The following recipe is no more than a rough guide. Omit the cardamom or other flavorings if you want; the pistachios are a great touch, but it will be delicious without them.
YIELD: about 3 ½ to 4 cups (6 to 8 servings)
6 cups plain whole-milk yogurt, preferably an unhomogenized Turkish-style brand with 3.5 percent milkfat
1 to 2 tablespoons milk
A large pinch of saffron
½ to ¾ cup confectioners’ sugar (or to taste), sifted
A pinch of salt (optional)
A large pinch of freshly ground cardamom (seeds from 2 to 3 green cardamom pods), nutmeg, or cinnamon (optional)
A dash of rosewater (optional)
A handful of chopped pistachios for garnish (optional)
Scoop the yogurt into a cheesecloth-lined colander or a couple of plastic yogurt cheese funnels (this page), set over a bowl or bowls. Let drain at room temperature for 4 hours. It will lose about 1½ to 1¾ cups of whey, depending on the individual batch of yogurt. Save the whey for another purpose.
When the yogurt has pretty much stopped dripping, turn it out into a mixing bowl. Heat the milk in a small pan, crumble the saffron into it, and remove from the heat.
Begin beating the confectioners’ sugar into the yogurt with a wooden spoon, a few tablespoons at a time. When it is sweetened to your taste, beat in the optional pinch of salt; strain the saffron-infused milk and gently work it into the mixture. If the shrikhand seems lumpy, force it through a coarse-mesh sieve into a bowl. Now beat in any preferred seasoning (or none). Refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours and serve very cold, garnished if desired with pistachios. (Charoli nuts would be as usual as pistachios in Gujarat, but these small and faintly celery-accented nuts can’t always be found here, even in Indian groceries.)
Shrikhand is supposed to be served in elegantly small portions, but don’t count on your guests’ feeling the same way.
VARIATION: Shrikhand De Luxe: One day I happened to have both some very good Turkish-style yogurt and some labneh on hand. It occurred to me that together they ought to produce something like shrikhand concentrated to the ultimate power, and I was right. Later that day I took some to a family gathering. “I don’t eat yogurt,” muttered a supremely unimpressed teenager, and stuck a spoon in it, then devoured two large helpings.
The ingredients are the same as for the previous version, except that for the 6 cups of yogurt you substitute 4 cups (1 quart) of very creamy unhomogenized plain yogurt (3.5 percent milkfat, if possible) and 2 cups (1 pint) of labneh (this page). Beat them together in a mixing bowl, force the mixture through a mesh strainer, and drain for 4 hours as directed above. Sweeten, season, and garnish as for regular shrikhand. Sometimes I add a dash of almond extract (anomalous but good). Sweet Turkish dried apricots are a fine accompaniment. Or for a completely unorthodox variation, omit the seasonings and spoon the mixture over fresh berries or sliced peaches.
REVANI
(YOGURT-SEMOLINA CAKE WITH LEMON SYRUP)
In Greece and Turkey, revani is the general name for a family of cakes made (usually) with durum-wheat semolina or a semolina-flour mixture, which are soaked after baking in some kind of syrup. When taken from the oven they are heavy, coarse-textured, and a little gritty from the hard, stubborn semolina. But the syrup bath moistens and flavors the cake without making it disintegrate as a fine-textured European cake would. Yogurt is a frequent ingredient, with or without some other source of fat like butter or olive oil. The acid will slightly tenderize the crumb.
This simple lemon-flavored version comes with little change from Özcan Ozan’s splendid book The Sultan’s Kitchen, a must for any fan of Turkish food. It uses only drained yogurt (this page) with no other fat except the egg yolks, so it’s crucial to start with the richest, creamiest yogurt you can make or buy. Be sure to buy semolina fine enough for cakes, not the coarser kind for puddings. Allow at least 4 hours after baking for the cake to soak up the syrup. It is traditionally served with kaymak, the Turkish version of clotted cream, often sold in Turkish groceries. English clotted cream and plain whipped cream are reasonable substitutes. Any of them will be an excellent foil to the intense sweetness of the lemon syrup. A tiny serving goes a long way.
YIELD: One 8-inch square cake (16 small servings)
SYRUP:
1 cup water
1 ½ cups sugar
4 scant teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
CAKE:
Butter for greasing baking dish
Flour for dusting baking dish
4 eggs, separated
¼ cup sugar
Zest of half a lemon (more, if preferred)
½ cup fine semolina
⅓ cup plus 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour, sifted
1 teaspoon baking powder
A pinch of salt
1 cup well-drained yogurt (an extra-creamy kind, either homemade or Turkish-style with 3.5 percent milkfat)
Chopped pistachios for garnish (optional)
Kaymak (see above), clotted cream, or whipped cream for topping
Make the syrup by heating the water and sugar in a small saucepan. When it reaches a vigorous boil, turn the heat to low and simmer for 15 to 20 minutes. Add the lemon juice and set aside to cool completely.
Have all cake ingredients at room temperature. Butter and flour an 8 × 8-inch Pyrex baking dish. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Beat the egg yolks, sugar, and lemon zest until light and frothy. Combine the semolina, flour, and baking powder and stir them in. Add the yogurt; fold and stir to incorporate as smoothly as possible.
Beat the egg whites to stiff peaks with a pinch of salt and fold them into the yogurt batter in two or three increments. Spread the batter in the pan. It will make a flat layer just about covering the bottom. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until lightly browned.
Remove the cake from the oven and instantly cut it into 16 squares—or if you are good at geometry, diamonds. Pour the cooled syrup over the hot cake, which will be swimming in syrup. Let sit at room temperature for 4 to 6 hours; the syrup will be gradually absorbed. Garnish with the optional chopped pistachios and serve with the kaymak or cream.
ABOUT YOGURT-BASED DRINKS
All peoples who make yogurt—indeed, soured milk generally—also drink it in some form or other. The oldest traditions belong to the many lands making up my imaginary “Yogurtistan” (the ex-Yugoslavia to Central Asia). The richest traditions, however, developed on the Indian subcontinent. In most places where yogurt is a drink, it is a savory one flavored with nothing but salt and perhaps some dried mint. But in India and neighboring parts, people took to mixing drinkable forms of yogurt with a fragrant spectrum of other ingredients, both “salty” (meaning savory) and sweet. Though I find cold unsweetened yogurt drinks more refreshing than the ones with sugar or fruit, I would like to see all the traditional kinds, in their delightful diversity, earn a larger place in American diets.
Americans, who are by and large little acquainted with any of the real yogurt-drinking traditions, tend to be confused by the many different names and approaches. It is easiest to begin not with the remarkable world of Indian yogurt drinks but with the simpler and more ancient kind known throughout Yogurtistan: plain yogurt thinned with a little water and flavored with a dash of salt and (often) a little mint. The name most familiar in this country is the Turkish ayran, or airan. Some parts of the Arab-speaking world also call it ayran, but more often it has no name of its own other than “yogurt” (laban). In Iran and Afghanistan, where it is commonly made with carbonated water, the usual name is doogh, or abdoogh. By whatever name, it is a lovely restorative.
AYRAN OR DOOGH
(TURKISH- OR PERSIAN-STYLE YOGURT DRINK)
Newcomers to yogurt traditions may be puzzled by the instruction to thicken yogurt by draining the whey and then thin it by adding water. But to harp again on a crucial point, the draining step really changes the character of the yogurt, especially delicate, newly made yogurt. It is fresher-tasti
ng this way, and the salt and mint register more brightly.
From ancient times, yogurt for drinking has been made with the milk of any and all local dairy animals. If you can find sheep’s- or goats’-milk yogurt, give them a try (for using goats’-milk yogurt, see Variation below). Greek yogurt from a combination of sheep’s and goats’ milk is excellent.
YIELD: 1 serving
1 cup very fresh plain whole-milk yogurt, lightly drained, preferably a creamy kind from cows’ or sheep’s milk
Salt (anything from a large pinch to ⅛ teaspoon)
½ teaspoon Turkish dried mint, crumbled, or 1 sprig of fresh mint, lightly bruised (optional)
½ cup very cold water or (for doogh) plain chilled seltzer or soda water
Ice cubes or crushed ice
Mix the yogurt, salt, and optional dried mint in a prechilled bowl and gradually whisk in the water. Serve in chilled glasses, poured over ice cubes or crushed ice. Alternatively, whip until frothy in a blender with crushed ice and serve garnished with a mint sprig.
VARIATION: For goats’-milk ayran, be sure to use goats’-milk yogurt (about 1¼ cups per serving) made without any of the thickeners added to most commercial brands. As explained on this page, unadulterated goats’-milk yogurt (I use Yo-Goat) will be thin enough to drink as is. Skip the added water, stir or blend in the seasonings, and pour it over the ice.
ABOUT LASSI AND OTHER INDIAN SOURED-MILK DRINKS
Where culinary terms are concerned, the United States and English-speaking India certainly are two nations divided by a common language. Take “buttermilk,” sometimes given as a translation of the Hindi word lassi as well as counterparts in several other Indian languages that you may find on the menus of regional Indian restaurants in this country. The thing meant here is not at all identical to American commercial cultured buttermilk. For reasons explained in the discussion of cultured buttermilk and the organisms used to make it (this page), diluted plain yogurt comes closer to the taste and texture of Indian buttermilk than our cultured version. Of course, there’s no reason that people who prefer American buttermilk shouldn’t use it.
Lassi is most often associated with the Punjab, where people regard it with the sort of patriotic local pride that Buffalonians bestow on chicken wings. It and its variously named Indian cousins generally are made with more emphatic and varied seasonings than ayran and company. Even the simplest “salty” and sweet versions of lassi are usually stamped with such flavor accents as cumin in the savory or rosewater in the sweetened kind. Fruit purées, most often mango or banana, often figure in sweetened lassi. So do mustard seeds, cardamom or coriander seeds, peppercorns, fresh ginger, curry leaves, cilantro, and/or chile peppers in “buttermilk” drinks of southern India. You can and should experiment with any flavors that take your fancy. There is no “wrong” way to make lassi as long as the yogurt is good.
Lovers of special cooking tools may want to try mixing lassi with the traditional churning stick (kavvam or madhani, sometimes sold in Indian grocery/housewares stores) instead of a blender or processor.
SALT LASSI
Indians swear by the combination of “curd [yogurt],” salt, and cumin as an antidote to torrid summer heat, and believe that hot spices help you cool off by making you sweat. I couldn’t agree more. Nothing is more blissfully restorative at summer’s worst than salt lassi in any version.
I like to drain the yogurt before adding water, but it is not necessary. Just don’t try to play calorie games by substituting nonfat yogurt, which gives no idea of the right consistency. (In India the yogurt or buttermilk used for this purpose most often comes from water buffaloes’ milk, which is much richer than cows’ milk. Indians living here sometimes even spike the yogurt with a tiny bit of cream for more body.) Cumin, either the regular kind or Indian black cumin, will add more flavor if you briefly toast it in a small heavy skillet and grind it yourself. If you can find Indian “black salt” (a unique kind of rock salt, really pink when ground), its distinctive sulfur flavor is wonderful in lassi. Use slightly less black salt than plain salt.
The following is a very simple salt lassi. Start with the smaller amount of yogurt, and add more to taste if it seems to need it.
YIELD: 1 serving
½ to 1 cup very fresh plain whole-milk yogurt, preferably a creamy unhomogenized kind
Ground cumin or Indian black cumin to taste (anything from a large pinch to ⅛ teaspoon)
Sea salt or Indian black salt to taste (anything from a large pinch to ⅛ teaspoon), ground fine if coarse
Very cold water in any preferred proportion
Crushed ice from 2 to 3 ice cubes (or more to taste)
Whisk ½ cup yogurt smooth in a small pitcher and start adding seasonings and water a little at a time—more yogurt as well, if you like—until the taste and consistency are close to what you like but on the concentrated side (the ice will dilute it slightly). Most people prefer lassi somewhere between the thickness of heavy and light cream. Pour the mixture into a blender or food processor, add the ice, and process until smooth and frothy. Serve at once in a tall chilled glass.
VARIATIONS: The fun begins when you elaborate on this minimalist formula by adding other seasonings, which are usually de rigueur in the regional kinds known as chhaach, neer (meaning “water-thinned”) moru, and majjiga. You can start by experimenting with some coarsely ground black pepper or toasted and ground coriander seeds, and go on to a pinch of ground asafetida; small fresh chile peppers (slivered); fresh ginger (grated or slivered); or a tarka of South Indian seasonings made by heating a little ghee or oil in a small skillet and adding a large pinch each of Indian brown mustard seeds and cumin seeds, a few lightly bruised curry leaves, and, if desired, a couple of tiny dried red chile peppers and sizzling them in the ghee until the mustard seeds pop; you then whisk the whole thing into the yogurt. Or if you have a favorite version (commercial or homemade) of garam masala or the tarter chaat masala, try adding a pinch.
Fresh cilantro or mint leaves, pulled from the stems and lightly bruised or chopped, are a delightful final addition to all forms of salt lassi.
PUNJABI-STYLE SWEET LASSI
Punjabis, who love lassi with proprietary zeal as the fruit of native Punjabi genius, often use milk rather than water to thin the yogurt. (You can try this in salt lassi as well.)
YIELD: 1 serving
½ to 1 cup very fresh plain whole-milk yogurt, preferably a creamy unhomogenized kind
1 ½ to 2 ½ tablespoons superfine sugar, or to taste
Rosewater (a dash to 2 teaspoons; different kinds vary greatly in intensity)
Very cold water or whole milk in any preferred proportion
Crushed ice from 2 to 3 ice cubes (or more to taste)
Mint leaves or dried edible rose petals for garnish (optional)
Proceed as for Salt Lassi, but begin by whisking the yogurt as smooth as possible with part of the sugar, then adding the rosewater and more sugar to taste a little at a time. Serve at once in a tall chilled glass, garnished with the optional mint or rose petals.
VARIATIONS: Other essences and extracts are also popular in sweet lassi. If you can find kewra (screwpine) or sandalwood essence at an Indian grocery, try adding it a drop at a time. Or make an infusion of a few saffron strands in a tiny bit of hot milk and strain the fragrant saffron milk into the sweetened yogurt. Orange-blossom water and genuine vanilla extract are, as far as I know, quite inauthentic, but delicious.
MANGO LASSI
The favorite version in Indian-American restaurants. In all honesty, frozen mango pulp is better than many of the fresh mangos sold here.
YIELD: About 3 cups
1 medium-small, very ripe mango or ¾ cup frozen mango pulp
2 cups very fresh plain whole-milk yogurt, preferably a creamy unhomogenized kind
A dash of freshly squeezed lime or lemon juice, or to taste
A dash of salt, or to taste
Crushed ice from 8 to 9 ice cubes
Superfine
sugar (optional)
Mint sprigs for garnish (optional)
If you are using a fresh mango, detach the flesh from skin and pit as follows: Hold the mango upright on a work surface, narrow edge facing you and the flat and rounded sides to your right and left. With a small sharp knife, slice vertically down through both flat and rounded sides so as to just miss the flat pit. Skin side down, score each of the cut halves into ¾-inch dice. Push from the skin side to open up the scored side; slide the knife blade under the flesh to detach from the skin. Slice away as much of the remaining flesh as you can from around the pit and cut into small dice. If using frozen mango pulp, simply thaw to refrigerator temperature.
Place the yogurt, mango flesh or thawed pulp, lime juice, salt, and ice in a blender or food processor; process until the ice is slushy and the mixture is frothy and well combined. Taste for flavor and sweetness. It should need no sugar unless you have a rather insipid mango; if necessary add a teaspoon or two of superfine sugar and process to blend. If it seems a little bland, add another jolt of fresh citrus juice and/or salt. If it is too thick for your taste, dilute with a little ice water. Serve at once in tall glasses, garnished with the optional mint.
TARHANA, TRAHANA, AND RELATIVES
If I had the power to dictate the next all-the-rage ingredient, my first nominee might well be tarhana or one of its many cousins—trahana, kishk, kashk, and more. By whatever name, they belong to a large, amorphous family of staple foods that has no good general label. In Mediterranean Grains and Greens, Paula Wolfert—who along with Diane Kochilas has done much to publicize these treasures—suggested “rustic pasta.” I lean toward “proto-pasta,” because tarhana and the rest of the clan undoubtedly existed before any other sort of pasta in the regions that were the cradle of both cereal-growing and dairying. All consist of wheat (or occasionally barley) in some form—crushed, cracked, ground, or as cooked whole berries—combined with a liquid element like milk, then dried enough to be reduced to pellets, granules, or morsels. Once dried and kept dry, they last forever without refrigeration.
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