Aloo Palak Tacos

Rejoice! Today, I present to you: the Aloo Palak Taco!

It’s a tasty, hearty, Indian-inspired vegetarian sandwich.

In the process, I’m also giving you a straight-up recipe for making aloo palak, a north Indian/Punjabi “dry curry” vegetable dish (sabji) of potatoes and spinach, which you can have on its own as part of an Indian-inspired meal, with, say, rice (chawal) plus a sauced/wet curry dish (ones with a lot of sauce or gravy, such as butter chicken or anything-korma), or with a dal (bean/legume dish).

(Here, I serve my aloo palak taco along with a basic masoor dal and white rice. Delicious!)

Not counting the sections for appetizers, salads, and breads/rice, my recipe file of Indian dishes has separate sections for dals (the bean dishes, which are typically a little soupy); “wet curries” (whether with meat or vegetables, these have a kind of “gravy”); and “dry curries” (sabji/sabzi, “dry vegetables”).

Dry curries, or sabji, are vegetable dishes lacking a gravy, though they are usually spiced up really thoroughly. You typically make a masala (say, with oil, onions, ginger, garlic, plus your spices), then add your main ingredient, and cook (carefully, usually at a relatively lower temperature), sprinkling water in the pan only to keep the ingredients from sticking, but not so much as to make the dish “wet.” The masala flavors permeate the main ingredient. You might be familiar with aloo jeera (cumin-flavored potatoes), bhindi masala (okra fried with onions and spices), aloo gobi (potatoes and cauliflower), or bund gobi and mater (cabbage with peas).

If you are not interested in learning how to make your own Indian food, you can simply order a dry curry/sabji from your local Indian restaurant, and use the leftovers from that.

Well, I like to play around with these vegetable dishes, since recipes usually make plenty for leftovers, and they’re already nicely flavored. They make delicious vegetarian sandwiches, burritos, and tacos. They’re good in omelets, too. For big burritos, you can add some leftover rice. For burritos and tacos, I usually add some neutral-flavored cheese, such as mozzarella, Monterey jack, or provolone (sliced or shredded). Having a layer of melty cheese against the burrito or taco tortilla helps give it some structural integrity. Which is so important for hand-held foods.

Which brings us to aloo palak tacos.

Making the tacos is straightforward, if you know how to treat flour tortillas nicely. Whether for burritos or tacos, you need to heat your flour tortillas so they will bend and not break. I use a big, heavy skillet. You might have a griddle or tava. You might need to very lightly oil the surface to make sure the tortilla doesn’t stick. Heat on one side, turn it over, add a layer of cheese, let it get warmed up. Don’t heat the tortilla until crispy, only until pliable. Then add your filling—in this case, a few spoonfuls of reheated leftover aloo palak. Bonus points for garnishing with some chopped fresh tomatoes. Ta-da!

And now, here’s my recipe for aloo palak (potatoes and spinach). It’s based on a recipe I received from Aman and Gurcharan Aulakh, a mother-daughter duo who, in March 2009, taught a series of “Punjabi Home Cooking” classes at the Missouri Botanical Garden. The ingredients are the same, but I’ve tweaked the method a bit from what they told us. (The biggest difference is that they precook the potatoes in a casserole dish in the oven, covered with sliced lemons to prevent browning, while I simply steam the potatoes.)

Aloo Palak

Prepare the two main ingredients:

• 4 c. peeled and diced potatoes (approx. 1-inch-long rectangles): steam until just done, not mushy, but completely done, and set aside
• 2 c. frozen chopped spinach: thaw and squeeze out moisture (I thaw in water, then squeeze out in a wire sieve); set aside

Make the masala; note that at any time the ingredients start to stick, sprinkle some water, but not so much water that you make a sauce:

• 3 T. vegetable oil
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• 2 t. minced garlic
• 1 T. minced ginger

In a wide, heavy-bottom skillet, cook the above until the onions are translucent. Then add the masala spices all at once; lower the heat to prevent burning; sprinkle water as necessary:

• 1 t. turmeric
• 1 t. cumin seeds
• 1 t. black pepper
• ½ to 1 t. red chili powder (ground) (I use Kashmiri red chili powder, but use whatever ground red chilis you want, or none at all; it’s to your taste)
• 1⅓ T. ground coriander seed (yes, it’s a lot, but you’ll be glad because this is really good)
• 1½ t. salt (or to taste; I usually use 1 t., then taste at the end)

After the masala has cooked enough (about five minutes) (you’ll know when, because the oil kind of starts separating out, and it looks and smells like the spices, oils, and onion are all melded), stir in the spinach. Again, you’ll need to sprinkle water to keep it moist. Then add the potatoes and stir gently. Again, sprinkle water if necessary. The potatoes should absorb the flavors of the masala.

Finally, add:

• 1 T. kasoori methi (dried fenugreek leaves, which you can buy at an international store) (I rub the dried leaves in my hands to break them up a little)

Stir and heat through. Taste for salt.

Jar of Goodness 2.16.25: Papaya and Lime

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for papaya and lime.

Because we’re getting more snow, and it’s gonna be impressively cold this week. Super cold. Frigid, freezing, frickin’ fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh COLD.

And tropical fruits are a lovely antidote. And yes, we recently had The Cold that’s been going around. We’re recovering nicely. And again, tropical fruits help.

If you’re not used to enjoying papaya, get you some, and try it. Wait until the rind is getting yellow and a little spotted. Cut it up like you would a cantaloupe. Discard the seeds.

And don’t forget to anoint it with fresh lime juice; it makes all the difference.

So delicious. Yum!

Jar of Goodness 2.9.25: OTC Cold Meds

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for over-the-counter cold remedies.

The reason for this should be obvious, so there’s not much to say. But also, thanks for functioning immune systems.

Naturally, we didn’t go anywhere to watch the big football game, and since we don’t pay for any TV services, we’re not watching it. It’s not like we’re big fans of sportsball, anyway. So, pffft.

I’m trying to keep my cooties to myself. Hopefully, Sue won’t get this.

Jar of Goodness 2.2.25: Sportsball?

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I think I’m expressing thanks for sportsball. Sort of. Read on.

I never thought I’d ever mention football on my blog. It’s seriously nowhere near close to my favorite things.

But when the weather’s rough, the ground’s sloppy, and you have plenty of other things to be unhappy about, it’s kind of nice that the closest NFL team has been on the ups in recent years. When your team wins, you feel like a winner, too.

So, with the “big game” next week, people around here are pretty excited. Gives us something to hoot about.

By the way . . . (spoiler alert: this is what I’m really grateful for this week) . . . this winter, one of our favorite locally owned restaurants, the Dandy Lion on Main, has been hosting watch parties for the local team, and they’ll be having one of these parties next Sunday, too. In case you want to support your friendly little local diversity-welcoming place.

You might decide to pick up some homemade bakery goods to have tomorrow for breakfast. Next time you are hosting a dinner, have them make your favorite kind of pie. Or maybe you’ll see that they’re doing lots of fun special events there—movie nights, game nights, live entertainment, crafting, etc. As well as drag brunches. They are “a space for caffeination, creation, and connection.”

You might even want to follow them on Facebook in order to be in the know about their upcoming fun events.

So, whether or not the closest gigantic, billionaire-owned, mega-sports-franchise breaks some kind of record and wins “big” for a third year in a row, is kind of beside the point.

We’re basically looking forward to an excuse to hang out at the Dandy Lion for a few hours.

“Go team!”

Jar of Goodness 1.26.25: Cozy Mysteries

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for cozy mysteries.

“Whaaaat?” you say? “Julie, don’t you have a degree in English literature? Aren’t you a professional editor with fifteen years’ experience in scholarly publishing? Aren’t you just a little above mass-market, easy-reading, often-sadly-edited, formulaic, shallow, etc., etc. novels? What used to be called ‘dime-store’ novels? The successors to, say, Harlequin romances?” (Insert retching sounds here.)

Well, I’m coming out of the closet. It turns out I’m not above it. And I have my reasons.

First, I started reading these when Mom had gotten shingles and her vision was messed up. One of her great pleasures these days is devouring these cozy mysteries. (We can’t keep up with her in buying ones she hasn’t read yet. And yes, she says she remembers all the stories, so it’s not like she can reread them and like it.)

So while she was at rehab places, she was already in the dumps because she wasn’t at home. And naturally, we all strive to keep her happy, or failing that, contented. So I found her current book next to her chair at home, brought it with me to her room at Columbia Post-Acute, and read to her, starting a little before where her bookmark was. (This is quality time between us, see?)

It was kind of funny to pick up reading at the midpoint of the mystery novel. Who’s who? Why is everyone looking for whatever-it-is? Whatever does ice cream have to do with this—it’s in the title, right? And why are recipes added in here and there, the way a bad romance novel has sex scenes gratuitously sprinkled throughout the story?

As I read to her, I occasionally interjected: “OH! Mom, I think HE is the killer! He’s GOTTA be! Don’t you think?” Mom would just look at me, smile, and shrug. She’s read enough of these, she can probably figure out who “dunnit” by the time the murder occurs, usually by the end of the fourth chapter.

Anyhow, after we finished that one and started on another, Mom graduated from the rehab place and went home with her books. She got glasses that corrected her off-kilter vision, and since then, she’s reading books herself. (I might be misremembering: she’s been in and out of the hospital and rehab places, I might have read other books to her here and there. It’s hard to keep track of them. They’re like bunnies.)

Actually, I know more than a few professional manuscript editors who like to read mysteries (not necessarily cozies, however). I think it’s that the pace and the content—the puzzle—exercises a part of one’s mind that allows the editor to temporarily bypass the part that notices the sylistic inconsistencies, infelicities of grammar, typographical errors, misused homonyms, and so on. You just kind of gallop through a page-turner. You can enjoy reading again, as long as the book lasts.

I also like it that these sorts of books blot out whatever else is on your mind. Like what's going on in politics. How Mom is refusing to do what she needs to do to help Dad and allow me to keep a job. This form of escape is quite nice when you’re having trouble getting to sleep. I read until the type turns different colors or starts to wiggle around, and my eyes close, and the book folds shut on my hand. Blissful sleep.

Honestly, I haven't cared about mystery novels since I quit reading Nancy Drew books in about fourth grade. What's the point? After my preteen sci-fi craze, I quickly started devouring self-help books and nonfiction natural history books. But I kind of like these cozy mysteries.

Sue and I recently reread Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, the one that parodies the “horrid” Gothic novels of her day. In it, although she pokes fun at people devouring stuff like Ann Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho (Sue and I read that too, and laughed at it even as it drew us in), she also mounts a spirited defense of the novel as a literary form. In the early 1800s, mysteries and such were viewed as primarily women’s reading, and lightweight, worthless, even degrading stuff. But in such books, Austen pointed out, “the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language.” Look, they are fun to read, and the best novelists have the ability to make their characters and plots seem absolutely real. It’s magic.

Mass-market cozy mysteries hardly contain the “best-chosen language,” or (superlatively) the “liveliest effusions of wit and humour,” but they do usually contain some well-crafted dialogue with a good ear for common speech, and the characters in them often are well-rounded and interesting. (Okay, a lot of them have characters that are flat “types,” but many of the books are in the first person, and at least the interior dialogue of the heroine is interesting and relatable.)

These books transport you, too. They all have a certain setting, such as a cheese shop in Sonoma, a candy shop in Ohio’s Amish country, a bicycle shop on Cape Cod, and a Granadian-immigrant family bakery in New York City’s Little Caribbean. I don’t think any are set in a grim apartment complex in a boring Midwest or southern city about a person who, say, edits online content, or works at Walmart for a living.

There are rules about cozy mysteries: no truly gruesome details, torture, or deaths; no slaughter of the innocents (all the victims are generally people who had it coming to them, so there are usually multiple suspects); no explicit sex scenes; the protagonist is almost always a female who is some kind of small business owner living her dream; male friends are platonic friends; male love interests typically don’t do more to advance the plot than be fantastically supportive (“you’ve had a rough day, honey; come home, I’ll make dinner, we’ll have a glass of wine, and I’ll rub your shoulders while we snuggle on the sofa and discuss the clues and suspects, and whatever else is on your mind”). The boyfriends don’t always “save the day”; when cornered or captured, the heroine saves herself through her own wits, cunning, and physical capabilities. There is actually a kind of feminist vision at work here.

You can see why these are so popular: it’s like grown-up Nancy Drew, minus insipid Ned Nickerson and Carson Drew rescuing Nancy and her chums. Don’t you wish you could own a popular breakfast/brunch diner–slash–vintage cookware shop in scenic Brown County, Indiana, and have all your workers and customers be your dear friends and neighbors? Don’t you wish you had so many dear friends and neighbors? Wouldn’t you like having a super-handsome boyfriend who doesn’t get jealous of your success and in fact helps you in all kinds of ways, anticipating your needs? Huh?

The first cozy mysteries I read were the “Spice Isle Bakery” series by Olivia Matthews (Patricia Sargeant), which has a flawed, insecure, self-deprecating protagonist and a family so well characterized they seem truly to live and breathe. The spunky, outspoken granny speaks in Granadian dialect, which is fun. As a culinary cozy, it necessarily includes lots of descriptions of foods and their delicious scents (in this case, Caribbean foods like currant rolls, coconut bread, curry and jerk chicken, and callaloo; and the bakery is always scented with nutmeg, cinnamon, coconut, and butter). And yes, there are recipes.

The series ended with three volumes, but I found I sincerely wanted more. More, more, more!

I’m trying not to descend into the same bottomless well that my mom is in, where she’s reading just about any cozy mystery she can find, that she hasn’t already read. I’m sticking to a few well-established publishers, because I don’t think I could tolerate self-published, poorly edited stuff. I’m also sticking with authors I’ve already read . . . like the ones in these pictures.

So, cheers to cozy mysteries!

Jar of Goodness 1.19.25: Sunshine Warmth, Real and Fake

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for sunshine, real and “fake.”

A long time ago, when we lived in Montana (where the winters were longer, colder, and snowier than here) we figured out how to rig plain, clip-on incandescent shop lights, with a 75-watt bulb, over our kitty beds.

Turns out that cats love, love, love the dry warmth. They just soak it in.

We’ve had about two whole weeks of remarkably cold weather. We still have snow and ice on the ground from the “snowpocalypse” of January 4 and 5. It was impossible to get the inch of ice off our sidewalks when it fell, and wherever it’s shaded, there is still ice and snow on the ground. The lower layer was sleet that got frozen together, then topped with white, reflective snow. We’ve had a few afternoons sporadically when it got above freezing, but not enough to really melt it. If anything I think it’s been sublimating. Cold, grim weather.

Here and there, we’ve also had some cold days when it was quite windy, and our house loses heat quickly on those days. Stucco, brick, and plaster. And the windows leak. The farther you are from the middle of the house or from a heat register, the colder you are.

We wear sweaters and wrap ourselves in blankets. My office, on the third floor, is cold storage for my carcass. I’m too cheap to heat it full-time, and there’s only one heat register up there, anyway. Heat goes up, so it’s bad enough that it gets as warm as it does. And when I go up there, it’s not so bad at first, but when the sun starts going down, I realize I’m shivering, rubbing my nose, wiggling my toes to keep them warm, and when I stand up, my knees ache as if they’ve been frozen.

And the cats try to stay warm, too. They curl into balls and just look . . . tight. Lois is lucky to have a long, fluffy tail that functions as a fuzzy muffler.

Brenda has a layer of blubber, and I guess that helps her. (Funny, my layers of blubber don’t seem to keep me warm.)

But . . . fake sunshine to the rescue!

It’s fun to watch the cats seek the fake-sunshine beds. And it’s gratifying to watch them uncurl after about half an hour, once the warmth has soaked into them. They lay on their sides and let their feet hang out. It’s like a little trip to Phoenix.

I have a shop light rigged up in my office, but although it keeps my head warm, it doesn’t help my toes much. I occasionally get up, walk over to the front dormer, and stand in the sunshine on afternoons when it’s bright.

This time of year, it can really make a difference.

I hope you’re staying warm!

For the record, in addition to Lois, Brenda, and the picture of Mackie's feet, I'm including some old photos of cats that have crossed the Rainbow Bridge. All loved their sunshine, real and fake. From top to bottom: Nikki, Genji, Lois, Brenda, Patches (the original Opulent Opossum kitty), Mackie (feet and tail), and Earl.

Jar of Goodness 1.12.25: Shelda’s Chocolate Party

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for friendship and community.

The chocolates were just the focal point to gather us together, the way a candle, a cross, a mandala, or a swinging watch on a chain serves to draw one’s attention.

The invitation arrived from our friend Shelda via text:

“Chocolate party: Some time back, my friend Jaye and I were discussing how dispirited we were feeling in this new political reality. How could we gather our friends together and have more fun and community? We remembered themed parties we used to have in the 90s and early aughts. And we came up with an idea for having serious (and not so serious) fun. Maybe monthly or thereabouts, but with no obligations to attend each time.

“About that time Jaye remarked that it was time to taste test Whitman Sampler chocolates and compare them to Russell Stovers. Fun on! So being the over-the-top person that I tend to be, we’ve expanded the chocolate field. We have the aforementioned as well as See’s Factory.

“So let the tasting begin! This coming Sunday, January 12 [at specific time and place]. There will be coffee, hot tea, hot cocoa and horchata for your drinking pleasure . . .”

Subsequent texts expanded the competitive field to include See’s (representing Southern California), Fannie May (from Chicago), Lindt (which was imported from France), and Columbia, Missouri’s own Candy Factory.

Shelda had the chocolates all displayed to their best advantage, and she got out her beautiful pink rose-of-Sharon Depression glass plates for us to use.

The chocolates were really lovely, and they all tasted great, each with their own layers of goodness. Of course, some of them were definitely higher quality, with smoother texture, depth of flavor, nuances of fillings, balance of sweetness to bitterness, etc. But others—like the Whitman and the Russell Stover—had different levels on which to base my appreciation.

Like, I’m not a regular consumer of chocolates, but when I was a child, it seems that Grandma Renner, or my mom, would ALWAYS receive a Whitman’s sampler each year at Christmas, and the box would be passed around the room, with everyone getting a piece or two. When I was a kid, that was a huge treat, those grown-up candies. And we all remember the first time we grabbed that colorful Jordan almond, thinking it would be a delectable super-sweet candy, and it turned out to be a nut. Children quickly learn not to make that mistake twice! And I remember being rather skeptical about all the “weird” cream candies. At the party, I made sure to have a few of those, and I lucked out with a strawberry and an orange. Orange! They still taste kind of weird to me, but I appreciate them a lot more.

And it brought back so many pleasant memories. Later, at dinner, Sue and I reminisced about how our families approached boxes of chocolates when we were children. Sue talked about the Valentine-shaped Valentine’s boxes we all enjoyed as children. And later, as teens and adults.

Anyway, I didn’t mean to write this much about candy, because I’m not even that much of a fan of candy. The real reason I’m celebrating was for the community. This group of friends are people I appreciate and admire so much . . . these are women who were just a little older than me when I was in college. They feel like the older sisters I never had. As feminists, they were trailblazers who showed me the way, the ones up ahead in the tunnel, holding the flashlights, taking risks that I didn’t have to take, because they were a few steps in front of me. And they’re still doing it today: Come on, let’s get together and solidify our community and have some fun.

The time passed much too quickly! I hope that by writing about it I can help cement the positive energy into my being. We’re not alone, my friends. We’re not alone.

Shelda had made up score sheets for us and handed out pens, asking us to rank the chocolates, and indicate whether creams, nuts, or caramels are our favorites. But when it came time for an evaluation, we all pretty much said, Who cares? Most of us had lost track of which chocolates were from which company, and we aren’t serious connoisseurs, anyway. We all knew why we were there, and it wasn’t precisely for the chocolates.

It was for each other.

Thanks, Shelda, and bless you for hosting this gathering!

P.S. It was not a category for judging, but for presentation, Columbia’s Candy Factory gets first place in my book: the chocolates were beautifully decorated and had a nice sheen. Second place is Lindt (in part for the packaging and arrangement within the package). Since all the chocolates basically tasted fine (I’m not that snooty about chocolates), the presentation and the “wow” factor is kind of the difference maker for me, since I only buy chocolates as gifts.