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My hundred-plate journey

SINGAPORE — After watching The Hundred-Foot Journey, director Lasse Hallstrom’s culinary tale based on Richard C Morais’ 2010 bestselling novel, I felt I had to rush home to do some inspired cooking.

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SINGAPORE — After watching The Hundred-Foot Journey, director Lasse Hallstrom’s culinary tale based on Richard C Morais’ 2010 bestselling novel, I felt I had to rush home to do some inspired cooking.

In case you still don’t know, the film is a picturesque tale of an Indian family opening a restaurant in rural France. The inimitable Helen Mirren and veteran Indian actor Om Puri play heads of two competing restaurants — one French, one Indian — located, as you might have guessed, a hundred feet apart. Naturally, the two squabble until the plot requires them to soften up.

But what caught my eye was the way the camera caressed the cuisine as the world of Indian spices and French sauces collided, awaking what I can only describe as an inevitable raison d’etre for this inspired movie journalist — a self-imposed challenge to whip up an original Fren-dian dish (French and Indian) in just 24 hours.

But when I proclaimed that I wanted to recreate my very own dish by, well, simply fusing quintessential Indian and French recipes, all I received were muffled snickers and snorts of derisive laughter from my editor and fellow journos.

Admittedly, I’m a girl who comes from a family of naturally talented cooks (hello Ah Khim and Dad) but habitually eats cold pizza for dinner and repeatedly destroys eggs in the microwave.

But hey, a girl’s got to try, right?

MN: Deciding on the meal: I scour the internet for easy-to-make but-decidedly-authentic Indian and French recipes. I’m so inundated by the plethora of choices, ranging from rogan josh to bouillabaisse, from mutton mysore to ratatouille, that I’m seriously considering just stir-frying canned escargot into biryani rice and drenching it in curry from my favourite prata place on Jalan Kayu, which I’ll obviously claim as my own.

4am: I wake up with an epiphany: Croque monsieur with an Indian twist. That is, I will replace the lean ham with chicken korma but still finish it off with that yummy melting gruyere cheese. 9am: I realise my guest list is dramatically shorter: One colleague has an evening press conference to attend, another has to take care of his child who has taken ill with fever, and my cubicle mate is “feeling flu-ey”. Are they trying to tell me something?

10.30am: After a trip from the supermarket, I replace aforementioned colleagues with my parents and two cousins — I don’t think family will sue for food poisoning, right? I kit myself out in an apron and go on a chopping and slicing spree. I feel like Helen in the movie, fabulously imperious over my ingredients and in full charge of my rather risky concoction.

2.30pm: It’s all going to pot. Literally. My chicken korma is a pulpy mess having soaked right through the lightly mustard brushed toasted bread. I consider crying, sneaking off to the nearest Indian restaurant to ta-pao or drowning my sorrows in champagne. Not necessarily in that order.

3pm: I find myself having a mini meltdown on the kitchen floor.

3.15pm: After a chat with my editor and a glass of bubbly, I feel heaps better. “How about you try making your favourite North Indian dish of palak paneer (spinach with fresh cottage cheese dish)? You talk enough about how much you love eating it!” he calmly advised.

4pm: Back from a second trip to the supermarket and back on my culinary journey, confident my dish of palak paneer on crepe (in place of naan) is nothing short of genius.

5pm: After much washing of spinach, cooling of spinach (in iced-water to prevent wilting) and blending of spinach (with onions, chilli and garlic to make a thick paste), I feel like I’ve successfully moved on from my initial Fren-dian slip.

6pm: I am feeling the epitome of Fren-dian flavour. I am sautéing cumin seed, turmeric power, bay leaves, chilli powder and garam masala in French butter and tossing in the Camembert into the mix with joie de vivre. I take a self-congratulatory swig (or six) from an opened bottle of champagne in keeping with the French theme, of course.

6.30pm: Panic! I’m back on the floor with my face in my hands. I’m the world’s worst crepe maker. The thin pancakes made from buckwheat flour (galettes) are looking more like a Jackson Pollock painting and less like the light, airy, evenly browned circular discs that they were meant to be.

6.45pm: I pick myself up and brace for my 10th attempt.

6.50pm: As I gently pour out the batter, I hear the voice of Manish Dayal’s character (young Indian chef Hassan Kadam) say “Life has its own flavour!” and I suddenly feel emboldened, imagining Helen’s character Madame Mallory standing right behind me. Voila! Finally, a crepe that doesn’t look like a distressed puddle made by a distressed animal! I start plating. Extra bay leaves can be used as garnish, right? Clearly I had remembered nothing from watching every episode of MasterChef, more importantly to never put anything on the plate that isn’t meant to be eaten.

7.25pm: I realise that my dining area looks nothing like the pretty restaurant set-up in the movie. Where are set designers when you need them? Guess a few candles and a vase of fake flowers as a centrepiece will have to do. Looks surprisingly presentable; though the same can’t be said for me.

7.30pm: My guests should be arriving any moment.

7.45pm: Movie guests are never late!

7.50pm: Finally, the doorbell rings. I’m told that my house smells like an Indian restaurant cum French bistro. Is that a compliment?

8pm: Wine glasses are filled. Best to get guests drunk so they won’t complain about the food? The meal is served — I get a round of applause. They are probably relieved they actually have something to eat.

8.15pm: I wait for their verdict. “I am surprised how well the camembert goes with the spinach paste,” says Dad. “But your crepe is a little thick. That said, the “palak” is very tasty with a good kick of spice!” Score! One cousin, not particularly fond of French or Indian food eyes the concoction, takes a bite and smiles. “Ok, never judge the book by its cover. I’ll be honest; it looked like a bit of a hot mess. But I love the taste!” My other cousin exclaimed: “Very yummy! You’ve actually inspired me to cook!” My friend exclaims: “I didn’t think you would pull this fusion confusion off! To think I was all prepared to take MC on Monday!”

MN: As I wash my dirty dishes (thinking how they never depict these scenes in movies), I can’t help but feel satisfied. Life indeed has its own flavour and one should never be afraid to embark on their own culinary journey and be inspired to merge tastes and cultures.

 

The Hundred-Foot Journey is showing 
in cinemas.

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