Not just a load of old lentils

I think lentils are one of those things that you either love or you hate. I used to think lentil-hate was hard wired, a genetic trait that could not be influenced by environment. It was one of those foods associated with hippies, granola crunchers, and hard core macrobiotic types. I actually have a book by Rose Elliot with the same title as this post. Everything I ever cooked from that book turned out brown and heavy (Sorry Rose).

I have always thought that lentils, particularly the orange ones of my childhood were interesting. On bored days I would be given the task of doing "the seperations" -- picking by hand the odd lentils that had fallen into the rice jar, or vice-versa. Only later did I discover that this was a Montessori age appropriate task (my Mum was an infant school teacher -- did she know?). I forget what my Mother used the lentils for, maybe soup, she would never have made Indian food except out of a vespa dried packet.

Over the past few years I have had a few lentil converts, thanks to the dhal recipe below. I often serve Indian food for dinner when we have guests, especially meat eating guests who can tolerate a bit of spice. The dhal has elicited many quotes, of which a give you a few:
"It really tastes much better than it looks" (CC)
"Well -- I quite like it actually" (MD)
"Now I understand why E always insists on gettting dhal" (MEL)

It originated from a Sainsbury cookbook by filmmaker Ismail Merchant (circa 1992) but has been modified over the years. I never stick faithfully to the recipe.

Lemon Lentils

2 tablespoons oil
1 large onion
2 cinnamon sticks
250g red lentils
1 tsp chopped ginger
500ml vegetable stock
500ml hot water (I add half of this to start off and then more as needed)
1/2 tsp chilli powder
1/2 lemon
2 garlic cloves
pinch cayenne peper -- to taste or piece of fresh chilli
2 bay leaves crumbled
fresh coriander (MEL -- this is totally optional)

Heat oil in a deep saucepan over medium heat and cook 1/2 onion until soft. Add cinnamon sticks, lentils and ginger and cook for 10 minutes until colour of lentils has become more translucent.
Add stock, hot water and chilli powder. Season with salt, bring to the boil an dboil rapidly for about 10 minutes. Squeeze the juice from the lemon and add to the pan with the squeezed lemon skin. Cook for about an hour, stirring frequently until the lentils have broken down and the mixture is creamy.
While the lentils are cooking, make the terka -- chop the remaining onion, heat a little oil in a skillet and cook the onion, garlic, cayenne pepper or chilli and bay leaves until onion is just brown.
To serve empty dhal into serving dish, drizzle the terka over the top and add chopped coriander, unless you are MEL.

That's it for lentils -- except to mention a wonderful one-man play from the Talking Heads series by Alan Bennett bed among the lentils one of six monologues of wonderfully closely observed character studies. I am suprised, but quite encouraged, that they are now part of the GCSE English literature syllabus. Although they are quite short, the honesty and detail of the writing makes them almost painful to read, especially if like me you grew up in the UK of Bennett's mind. There may not be any overt link between the play and the recipe (except for lentils), but like bed among the lentils lemon lentils and the other recipes in Ismail's bookserved to bring a little bit of India into British homes.