Dummies' Guide to Making Aloo Curry

Aloo Curry making is an art form. It works on imponderables and intangibles. One must understand the subtle nuances of the art to appreciate its complexities. The handing down of its recipe through the ages would even make for a extraordinary study in pedagogy. At some level, it is divine. It is oddly elevating. It helps the cook and the eater experience the Supreme Being.

Bullshit.

Aloo Curry making is easy. It is done quickly and you can hardly ever go wrong. Trust me, I talk from months of experience.

Before getting to the recipe itself, a few words of advice on cooking in general:

1. Don't panic. Cooking involves fireworks. Cooking involves burning, fermenting, soaking and all kinds of other dirty things. But, little can go badly wrong.
2. There is no definitive recipe for anything. Experimentation is the mother-in-law of invention (necessity being the mother).
3. Read the instructions fully and clearly before embarking. (I made this mistake the first time I ever made Rasam. I followed step-by-step instructions and I was very happy that the liquid smelt, looked and tasted like Rasam. Then, I reached the last instruction, "Put Dal." Bleddy, I hadn't even kept any Dal in the cooker.)
4. Lastly, learning to cook is like learning to use Windows. You'll learn more as you experiment more. Don't worry. There's always ctrl-alt-del. (In this case, the nearest Shanti Sagar or Darshini with Thali meals).
   

So, here's how you do it. Listen carefully, because you wont get these detailed instructions ever again:

1. You take some potatoes (4 medium-sized potatoes if you're alone - for two meals - it took me almost five aloo days to figure that quantity out.) in a little bowl. Wash them (Yes yes. One must be a little clean also.).
   
2. Then put some water in the bowl, and dunk the thing into the pressure cooker. (You may put your rice along with this - in a different bowl, duh. Or even dal. In a different bowl, duh.) (Amma says you can even add salt and manjapodi at this stage, but I'm not too fond of that system). Remember: There must be some water in the bottom of the pressure cooker. Two steel tumblers of water will do.
   
3. Close the pressure cooker. Put the whistle thingy.
4. Turn on the gas. (Crucial step. Don't miss.)
5. Rice usually takes 3-4 hoots of the whistle. So does aloo. So wait. After the first whistle, reduce the flame. I don't know scientific reasons for this, but do it anyway. This takes some time. Meanwhile, some possible hazards: (a) Safety valve burst: So, there's steam all over the place and your kitchen looks like one of Bangalore's pubs. This happens, I'm told, when the outlets for steam get blocked, or there isn't enough water in the cooker. Chill. Your local cooker guy can fix it in five minutes. You can continue boiling your aloo in any other vessel. (b) Whistle doesn't come: Wait, da. It takes a while. (c) Whistle is intermittent, not continuous: Just tap the handle. (d) Whistle doesn't stop: Just take a ladle and hit it down.
6. Now, wait. Patience is the key. Wait until all the hissing sound from the cooker dies down. This takes more time than you think it will. Once it is soundless, open the cooker.
   
7. Take the aloo vessel out using (what we call at home as an) idukki. (Apparently, it is called a Pakkad in Hindi. And 'Tongs' in English.) (See picture.)
8. Now, the aloo is too hot to be touched. Therefore, drain out the hot water, and pour cold water on it. (No, there's no need to fetch cold water from the fridge. Tap water will do.)
9. Now, peel the aloo. This is a litmus test. If you can peel it with your hands, then the aloo is boiled. Else, go back and boil it in a vessel.
10. Now, my favourite step. Cut the aloo. You can cut it 'as you please'. (Those are the exact words in the recipe I've written down from my Periamma's dictation.) I usually take out all my frustrations on the aloo at this stage. As the famous line goes, "Tum Sita ho. Ise Raavan samajhke maar. Tum Draupadi ho, Dushasan samajhke maar. Tum Kali ho, mahishasur mardini ho. Maar, maar." Yes. So cut it. As you please. Smaller the pieces, the better it cooks. But don't kill yourself trying to cut it too small. Medium size pieces will do.
    
11. Okay. Now comes the real cooking part. Take some oil (don't take too much, because it isn't good for you), some kadugu (small mustard seeds) and ulutham paruppu (urad dal = white lentils?) in a kadai. Put it on the gas. Turn on the gas. Wait for it to start bursting. Once it sounds like a muted 100-wala, put your cut aloo into it. (You may, at this stage add cut tomatoes, onions. But it involves cutting.)
    
12. Then add a pinch of manjappodi (haldi) and salt (uppu/ namak) and chilli powder. (I prefer MTR rasam powder to chilli powder. You can even try green chillies. Or if you're really experimental, the podi you use with your dosa/idli. Don't try pepper.)
    
13. MIX. Mix till your hands hurt. Mix till your eyes water. Mix till the last rays of the evening sun disappear to make way for quaint moonlight. Okay. Serious. Mix till all the aloo gets the same colour. The same reddish-brownish-yellow. Leave it in the kadai. Count till twenty in the 'tic-tic-one' format. Turn off the gas. Pump up the jam.
    
14. There you have it! Your very own aloo curry!! (Oh, at the last stage, you can add some coriander leaves. I usually OD on this because I love coriander leaves. Else, you could squeeze a lemon.)
    

Man, I should write a cook book.