Shall We Begin With A Drink?

Some friends of ours just bought a coffee maker. Big deal. Actually, it is. They didn’t buy it at the big box retailer on the south end of town here. She got it from the manufacturer, I don’t know who, but I know how much.

Nine Hundred Dollars.

I need one. I need to make coffee-shop coffee. I need to hear the swirling jet stream of mechanized air piercing hot milk. I need froth. I need…

Chai.

What is Chai? Actually, it isn’t coffee at all, but everyone I know buys cup after venti cup of Chai Latte at any number of coffee shops every day. How much do they spend? Eventually, enough to buy the next franchise. But you don’t have to. I decided to try chai at home, and to my not so huge surprise, I don’t need the above-mentioned device. In fact, I made it in my grandmothers aluminum, wood-handled, four cup dipper. On the electric stove.

Chai is the word for tea, but Masala Chai (or as we’ve been taught to call it, Chai Latte) is all about the spices of India…cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, pepper. Mixed with black tea, sugar, and milk, it becomes a fragrant cup of warmth like none other.

It’s a fairly simple process. Just make a spice mixture to have on hand. Try this simple one first:

1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon powdered ginger
½ to ¾ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon ground black pepper



Mix thoroughly, and store in a tightly lidded glass jar with your other spices, which should of course be in a cool, dark place, not on the back of the electric stove.

First, preheat your teacups, as the Chai will cool all too quickly in a cold cup. Nothing worse than Chold Chai.
To bring forth the drink, combine in a saucepan and bring to boil:

½ C water
2 teaspoons sugar (I always use turbinado or natural sugar, not the white stuff)
2 teaspoons Darjeeling tea leaves
1/8 teaspoon Spice Mixture, or more for a little extra flavor, after all, this IS about the spice!
1 cup milk
Simmer about 5 minutes, less for less tea flavor, more for more, but not too much or it will become bitter. Then add the milk and bring back to a simmer for about 5 minutes. Try not to forget to turn down the heat, or the milk will of course boil up into a foamy mess all over the place. After the first few times, you’ll remember. Just simmer. In this photo, we're about a millisecond from the point of no return.





Pour the mixture through a fine strainer, either into the cups, or into a large measuring cup to make pouring into the teacups a little easier.



It’s good, isn’t it?

Now get creative and try other spices like cumin, coriander, allspice, or stir it up with a cinnamon stick. Try green tea, Assam, or Ceylon. Use good tea and fresh spices, and you won’t be disappointed! Nine Hundred Dollars not needed.

A Common Kitchen

Today I received in the mail the most wonderful catalog of kitchen appliances I’ll likely never own. The photos show the happy couple in their spotless kitchen filled to the brim with the biggest and best ovens (yes, multiple ovens,) gas ranges, a Moby Dick sized refrigerator from which a dreamy light emanates as she opens the door. A dishwasher that perfectly cleans the glassy white dishes without a sound, save for the "shiiiiiing" you just might hear as a sparkle of light reflects off a plate edge. The couple are quite possibly the happiest I’ve seen lately, in an age where we watch like ogres the disintegration of reality show families. He sips his coffee with a grin of satisfaction, while she begins preparing what will surely be meal worthy of her very own Michelin star.

WHY ARE THEY SO DAMN HAPPY?

It’s their kitchen, I just know it. And I fear I can never share their bliss, because, my friends, I dwell in a Common Kitchen. The plain white electric department store stove was in place when I moved in, and there it remains to receive my basic wedding gift no-name non-stick cookware to its spiral elements. My fridge is nice; a recent hand-me-down from Aunt Linda, it sits quietly where a much smaller one once stood, making ever increasing clunking noises that had me conscious of where the coolers were stored, "just in case." It’s quite nice, in fact, and I appreciate the gift. However, it doesn’t fit. It’s too big. I can no longer fully open the silverware and spice drawers, and it allows only a 48degree angle from which to extract the baking dishes from the cabinets below the aforementioned drawers. It’s dark down there, and I need a headlamp to peer into the depths to find the bread pans.

So I got to thinking about my Common Kitchen. I know I’m not the only one; mismatched appliances, a few good items, an old floor, partially removed one evening when we thought we’d just peek and see what’s under that linoleum. Turns out it’s maple floors that match the rest of our Craftsman Bungalow, but we decided they should remain covered until we can re-do the entire kitchen. Still waiting on that! In the meantime, the 1970-era false ceiling remains, the avocado green walls glow under fluorescent lights, and the counter tops consist of exactly four small surfaces, of which only two have a nearby outlet. That’s it, no more working room.

What I thought was, I really love good food. I really love to cook good food. Is it possible to bring forth beautiful and inspiring creations from this place, or are such things reserved for those happy catalog people in their high-end perfection?

Maybe, possibly, what comes out of this Common Kitchen will be the antithesis of what lies beyond the swinging door...will you join me?