I so million heart Indian food. And by Indian, in this case I mean the country, not the ones that cry from pollution (though I happen to agree with them, too). There was a great Indian place by our old apartment in Lone Tree, CO. The proprietress was an overweight, happy, friendly Indian matron with boobs the size of Heineken mini-kegs and a pronounced lisp. She always liked my outfits, and I always liked her food. It was symbiosis in its purest form!
I haven’t found a place in San Antonio that I trust yet, and I was craving it pretty hard-core, so we made some at home. In homage to my recent baking kick, I made some naan with sea salt (you’re welcome, Katina). The above is a picture I took of the naan while it was bubbling up under the broiler. You have to cook naan for a very short amount of time under a very, very hot heat. The Indian people use a tandoor for this, but our house doesn’t even have a gas-friggin-range, so naturally I don’t have a tandoor. Anyway, I let the milk-based dough rise up, cut it into rounds with my bench scraper (best.tool.ever) and then stretched it, two at a time, onto my big baking sheets. I brushed them with butter and put them under the broiler for about 90 seconds, flipped them, let them go another 30 seconds, then pulled them out and rebrushed with butter. They were chewy and good, except for the center part of a couple, which I absolutely allowed to burn. The broiler is a fickle mistress.
Anyway, I didn’t have any chicken, but I DID have a fucking gorgeous slab of aged prime NY strip. I still don’t have a regular grill. Did you know that? How sad is my life right now? Not very, since I just got a new car, but I can’t cook sextacular NY strip on a car hood without damaging the paint, so I cut the steak, marinated it in greek yogurt and masala spices, then curried it up with cubes of potato, carrot, and onion. Here’s another fun fact: Indian food is terrible for you. Really, really high-calorie. But, like most illegal drugs, being bad for you doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.
Illegal drugs may photograph better. But I’m taking these pictures with my cell phone, so we’ll just cut them some slack, mmmkay?