one) a crepe spreader. I don’t have one, and I’ve actually come to love my flat-bottomed metal ¼ cup as the perfect tool here. I fill it, pour it, and then use the bottom of the measuring cup to spread it.

To spread the dosa, move gently from the center of the dosa out to the edge in a fluid spiral motion. There may be spots you miss – you can always go back and correct them. Your technique the first couple times is going to suck. Be cool with it – you’ll get better as you go. If you need a confidence booster, check my first dosa photos on instagram. Not pretty.

Once you’ve spread your batter around the pan, drizzle a couple more drops of olive oil or ghee over the top surface of the dosa. (At this point, if you are filling the dosas, this is when you would add a spoonful of filling either to one side of the dosa (if planning to fold in half) or along the center of the dosa (if planning to roll up).)

Cook over medium-high heat until the bottom of the dosa is thoroughly golden. You’ll notice that the edges of your dosa start to lift and curl slightly when the dosa is close to done. Use a wooden spatula to lift the dosa, and either fold it over itself to make a semi-circle, or gently roll it up into a cylinder.

You can serve the dosas just like this, with sambar and coconut chutney (recipe below), or you can fill them with the potato masala filling (recipe also below). But unfilled, they make a fantastic snack.

The dosa batter will keep in the fridge for up to 1 week, but it needs to be brought back to room temperature before making dosas.

Potato Masala Filling

1 ½ lbs. gold (waxy) potatoes, peeled, boiled in salted water, and cooled slightly
3 tablespoons oil or ghee
½ teaspoon yellow mustard seeds
2 teaspoons urad dal
1/8 teaspoon asafetida (optional)
½ teaspoon turmeric (fresh if available, otherwise dry ground)
5 curry leaves
1 tablespoon minced or grated ginger
2 serrano or jalapeno chilies, membranes and seeds removed, diced
½ medium yellow onion, coarsely chopped
1 cup water
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup chopped cilantro

When the potatoes are just warm, cut them roughly into 1-inch cubes.

Gather all your ingredients before starting, because once the pan is hot, everything moves quickly. Put the mustard seeds in a small bowl, the urad dal, asafedita, turmeric, curry, ginger, and chilies in another medium bowl, and the onion in a third bowl. Set the bowls near the stove.

Heat a large sauté pan over medium heat and add oil or ghee. When oil shimmers, add mustard seeds and wait until they pop, about 30 seconds. Then add the contents of the second bowl (urad dal, asafedita, turmeric, curry, ginger, and chilies) and stir to coat with the oil. Cook 30 seconds more.

Add onions, stir to coat with spices, and cook over medium heat until they start to soften and turn translucent, about 8 minutes. Add potatoes and continue cooking another 2 minutes or so, until the potatoes start to break down.

Add the water and half a teaspoon of salt. Scrape the bottom of the pan to loosen the browned bits into the potato mixture, then turn up the heat until the water comes to a boil. Cook 5 minutes, then turn off the heat.

Use the back of a fork to lightly mash the potatoes. You still want plenty of cubes, but you also want some mashed bits.

Add the cilantro, and taste the mixture; if it isn’t salty enough, add the remaining half-teaspoon of salt.

At this point, you can use the potato masala immediately, or store covered in the fridge for up to 1 week. Be sure to bring to room temperature (or even warm slightly in a microwave or on the stove) before using to fill dosas.

Coconut Chutney

For the initial mixture: 1 cup fresh grated coconut (can susbtitute dry unsweetened coconut, but you'll need to add double the water) 2 small serrano or 1 jalapeno chile, chopped (seeds and membrane removed if you're worried about spice) 1 teaspoon grated ginger 1 tablespoon roasted chana dal or urad dal, lightly toasted in a dry skillet ½ teaspoon salt

For the tempering: 1 teaspoon ghee or flavorless oil (grapeseed, canola, etc.) ½ teaspoon yellow mustard seeds 1 red chile, crushed (or substitute 1 teaspoon chile flakes) 3 curry leaves, crushed

In a mini-prep food processor or blender, combine coconut, green chile, ginger, dal, and salt and blend with 1/4 cup water until smooth, adding more water if necessary and scraping down the sides of the canister as needed. Transfer to a bowl.

In a small skillet, heat the ghee or oil until it shimmers, then add the mustard seeds. After they pop, add the chile and curry leaves and remove from the heat immediately. Pour the flavored oil (with all the spices) into the coconut mixture and stir to combine. Serve with masala dosas or other indian dishes.