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Food52If there ever is a classic Indian recipe that defines 'dirt cheap', this would be it. The dish originated in the streets outside the textile mills, that were a mainstay of Mumbai's manufacturing base in the 1950's. 'Blue collar' Mill workers, who could not afford having their lunch sent to them fresh or return home to eat, frequented these vendors, who would whip up a vegetable dish with whatever vegetables they could get their hands on. The veggies were cooked and mashed up thoroughly in a heavy cast iron concave griddle and served up with rustic 'pao', a Portuguese bread that has since happily domiciled itself in India even after the Portuguese rule ended. Unlike the numerous selection of 'chaat' (palate teasing snacks, with a wonderfully complex taste & texture profile), The pao bhaji is a complete substantial meal. Not something that will send you into a hibernating state, nor will it be digested & gone within the hour, leaving behind revived hunger pangs. The curry is served with the bread, slit in the middle, toasted (nay, drowned) in salty melted butter on the same griddle & raw or pickled onions with a wedge of lime. Pao Bhaji has come a long way. These days, this street side fare is listed on the menu's of some of the well known Indian restaurants, the world over. The versatility of this dish can be likened to one of those cheesy TV ads advertising cars & homes even with a terrible credit rating. "Wilting head of cauliflower? NO problem, Geriatric looking carrots? Toss it in". The flip side, one can never really make it just for one or 2 individuals. Even when using one or two of each vegetable, (try describing the recipe with terms like 1/4 of a potato, 2 florets of cauliflower, 2 inch piece of carrot!!) It cooks up into a HUGE batch. and is sure to be a party fave and it makes for a great lunch offering the next day, even cold, straight out of the refrigerator! The closest in taste and texture to the rustic pao in the US is the Portuguese saloio roll. Another great alternative is to serve it with sourdough roll. Please do NOT pick up one of those Pav offerings found in Indian grocery stores.Food and WineAndrew Zimmern’s Kitchen AdventuresI am eight years old. I am on a food recon trip with my dad in the middle of a fall day in Los Angeles. He is there for work, and I am tagging along for a few days of fun with my old man. We arrive at the place he has been searching for, a now-defunct restaurant called Thai Kitchen that used to be on Vermont between Eighth and Ninth. I have never seen, smelled or tasted Thai cooking. Walking in the door, I feel overwhelmed by the bright perfume of mint, lemongrass and chile, the now unmistakable bounce in the air when tamarind hits a wok. First thing I eat: chicken soup. There is a great New York City Jewish joke in there somewhere, but all I have energy for right now is recalling my first encounter with one of my favorite foods. To this day, I make this dish almost every time I have guests in my house. And despite its now-clichéd existence in the Ameri-Thai iconography, its exotic nature still rings my bell every time I wolf down a bowl or two or five. There is no better recipe to define my obsession with the romance of food, internationalism, travel or, for that matter, good, solid cookery. So it’s fitting that this is my first recipe for this space.Ask anyone today if they love Thai food, and they all say yes. The stunning complexity of Thai cuisine, studded at brief intervals with simple, elegant dishes, makes it one of the world’s most popular cuisines. Ask those same devotees to name a dish, and they all say "pad thai" and then quickly add "...and that amazing chicken soup with coconut." But they have trouble recalling its name. Well, here it is: gai tom ka. At its core, this is a basic Thai recipe, and a favorite with many Asian-food fans. All the ingredients can be collected from the Asian supermarkets that are springing up everywhere. If you can’t find chile-tamarind sauce, you can make your own by mixing Thai chile paste with a tamarind puree.—Andrew Zimmern More Thai RecipesFood NetworkMy mom, Angel, has always been the best cook in the neighborhood and everybody knew it. In the 1970s and '80s, when most of my friends were eating fast food and processed junk, all the kids wanted to come to my house for dinner. (We weren't going to go to the neighbors' houses to eat TV dinners.) This is one of the meals Mom would fix when I was growing up because it was easy, delicious and inexpensive, and it fed a crowd. This was my introduction to braising, the first braised dish I ever made-and I didn't even know we were braising. Mom called it pot roast and we had it weekly. And in true Italian pot roast fashion, we'd eat it over rigatoni. I now sometimes serve it over soft polenta with mascarpone, another excellent option. It showed me how much I loved the deep complex flavors of braises generally, which I prefer to eat over just about any other kind of dish. One of the pleasures of this meal is the big chunks of carrots and celery root that cook in that delicious liquid for four hours; they take on all the flavors of the braising liquid. They don't taste like carrots and celery root anymore; they taste like a steak, and that's why they're so good. A couple of critical steps in this recipe are getting a good sear on the meat and caramelizing the vegetables in the pot before deglazing. Beyond that, the red sauce is critical. And I also think it's important that a third of the meat be above the liquid-one of the factors that for me defines braising-so pot size is important; it shouldn't be so small that the meat is submerged or so big that the meat is sitting in just an inch of liquid.