Gobi Paratha Made Easy
Munching away on a delicious chai paratha a little while ago, of course my fingers did what they often do and went Googling for recipes. I had a pretty good idea of how to go about making a chai paratha, as I’ve made paratha plenty of times before…but was curious to see what other people had to say. I like to compare, and always have done; as I’ve said before, you can take the girl out of the academic research library, but you can’t take the academic research library out of the girl. 
I’m digressing, however. In the travels of my fingers, I found Nags’ fantastic Gobi Paratha recipe over on her food blog, Edible Garden. I’ve of course enjoyed gobi paratha many times before…but never actually made them myself. The way she does it vs. how you’d normally do it makes so much sense. I’m definitely going to try this, and soon. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve already got plans for khanom paeng na moo this evening, I’d be all over it immediately—I’ve even got fresh coriander in the fridge downstairs.
Or, as it’s known in our house, Moolantro.
Nuts and Bolts of Total Tartiness
Further to my photo post from yesterday, of course someone asked about a recipe.
I was largely inspired by one found in Frank Mentesana and Jerome Audureau’s Once Upon A Tart, which you can read online here. I like this book a lot—but I tend to use it more as a starting point for forming my own ideas. Sort of like a conversation-starter in my head about food.
My changes to this recipe include the following:
- I make tart crusts similarly to how I make pie crusts and other pastry crusts, which I think is a lot easier and more sensible (and more respectful of your time spent in making your tart/pie/other pastry shell) than the method they describe here. Firstly, while it’s incredibly easy to do it in a food processor as they describe, it’s also really easy (and just about as fast, since you’ll spend less time cleaning up afterward) to do it with your hands in a large bowl—provided you don’t mind getting them a little dirty. Simply cut the butter into small pieces and put it and all your other ingredients in a large bowl. Then, start rubbing the butter between your fingers, in with all the other stuff. Drop each piece of butter fairly quickly; just keep going throughout the dough, massaging and massaging till there’s no butter left. Drizzle in the ice water carefully; knead just until the dough starts to come together. If it’s a tiny bit sticky, that’s OK—but you don’t want it really sticky, and you don’t want to overknead. With bread, you want to develop gluten, but you don’t want to develop excessive gluten in a pastry dough or it will be tough and decidedly not what you want. Then, divide the recipe in half as they suggest and tuck each half into a gallon-sized zip-top storage bag. Squeeze all the air out of them, close them, and stick them in your freezer for just 10 minutes before rolling it out to make your crust. Don’t unzip your bag; just roll in the bag with your trusty rolling pin, then slice the sides open with your kitchen shears or a knife. No muss, no fuss…couldn’t be easier, faster, or better.
If you think you’ll make your second tart sooner rather than later, by all means, par-bake the crust for it along with your first tart crust and freeze as they suggest. But if you think it’ll be awhile, label it, double-bag it, and stick the dough in the freezer. Allow it to defrost overnight when you plan on making your next tart; if you par-bake the same day, it’ll taste fresh. - I don’t think grated cheese is absolutely a necessity here, although it’s nice. I used some baby swiss I had around, which was in slices. You can easily lay the slices on top of the mustard layer and achieve a very nice result.
- If you want to boost the herbal note of the tart, you could also include some of whatever herbs you’re using in the tart crust. Not too much, of course—a little goes a long way. But it’s a thought.
- Also, another note on par-baking: you don’t need expensive pie weights or special equipment in order to par-bake a crust. Also, this dough has plenty of butter in it, so you don’t need to butter your foil before wrapping your crust. Try using dry beans or rice (or rice and beans together, if you like) as your weight instead.
- If you go with the custard (and it’s a lovely, light custard, so I think it’s quite nice), I might up the mustard content at the bottom. Really slather on a nice Dijon that you like, so the flavor gets through all that custard and plays nicely with the tomatoes and herbes de Provence.
- Plum tomatoes are suggested here because they slice well and of the ones that are sold year-round, they’re the most likely to be flavorful and tomato-y. The entire idea of most regional cooking around the world (not just France’s, though they might like to pretend it’s all their idea) relies on the freshness and seasonality of ingredients. So obviously, this is best during high summer, when your local tomatoes are in season and bursting with ripeness from their vines. Try different tomatoes and see what you get—as long as they slice well, I’m sure it will be lovely. I can’t wait to try this with zebra tomatoes later this summer. Also, I’m quite sure smaller tomatoes left whole would be nice as well, since they roast beautifully.
I ♥ a tart
There, I’ve said it. I do hope I haven’t offended anyone, either—but it’s absolutely true, and I won’t live a lie any longer.
I solemnly swear that I am up to no good I absolutely love tarts. Always have, always will. Yes, even more than pie.
Many people mistakenly believe that tarts are more fussy and complicated than pies. I think they’re actually quite a bit easier, with a major bonus being their comparative versatility. While the pie as us Americans call it is almost invariably available in either “sweet,” “sweeter,” or “sugar-coma-inducing,” tarts can quite often be savory into the bargain.
As a matter of fact, what you’re currently viewing is just such a one. Provençal-esque in nature, it’s a plum tomato tart with a bit of Dijon mustard and some baby Swiss cheese spread across the bottom. The custard is light, and makes it less Provençal-esque than it would be without it (as does its round shape—I don’t have a square or rectangular tart pan, unfortunately). The herbes de Provence sprinkled over the top, well…obviously, you see where the name came from.
Janaki
