On the first day of my life with chickpeas, I boiled some white Jasmine rice, placed it on the side burner, and went about concocting a chickpea topping. With my new Slap Chop, the As-Seen-on-TV vegetable and fruit chopping device, I mashed up some tomato, spent the next couple minutes separating the gooey sections of tomato from the skin that refused to succumb to the Slap Chop, and rinsed a can of garbanzo beans. In the frying pan, I heated up some olive oil, chili sauce, salt and pepper, and threw in the tomato bits, followed by the chickpeas. Just like that, I had taken a step in the right direction in my cooking life. I let it simmer and crackle for 20 minutes or so, and—voilà—a successful first outing for the chickpea and me.
After my lunch of rice and the tomato-chickpea mixture, I digested over a cup of coffee. About an hour later, I headed outside to the nearby track to start my first day of endurance and speed training for the Broad Street Run, a 10-mile run in May. I was a little nervous as to how the lunch would sit. An hour and a couple miles later, I officially approved the chickpea as a pre-workout meal. I was full of energy for the run and not full of food. The caloric value of the chickpea had provided the perfect energy boost, free of any feelings of bloating or heaviness afterwards.
My next undertaking in the world of garbanzo beans would be a little riskier. I was proud of my first meal, but knew that I had to step out on a limb for the next recipe. I was at my family home a few weeks ago, and my father had taken my brothers to Atlantic City for a basketball game. It was just my mom and I on this cold and rainy night. So I told her to sit back, relax, and let me do the cooking.
I picked up the ingredients from the local supermarket, choosing everything as fresh and raw as possible; I even opted for the ginger root and garlic bulb, instead of the packaged or powdered form of the two. Back at home, I set out my ingredients, chickpeas smack-dab in the middle of the spread (cauliflower, ginger, garlic, sweet potato, tomato, onions, rice, oil, salt and pepper, and curry powder).
Task for the night: chickpea and cauliflower curry.
I felt proud once again, as I chopped the veggies (even managing to dice the onion without too much eye pain), boiled the rice, and measured out the curry powder. In fact, I felt like a natural chef as I mixed and matched, stirred and combined. Aromas exploded in the air around me, as ginger mixed with garlic, oil married onions and curry powder to top the sizzling chickpeas and cauliflower. The tomatoes and purple sweet potatoes rounded out the curry; I had added the latter, which was not part of the recipe I was following. When the curry was browned to perfection and the house was about to burst with beautiful bold odors, I turned the heat off and served dinner to my mom.
We lit a candle, set out placemats, and dished out helpings of the brown rice and chickpea curry.
“Delicious,” was all my mom could manage, through a mouthful of chickpea, cauliflower and rice.
Indeed, my second date with chickpeas was a great success. I conclude that there was definitely room for improvement, but considering my limited experience in the culinary arts, it was a pretty darned good dinner. The almost-fruity spice of the curry powder was to the chickpea what blush powder is to a beautiful woman; it highlighted the innocent and naïve nature of the chickpea, while also indicating the adventurous side of the bean. Coupled with a boiled artichoke, this meal made for a wholesome, diverse and wonderfully Mediterranean dish.
No comments:
Post a Comment