Recipe : Chicken Paprika

I am always looking for new ways to fix chicken. There are quite a few chicken recipes about which I don't have to think much to cook. But most of them are very very South Asia inflected. And yesterday I was feeling like something different. I found this one. But I made few changes.

Ingredients2 1/2 lbs chicken, cut into 2-inch pieces
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp Hungarian paprika (sweet or hot)
2 1/2 tbsp all-purpose flour
2 cups (480 ml) of chicken stock
4 tbsp white wine
2/3 cup (70 ml) sour cream
1 bell pepper, seeds removed and sliced into rings for garnishing
salt and pepper to taste
DirectionsUsing a large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add the chicken pieces and and brown, turning occasionally, until golden, about 6 minutes. Transfer to plate and cover to keep warm.

Drain fat from pan. Add the onions and garlic; cook until soft. Add the paprika and flour, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes. Gradually stir in the stock and bring to a boil, and continue stirring.

Add the wine and season to taste with salt and pepper. Cover and simmer gently for 20 minutes. Stir in the sour cream.

Arrange chicken on a large platter and spoon sauce over and around it. Serve with dumplings and sour cream on the side.

This was the original one. What I did :

1. I marinated the chicken (Cornish Game Hens with bones) in paprika, cumin and coriander powder.
2.  I didn't drain the fat from the pan.
3. I used ghee to cook.
4. Along with paprika, I added black pepper, white pepper and dill to season the onions.
5. I added tomatoes along with a little sugar (around one tbsp)
6. I added the sour cream in the actual cooking pan and let it simmer in the heat.
7. I used red wine instead of white.

So, at the end, I think, it became a very Bengaliized Chicken Paprika. What can I say-- I am an innovator. And this one kicked ass. 

;;Writing Time ;;

At some point, while writing my stories and poems, I discovered, different languages use tenses differently. In Bangla, we mix up our tenses frequently : the past and present and present-past and pas-present reside together in the way we speak and write. I wasn't really conscious about it when I began to write. I became conscious of it when others in the workshop pointed it out to me. Ever since, tense has been one of those things. I would try to write most of my poems and stories in the past tense. But then, when I would read them again, I would feel that something is missing. And when I wouldn't be conscious of it, the tense would get all mixed up. Then, I had a meeting with the poet Gabrielle Calvocoressi during the TILTS workshop. She read aloud one of the poems I had written, and we talked about this specific problem. She suggested that I write the entire poem in present tense, and the term she used to describe that is “active past.” Yes, that's what I have been looking for so long-- a way to write about past and memory in a way that they are still active. Now when I am revising my poems, I try to write them all in the present tense. Rather than in the past tense which had been my practice so long. It doesn't resolve all the problems of time, but it does sound better. And this is making me think, what if I keep on writing in mixed tenses? Will that put too much pressure on English as a language? The kind of pressure it wouldn't be able to take?  

:: Lessons Learnt ::

I learnt a lot from finishing the second draft of the dissertation. But there are four things that I have learnt which I believe are going to help me be a better writer, of things both academic and non-academic :

1. Developing A Regular Writing Practice : When I began writing my dissertation, I was teaching. In fact, my first semester as a dissertator I taught two writing classes. It wasn't that the classes I was teaching were intellectually demanding per se, at least not in the way the dissertation writing was. But it required a different kind of intellectual and emotional work. And I had very little idea how to balance the two. One of my advisors told me, write 15 mins everyday, and I did. There were days when carving out those 15 minutes seemed harder than staying alive. But I tried my best anyway, and I must admit, it did help me reach the goal of a finished dissertation.
   
   
   Of course, there were days when I spent way more than 15 mins. But what having such a goal did for me was that, it really lowered the bars. I would try to put in concentrated 15 mins of writing time, and if I could do that successfully, would consider my day to be a productive one. That way, I did not suffer from the anxiety or guilt of not writing, which, in my experience, really lowers my productivity. In a nutshell, the conclusion I reached is, it is important to develop one's own regular writing practice. Whatever that might be. A 15 min. everyday approach helped me to stay close to the topic of my research and writing, I never really felt too detached from my dissertation. Consequently, I never had to devote time to fall back into the project. This, I have learnt, is crucial. Writing a little bit everyday helps me to stay focused, it gives birth to new thematic problems, it forces me to push myself to think through the conceptual problems of my work on an everyday basis, rather than feeling scared and removing myself from it completely. Last but not the least, it also helped me to break a big project like that of a dissertation into smaller accomplishable goals. And that is what lead me to this first stage towards completion.

2. Distance From My Own Work : Inspite of developing a regular writing practice, there might be days when I will have to take a break. And, that is not only okay, but desirable. Such breaks – whether they extend for a day or two or to a week-- allowed me to develop some critical distance between my work and myself. Consequently, I was able to think through some of the conceptual problems better. Such breaks can also be used up to do further readings which will enhance the quality of the writing project. What is important, though, is to be self-aware of that break, and not fall into the practice of using the idea of a “conscious break” for a LONG period of procastrination.
   
   
3. Giving A Project The Time It Needs : I took exactly three years to write six chapters. I began the project with a plan to write four chapters. I ended up writing six. Not that I changed my original archive of texts, but somehow two of my two original chapters ended up dealing with issues which are really divergent. I felt that they would benefit from chapter breaks. But three years is a LONG time in dissertation-land. And while I know other academics who have written great dissertations in a shorter period of time, I am not unhappy that it took me this long. My dissertation is by no means perfect, I am already making a bibliography so that I can begin to revise it successfully. But it's better today than it would have been if I had defended it last year. The leasson I learnt from this one : writing projects develop their own lives. And sometimes they demand time to marinate. It's best to give them that time.

Caveat : Giving time to a project does not really mean lazing around. No project marinates on its own. One has to prepare the marinate – that is, decide on the spices, the proportions, the other condiments etc., and then actually put the pieces of meat/whatever to marinate in that mixture. So, giving a time to a project basically means working on it and working on it some more, whatever form tha

((Back))

A little more than six months ago, I made some resolutions. My plan was to get back here during the last week of June, and report on things I have accomplished. Well, I am late. But not a whole lot. It's been only a week, and I do have things to report. For one thing, I have finished my dissertation. No, I haven't defended it yet. But I have finished the second draft, compiled it all together, and I have turned it in to my co-chairs. And I did that yesterday. And I am happy. I am happy to see something I have been working on for so long receive some kind of a shape. Meanwhile, during the last six months, I have written and submitted poems more or less regularly. Some of them have been accepted. In journals where I have long wanted to be in. I have read most of the books I made plans in this post to read. I could not find the Bengali novel version of Meghe Dhaka Tara in our school library. So, I could not read that one. But I have read other Bengali novels, short story anthologies and non-fiction. Overall, the first six months of 2012 had been productive and intense in a way things get intense when you're trying to get things done. I know I have neglected this blog space. I simply could not keep pace. But I hope to come back – I do have lots of insights, realizations and experiences to share.  

Rejections

I have submitted quite a bit in the last three months and have also received quite a few rejections. In fact, the last week had been all about rejections. I know I shouldn't take rejections personally. I know everyone gets rejected. Most of all, my poems have also been accepted by journals in which I have long wanted to be included. But somehow, this morning's rejection is making me feel really really hopeless. Part of it is just that lately I have been feeling horribly depressed, unsure about my academic work, my academic identity. I have tried to hold on to my poems in the midst of this crisis as that last straw-- something that will remind me that I am not just another number in this PhD machine. That's why, when X Journal wrote in their rejection letter:

I enjoyed the related themes of these poems, but they seem more like prose than poetry.

I felt so distraught. And the feeling hasn't left me ever since. I know this is not a mean note per se, in fact there is also a hint of praise here. And yes, the packet I had sent did contain some prose-poems. Yes, the poems I am writing right now, are experimenting with the limits between prose and poem. But, somehow this rejection is making me feel frustrated. It's as if the universe is telling me “you suck,” “you're nothing,” “your work means nothing.”

I don't know how to deal with this lingering feeling of insecurity other than to take solace in the fact that all writers had been rejected at some point. And yes, now I need to go back to my writing-- the poem I have been writing for the last three days, and the dissertation that has been craving my attention. 

Dissertation Update and Setting Up Goals

I have finished the entire first draft of my dissertation. Now, I need to get into the dreaded task of revising. I have decided to keep log of work on this blog for that. I need that push to get this work onto its next stage, and I think, keeping myself accountable on this blog will be helpful. So, beginning today, and by this coming Friday, I want to have a revised draft of my chapter on neo-slave narratives in Ghana. The chapter I have now is too long, and one of my advisors suggested that I break it into two. Because of the issues I am dealing with, I think, it makes sense. So, this week, I will concentrate on getting the chapter on transnationalism and the Ghanaian neo-slave narrative out of my way. So, today's goal:

1. type the section on Hartman I have already written

2. read Murphy's conclusion

3. do some research on Osu castle case

4. chalk out an opening for the chapter, focussing on Osu castle

Harjo's Kitchen Table

Perhaps the World Ends Here

BY JOY HARJO

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

I have been thinking about this poem a lot, especially how this one would speak to Shonto Begay's poem that I blogged about here. Harjo's poem makes visible a lot of things

which Begay's poem obscures-- women's labor, the conflicts that happen around the domestic space, the production and reproduction. There isn't any "I" in this poem.Instead, there is a "we." However, there is still something that makes me uncomfortable about this poem. What does it mean to say the world begins and ends at the kitchen table, when the struggle for a large section of women in this world had been to construct a world beyond the kitchen table. It doesn't really shrink a woman's world per se, as it happens in the Begay poem. But it shrinks the world itself to fit into the space of domesticity. I am trying to formulate a way in which to relate this shrinking to the kind of politics of indigeneity that Harjo ascribes to, but haven't been able to do it yet.