By Marilyn Michael
My grandparent’s kitchen was the hub of their small house.
Taking up a whole house end, it had an amazing-to-a-child trap door that led to
a musty dirt-walled basement lined with shelves of canned peaches, and pears,
dill pickles, apricot preserves and other assorted jellies and jams. The
kitchen’s window looked out on a full city lot sized garden from which my
Grandfather would emerge with corn to be husked, shiny fat pea pods to be
shelled and other fresh food like my Grandmother’s favorite-turnip greens. By
the time I was old enough to store memories, the wood and coal stove had given
way to electric and the icebox was now a refrigerator, but my Grandmother still
had eggs and cream delivered by a local farmer.
Every Christmas of my childhood was spent in this simple,
inviting house in walking distance from my own. There were family traditions,
often involving food. Christmas Eve was a buffet and always included my two
favorite dishes, brown beans and ham bone and Grandma’s potato salad. We opened
our presents that night and Christmas day was spent enjoying them and preparing
a traditional feast of turkey, ham and all the trimmings.
One Christmas Eve tradition was a treat but always seemed a
bit odd for my family. No one drank alcohol and milk was something had ice cold
with a meal or plate of cookies. On that night every year, though, they made
Tom and Jerry’s all around. A rare bottle of whiskey would appear for the
adults and the kids would enjoy vanilla poured straight into the hot milk
thickened with a powdered sugar and egg batter. A dusting of nutmeg gave it an
exotic taste as it went down smooth and warm. I’d savor the smells of the
nutmeg and vanilla and wonder why we had this yummy drink only once a year. It
just didn’t occur to my family that the Christmas Eve tradition of this sweet,
hot milk drink could be enjoyed at other times.
As an adult, I stayed close to middle class culinary roots
and never tried hot milk drinks outside of a couple Christmas Eve attempts at
Tom and Jerry’s. When coffee became a culture declaring basic drip passé, I
began drinking mochas. The steaming hot milk and sweetness of chocolate brought
memories of the creamy milk drink of my Christmas Eves. The presence of coffee,
though, somehow made it different. But, it was comforting and exotic in a
similar way. And, they even had freshly grated nutmeg on the counter.
When a new libation called Chai began appearing in coffee
shops I never tried it. Not having been raised on tea, I had never developed a
taste for it. I vaguely remember my Aunt Mame sipping tea from china cups, but
she was an anomaly in my coffee-fanatic family. We had sturdy percolators that
sat on stovetops with little glass toppers for a view of the perking brew. Dad
had an odd-seeming habit from his farm family upbringing of sometimes adding a
few eggshells in the coffee grounds to “take the bitterness out.” We were
definitely coffee people. Even after retiring, my father kept the tradition of
morning and afternoon coffee breaks, usually with a sweet treat, often pie.
As an adult, two women who had grown up in India became my
close friends and offered to teach me to make some of their traditional dishes.
Developing a taste for this cuisine opened my mind to food traditions other
than the basic comfort foods of my youth. I was eager to try it all. I learned
to make Tandoori marinades, vegetable dahls, meat and vegetable curries,
rice-based pulaos, coconut sauces for fish, spicy chutneys and I discovered a
store that made heavenly garlic Nan, a delicious flatbread to accompany the
dishes.
One day a new friend from Pakistan shared that his favorite
food memory was the Chai his mother would always have for them. He offered to
make it for me. Though concerned the element of tea would preclude my enjoyment
of this libation, I looked forward to trying it. He used loose black tea that
came in half-inch strings, not the powder filled tea bags that characterized,
for me, a cup of tea. Into the boiling water went the tea, and then brown
sugar, whole cloves, chunks of cinnamon sticks, and small 'coins' of fresh
ginger. When the milk and cardamom powder were added to the boiling aromatic
brew, it foamed up impressively. Then, his Mom’s secret, several fifteen-second
removals of the pot from the heat and reboiling.
The aromas grabbed me. This was clearly not the watery,
tepid brown drink I thought of as tea. He strained it and poured me a steaming
cup. I was in love. Cupping my hands around the mug I was transported to exotic
lands and at the same time back to my Grandma’s kitchen on Christmas Eve. It
was lightly sweet and creamy smooth. And, beyond the nutmeg and vanilla of my
Tom and Jerry memories, its spice blend was exotic and yet comforting. How
lucky he had been. He’d enjoyed this amazing treat year around. It was his favorite
food memory; I’m sure in a similar way that I look back fondly on those
Christmas Eve cups of hot sweet milk and nutmeg.
SAM KHURSHID'S CHAI RECIPE
Makes 5 cups
Ingredients:
3 cups water
2 cups milk
5 rounded teaspoons loose black tea (one per cup or
1 tea bag per
cup)
10 whole cloves (two per cup)
5 - ½ cinnamon sticks (one per cup)
5 teaspoons brown sugar (one per cup) or to taste
5 - 1/4 inch thick
slices of 1" round fresh ginger,
unpeeled (one
per cup)
1/2 teaspoon cardamom powder (just 1/2 teaspoon
for the entire
batch)
Instructions:
Bring water to a boil. Add black tea. cinnamon, brown sugar,
cloves, and ginger. Boil for 2 minutes then add milk and cardamom. (It expands
in pot, watch it.) Bring back to boil, take off heat for 15 seconds return it
to heat and boil. Do this twice more. Strain off the spices. Serve. (This can
also be made with equal parts water and milk or all milk.)
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