Pudding heart

Last night was one of the coldest Delhi has experienced, so far. Panda, unconvinced, chewed on my socks and pawed at my knees till I finally gave in and took him out. The cold hit us like a blast. He pranced about happily, mouth open, puffing giant clouds of vapour into the frigid air and then sniffing at them suspiciously. He looked like a tiny black and white dragon, all smoke, no fire. I shuffled behind him, doing my best to expose as few of my fingers as possible.
Panda loves to linger on these walks of ours. To him, everything is interesting. The night watchman was a menacing spectre, to be barked at from a safe distance, the grass he'd bury his nose into was full of riveting smells, and the light bouncing off a tarpaulin was... well I don't quite know what he thought it was, but considering he spent a good two minutes staring at it, frozen still, I can bet it was fascinating.
Through all this, I stood by, my teeth lightly chattering and telling myself, "It's not cold if you don't think it's cold, it's not cold if you don't think it's cold," but positive thinking was getting me nowhere. So, I began thinking of rice pudding.
Then a pack of stray dogs ambushed us, blocking our return route and barking in challenge. These dogs are a regular part of our walks, indeed Panda for one would feel rather lost, if we didn't have these little encounters every once in awhile.
They stood in line behind us, their barks growing a little uncertain. Having cut our retreat off, they didn't quite know what to do next. Panda huffed and puffed at them, but he couldn't blow them all away. It took a decided "Shoo! Shoo" from me to scatter them, and we made our way back. Panda marched through them triumphantly, his tail as high as it would go, as I glared at any dogs that tried to come too close.
When we reached the last but one lamp post before home, by tacit agreement, we broke into a run. Panda loped ahead of me, doubling back every so often and getting us both terribly tangled in his leash.
We finally burst in through front gate and sat on the steps, laughing. I laughed -because I finally wasn't cold anymore, because with my dog, even an evening walk is an adventure, and because I was happy- in short breathless giggles. And Panda laughed with his tongue out, in huge pants, like a tiny, very amused dragon.

 We finally went in and Panda soon collapsed on his bed. With him tucked in and the house quiet, I got out my pot and made rice pudding. Specifically, caramel rice pudding, which turned from white to a sticky looking beige upon the addition of caramel syrup. I watched it bubbling on the stovetop, big lazy brown bubbles rising to the surface and then exploding, releasing caramel scented vapour that I sniffed as avidly as Panda sniffed the grass.
As a final touch of decadence, I topped it with a sprinkle of demerara sugar and bruléed the top in the oven. More bubbles, more scents. Then I curled up in bed, with a good book and my pudding, and the cold was a distant memory.

Caramel Rice Pudding
Sugar: 2 tbsp
Rice: 2 tbsp
Water: 2 cups
Milk: 2 cups
Demerara sugar: 1 tbsp
Heat the 2 tbsp of sugar and a splash of water in a pan. Once the sugar has melted, avoid stirring. Watch the pan closely as the sugar begins to brown. It will begin to brown along the edges first. Once this happens, stir gently to allow it to brown evenly. Once it has reached a pale amber colour, pour in half a cup of water. Stir this vigorously, the sugar will tent to clump for a while, under the cold water. Once the lumps of sugar are dissolved again, remove the syrup from heat and pour into a bowl for later use.
In the same pan, now heap in the rice and add the remaining water. Allow it to boil until the rice is almost cooked and the water absorbed. Now add in the milk and cook it down, till the starch from the rice thickens the milk. Once it is sufficiently thick (the ideal thickness varies with taste. I like mine positively clumpy), add the caramel syrup, stir and turn off the heat.
Pour the pudding into heat-proof dishes and sprinkle demerara sugar over the surface. Turn the oven to broiler more at the highest temperature possible and place your dishes as close to the top of the oven as you can manage. My oven went upto 270 degrees C, and it took about 8 minutes for the sugar to broil.

On cold nights

I spent Diwali in Chennai and then Coimbatore, for the first time in my twenty two years. I spent it playing foozball with my cousins and watching a slasher flick from behind a pillow. At intervals, we lit lamps, learnt how to decorate the floor with kolams from Patti, exclaimed at fireworks and ate a great deal more then we ought. After balmy Chennai, Delhi seems colder than ever. Indeed, all I've wanted to do since I've returned is to curl up under a razai, emerging at regular intervals for food.
And the sort of food I've been craving after my Diwali excesses has all been simple, comfort food. So I made a hearty sambhar one day, soup the next, and of course, chocolate pudding. (What, did you think I'd give up on sweets after three measly days of eating myself silly?)
Now, although I love elaborate desserts with multiple components, I'm painfully aware that I lack both the skill and the tools to create them. Instead, I stick to what I can manage, simple puddings, Indian sweets, and I'm constantly looking for recipes that let me have dessert on the table in under half an hour.
My recent foray into making rice pudding, while intensely satisfing, got me wondering. In the pudding I made, the part I enjoyed best was the silkily smooth custard during the consumption of which the chewy rice grains seemed almost unnecessary. So I figured, why not eliminate the grains altogether and quarter my cooking time in one fell swoop, and thus was born rice starch pudding.
Now I've made cornstarch puddings hundreds of times, in the standard military dessert of custard with fruit, to dress up towering trifles, to make a reluctant and thick hot chocolate and every so often, just for its own sake. If I was going to convert to rice starch, I needed a good reason. So one evening, after dinner, I set out to make them both side by side. I made exactly the same quantity of both, used the same flavouring and attempted to compare textures.
When still warm from the stove, the rice pudding seemed more substantial, it was thicker and more weighty, while the cornstarch pudding seemed a little too insubstantial. No sooner did you spoon it into your mouth before it was gone, leaving just a lingering memory of chocolate behind. That is of course, a great way to go, but at least on chilly winter nights, I like pudding I can swirl around in my mouth and watch as it falls from my spoon in big glops.

The next morning we tasted the puddings again, this time they had both been chilled in the refrigerator overnight. The cold had done wonderful things to the cornstarch pudding, making it thicker, with a dark and shiny skin. It was smooth light, and seemed just cold enough for me to appreciate the winter morning sunshine better. The rice pudding too, had held up well, but in the morning light, its homeliness was working a little against it. Since I had powdered the rice myself, some of the powder wasn't too fine and so formed slightly unsightly lumps on the surface. But they vanished under a grating of nutmeg and provided a certain, not unwelcome chewiness.
On the whole, I am forced to conclude, that rice starch or corn, it's impossible to go wrong with pudding.
Rice starch pudding
Rice: 2 tbsp
Milk: 2 cups
Cocoa powder: 2 tbsp
Sugar: 2 1/2 tbsp
Raisins: a handful
Nutmeg: as much as you like

Begin by soaking the rice for half an hour. Once it has turned from opalescent to white, drain the water and pat the rice dry on a towel. Then powder it as finely as you can and sieve the powder. (I was lazy and omitted the sieving, but I do recommend it. It gives you a far smoother pudding.)
Mix the dry ingredients together in a heavy bottomed vessel, saving the nutmeg and then add the milk. Once the solution looks uniformly if a little dingily brown, place it on medium heat and bring it to a boil, stirring continuously. As soon as the milk boils, the pudding will thicken and turn glossy. To check if it's done, run your finger across the back of your stirring spoon, in a line. If the two walls your line made remain fixed and do not attempt to flow towards each other, the pudding is done. Remove it from heat and serve warm.

For cornstarch pudding, substitute the two tablespoons of rice starch for cornstarch, all other quantities and the procedure remain the same.