Winter in a Bowl

During my first Delhi winter,I dreamed of cheesy baked things,and settled instead for Maggi cooked with absurdly intense care on a rez-room hot-plate. On the train back to Calcutta,though,feet cold and ears freezing,I discovered an even better cure: Indian Railways’ hot peppery tomato soup. I had always thought of soup as a clever plot by buffet-wallahs to make you eat less of the mutton. It was not till then,as I slurped it down from a Styrofoam glass,that I realised that nothing really warms you inside like a good brothy soup.

Everyone has a favourite winter soup. Some people like what their local Chinese place does with dumplings and celery. Others perform miracles with pumpkin or seaweed. I love split pea soup,with ham and sage; but,left to myself,I make an onion soup.

Onion soup — French Onion Soup,I beg their pardon,I suppose they wish to defend its honour against some Belgian pretender — can be done properly,with the onion steamed in foil in an oven and then caramelised carefully for ages on a stovetop. Or you can be lazy: cut up half a dozen onions,put them in butter,wait for them to turn soft and golden,but before they’re brown and crispy. Put in a tiny bit of flour,perhaps a tablespoon,mix it well,and allow it another couple of minutes. Meanwhile,in a saucepan,you should have water with a couple of store-bought cubes of stock,as well as salt,pepper,a tiny pinch of sugar,and a herb of your choice. (I use tarragon.) Mix in the onions,and allow it to simmer for a quarter of an hour,till it’s thick and dark. If you’re feeling sinful,put some cheese on bits of bread,toast lightly,and float them on top.

You can then eat it for lunch and forget about dinner. I put it in a brown bowl and sit outside and eat it as it cools. You feel very French,or possibly Belgian.

So soup works for me on a grey winter afternoon. Others whom I asked have variously praised mince and mashed potatoes,mac-and-cheese,buttery parathas stuffed with interesting things,and sarson ka saag with makki ki roti. (Yes,well,I live in Delhi.)

The joy of winter,as any shaadi caterer can attest,is being able to use the ingredients of the season,like sarson ka saag,with such enormous quantities of,for example,cream,that it would spoil in 30 seconds if you tried it in summer. I wouldn’t do this to myself,I like my arteries soft. But,in deference of the old rule I was once taught about distinguishing the south of France,summer,from the north,winter — the south cooks with olive oil,the north with cream — whenever I can,I make myself a carbonara sauce.

This isn’t the emasculated carbonara you’d get in a bottle,or at a thrice-cursed resto-bar,heavy with parmesan,the devil’s own cheese. This is the real thing,with eggs and cream. Take two eggs,or three egg yolks,and a small packet of Mother Dairy cream. Beat them up nicely with lots of pepper,parsley,and a shot of Tabasco if you’re that sort of person. Separately,in a frying pan,fry up some chopped bacon,adding garlic when the bacon is golden-brown,and then a bit of white wine. Meanwhile,cook your pasta — it should be spaghetti,but I use penne and I haven’t been barred from Turin yet — and don’t let it get too soft,this isn’t Maggi,people.

Now the hard part. Take the just-done pasta,strain the water,and put it into the egg-and-cream mixture. Yes,directly,while it’s still hot,stirring hard as you pour it in — the steaming pasta is what’s cooking the eggs,but you don’t want them scrambled,you want them even and smooth,so stir as if your life depends on it. And then put in the bacon-and-wine mixture,stir it a bit more,and you’re done. The whole process takes 15 minutes,and it’s beautiful: hot,creamy,ever so slightly garlicky.

Then go and hibernate in the sun till spring.

mihir.sharma@expressindia.com