An Omelet For All
The Thai omelet can be a meal in itself, a
classic Paris omelet is a thing of beauty but the masala omelet of the Indian
streets signifies true love
The omelet is a big deal
in classical French cooking. The French make all kinds of omelets. An Omelet
Farcie is a stuffed omelet. A Poulard Omelet is finished in the oven. A souffle
omelet relies on egg whites. And the more popular Paris Omelet is often
regarded as the test of a cook.
According to legend,
every French kitchen must have a heavy cast iron omelet pan. This is to be used
only for cooking omelets and must never be washed. Instead, it should be wiped
clean with a damp cloth. The chef must learn to make an omelet that is soft and
creamy on the inside with a rich buttery taste but maintains a firm golden
exterior. This is not easy to do as it involves a complicated series of hand
movements: rotating the pan, stirring a certain way etc.
But when, the French do
get it right, a classic Paris Omelet is a thing of beauty. You can cheat, as
many useless chefs do, and put grated cheese at the centre. That way, you will
get a soft centre when the cheese melts but no good French chef will sink that
low. The point of the omelet is the egg. When a great chef like Daniel Boulud
cooks a stuffed omelet (Omelet Farcie), he uses scrambled eggs for the stuffing
so you get a double egg overload.
While I yield to none in
my respect for the French omelet, I sometimes feel that we don’t pay enough
attention to omelets from other parts of the world. The Japanese do wonderful
things with omelets but never seem to get the credit they deserve for it.
Tamagoyaki is described
best by the editors of the Lucky Peach as “a rolled log made from numerous
golden-brown layers of savoury-sweet egg cooked in a traditional copper square
pan called a makiyakinabe”. Or you can just call it a Japanese omelet. It is as
complicated to cook as a classic French omelet. You mix the eggs with extra
yolks, sugar, soy sauce and dashi (the classic Japanese stock made from seaweed
and dried flakes of the bonito fish). Then, you pour the egg mixture on to a
hot pan till it forms a thin layer. Next you use a series of complicated
French-style hand movements to roll that layer to the side of the pan. Then you
make another omelet layer. Then, another. And so it goes till you have run out
of eggs. Finally, you take the layers out of the pan, place them on a sushi mat
and cut them into one-inch slices.
It is a lot of trouble to
go through just to make an omelet. But hey! That’s Japanese cuisine.
The best Chinese omelet
is not Foo Yong (invented in America!) but Taiwan’s Oyster Omelet. All over
Taiwan, you will find hawkers making this simple dish. They put lots of fresh oysters
into a pan for a minute, then add the beaten eggs and as the eggs begin to
cover the oysters, they quickly turn the omelet over and let it brown slightly.
And that’s it!
In European countries –
other than France, perhaps – the omelet is often seen as a flour-less pie.
Spanish omelets are essentially large egg pies into which they put everything
from ham to potatoes to chillis. They are served on large platters and you cut
off a slice just as you would with a pie or a pizza. An Italian frittata is roughly
the same idea, with an oven or a grill used to brown the top.
I am not a fan of the
pie-style omelet (tortilla, frittata etc.) and usually think of it as a stodgy
waste of time, eggs and vegetables. To make a Spanish omelet for instance, it
takes a good half hour just to get the potatoes ready and I’m not convinced
they add much to the final taste of the omelet. I don’t mind French fries
served on the side with an omelet, but I hate the idea of using potatoes as a
stuffing. (Though a Chipsi Mayai, or a French fry omelet, is apparently a great
favourite in East Africa).
Ferran Adria, of EI
Bulli, shocked Spaniards a few years ago when he published a collection of the
recipes he used while cooking at home . Arguing, sensibly enough, that his
countrymen took too long to make an omelet, Adria suggested making a tortilla
with kettle chips. Yups. Store-bought Kettle chips from a paper bag! His recipe
was absurdly simple. You mixed beaten eggs with strips of ham, kettle chips,
chopped peppers or chillies, salt, pepper and thyme. You let the mixture sit
for five minutes to let the chips soften and then you made an omelet the usual
way in the pan. When it had set, you put it briefly under the grill to give it
a golden hue on top. The entire process, from the time you tore open the packet
of kettle chips to the time you ate it took 20 minutes; much less time than it
would take to just prepare the potatoes for a normal Spanish omelet.
I love a good French
omelet, as long as someone else is making it – I don’t have the skills required
to make one myself. But of the omelets I can make at home, I have two
favourites. The first is a Thai version which is so easy that any fool (i.e.
me) can make it.
You mix the eggs with a
spoonful of lemon juice and one more of Thai fish sauce. That’s your basic
mixture. You can add cooked ground pork so if you have some krapow or any other
left overs in the fridge, they can go in. Or you can cheat and crumble some
Northern Thai sausage into the egg mixture.
You cook it the normal
way, on a pan, with a neutral (i.e. not olive or strongly-flavoured) oil,
flipping it over till both sides are cooked. The fish sauce will caramelise the
outside of the omelet and you should not hesitate to make the edges crisp. You
serve it with a mound of Jasmine rice, more fish sauce and some Sriracha or the
hot sauce of your choice.
You’ll get this omelet at
virtually every dhabha in Bangkok but Thai restaurants outside of Thailand find
it too plebeian to serve. But if a Thai chef is in an obliging mood, he will
make it for you. The only place I know of in Delhi where it turns up regularly
is at Qube at The Leela Palace where they put the Thai omelet on the buffet.
The Thai chef will usually make it to order but Qube is an upmarket place so
they may want to use a fancy filling like crabmeat. (Which is delicious, by the
way, though the chef is always horrified by the spoonfuls of fish sauce that I
ladle on to the Jasmine rice.)
Just as the Thais have
adapted the omelet to the demands of their own cuisine, we have our own classic
omelet. During my childhood, when going to boarding school and back, involved
days of train travel, I became a dedicated fan of the railway station omelet.
Though the catering at each station was handled by a different entity, the
omelet, somehow, remained the same.
It was always thin and
big, so big, in fact, that the edges of the omelet curled up at the ends of the
plate. It had a mottled, pale yellow colour and its surface was flecked with
bits of the onion, tomato and chilli that had been mixed with the eggs.
We ate it with the slices
of the white bread it was served with. They were roughly toasted with black,
charred streaks and came with a splodge of butter (not necessarily Amul) by the
side. You cut off a bit of the omelet, buttered the toast, and then placed the
omelet bit on it. Finally, you smeared a dollop of tomato ketchup all over it.
Heaven! That taste has stayed with me through the decades. Till I began to cut
out gluten, my standard aeroplane meal would be a pre-packed masala omelet
sandwich, with chips (as in wafers) and a few sachets of ketchup. I would open
the sandwich, smear the ketchup on the omelet and then – this is the inventive
bit – add a layer of chips, before putting the top slice of bread back again. When
I ate it, I got the masala, egg, white bread and ketchup tastes of my childhood
with the added crunch of crisp wafers.
Now, when people ask me
what my favourite omelet in the world is, I always feel that I should pay
tribute to the classic French omelet or praise the brilliant Japanese chefs who
make their omelets in layers.
But I end up telling the
truth. I like the Thai omelet, I say, because it can be a substantial meal in
itself.
But in my heart, I have
only one true love: the simple and great masala omelet of the Indian streets
and railway platforms.
·
VIR SANGHAVI HTBR 8 Oct 2017
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