Is there anything more magical than bubbling hot oil? I am, of course, not talking about being bathed in it. I am talking about bathing battered things in it. And then watching that hot oil work its witchcraft as it transforms those battered things into crispy, crunchy morsels of heavenliness.
With the rainy season having firmly made itself at home in Karachi, it is time to pause – if only for a moment - drowning in sorrow over wet laundry, oceanic roads and leaky roofs. It is time, instead, to turn to the one thing in life that can never let you down: a plate full of crunchy pakoras. With a bottle of ketchup on the side.
Always been a pakora eater but never yet dared to be an exalted pakora maker? Fret not. It doesn’t matter if you are allergic to hard labour, because an awesome baseline pakora involves minimal work. With a cup of besan, a pinch of salt (or two - taste as you go along) and whatever spices you enjoy, all that is left is to add water to make your batter runny enough to slide slowly off a spoon, along with anything you have left kicking around in your fridge that needs using up. Got some sad-looking carrots in the vegetable drawer? Grate them up and throw them in the batter. Have a handful of spinach, half a capsicum and two spring onions left over from last week? Chop or slice thinly, and slide them in, too. Waste not, want not.
If you are one of those rare species that does not harbour assorted homeless vegetables, reach for an onion or a potato, slice it thinly and dunk in your batter. Slicing thinly leads to a crunchier pakora. If you prefer a besan-y taste, err on the side of caution when you add your filling. Otherwise, tip in as much as will be coated by the batter.
Fill your pan with enough oil so that your pakora will be submerged. Forget about using your air-fryer, because the combination of rain and pakoras does not involve health and nutrition. Years of bitter experience have taught me that it is best to crank up the heat so the oil it is really hot before you begin frying. Wave your palm over the pan; if you can feel the heat, it is hot enough.
With a fork (or a spoon), add your pakora batter blob by blob into your hot oil. Turn it gently over with the fork when the edges look brown. Remove from the pan when your pakora looks a beautiful golden brown on each side. Bring out the ketchup bottle and enjoy while it is still hot and crunchy, although if I am being totally honest, it doesn’t even need to be crunchy. It just needs to be hot and dippable in ketchup, and for just a few seconds, you can forget about that leaky roof and the laundry that is still outside languishing in the rain.
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