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Dipping into life's flavours

Hummus, salsa and pesto: dishes that involve no cooking, and are dead easy to make and in theory. After all, the recipes are basically, "assemble the following ingredients and blend".

  • By Gautam Raja, Freelancer
  • Published: 23:03 April 20, 2009
  • Gulf News

Hummus, salsa and pesto: dishes that involve no cooking, and are dead easy to make and in theory. After all, the recipes are basically, "assemble the following ingredients and blend".

But to make them well, ah, that's a different thing altogether.

Take hummus. When trying new Arabic restaurants, many people I know would judge them by the quality of this dip - the finest of these having a beautiful balance of flavours, and a creamy texture. At some suspect places, though, they would serve a stodgy, chalky mixture that was downright disgusting.

But the worst hummus I have ever tasted, or even seen, was a the runny concoction pronounced 'hamas', and served at a Californian pizza restaurant.

Okay, not the cleverest place to order it, but I had nothing to do with the menu.

Overall, most of the hummus I have eaten outside the Middle East has been terrible. I feel sad to think how many people have been put off it for life. It almost happened to me with salsa.

The dish used to puzzle me no end in Bangalore, where all I had tried were limp, watery bowls of tomato and onion at people's houses. It was usually at vegetarian homes, so I assumed it was one of those things vegetarians did to alleviate the horror of knowing that there were no kebabs to follow the chips.

Then I visited a few southern Californian Mexican restaurants and tasted the bright, tangy real version, along with bran-flecked tortilla chips with a full corn flavour. Just like the Middle-Eastern dips, it made you almost wish you hadn't bothered ordering anything else.

(I've lost track of how many times I've sat at a Lebanese restaurant and completely forgotten that there's a main course on its way, and wished I could just send it back when it did arrive, I was enjoying the mezze so much.)

And so, when someone dismisses dips as easy things, I'm always circumspect. If they're so easy, then why do we eat so many awful versions? At the same time, dips are things that can be repaired. Provided you haven't had a heavy hand in the first place, the garlic can always be adjusted, or the tahina, or the lemon juice - gradually bringing the hummus up to spec.

This is probably why so many people use hummus as the indicator species for a restaurant - it is a direct reflection of the sensitivity of the chef. But what's interesting, when you consider bad or average hummus, is that it meets someone's criteria adequately. So, like that, what levels of sensitivity are going on above yours that you are just not able to apprehend?

What amazing subtlety has occurred, and you haven't even realised it?

I've sometimes seen less sensitive people in a more sensitive group who aren't even aware that there's a whole range of humour and communication going on at a completely different level, simply because they are working on a more literal plane. In theatre, of course, this would be known as subtext - the stuff that's actually going on beneath the words.

I suppose the balance of ingredients works as subtext too - it's not just a dish, but it says so much about the person who made it. In some parts of India, it's known as the 'hand' - how two people can make the same dish with the same ingredients, and one dish can be flat, and the other jump up and sparkle at you.

Frankly, I do believe that if there's hummus on the menu, there's no easier way to look into the soul of the chef. Or maybe I just love the stuff too much.

Gautam Raja is a journalist based in the US.

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