Indian Cassata. I love thee.

Jan 25

Thank you for the memories and for being the sole reason I inhaled my dinners and ran to the corner of the street toward a mustachioed man who awaited customers, on a pushcart with an ice box, holding you safe and cool for me. And then you emerged in style, cold smoke and all oozing around you, teasing me with a peek of your toasty pistachios on a crescent-shaped slice of joy.

I was born to love the Indian Cassata Ice Cream slice, with layers of sponge cake enveloped by layers of strawberry, vanilla and pistachio ice cream, and a sheet of toasted pistachios that sat atop, on the half rim. I had my first taste when I was very little. Years later, when I was visiting home, I was thoroughly disappointed to see the Cassata had lost a lot of weight, and that it now comes in a fancy (trashable) semi-circled/half-moon plastic box, shaped like the ice cream slice itself. It even had fewer nuts on top! FEWER NUTS?! Those nuts were the perfect ending to the Cassata bite! The toasted nutty crunch was a finish that kept you coming back for more. And those layers of soft spongy cake, they used to be thick! And as the ice cream melted, dripping down your hands, there was peace of mind that the sponge cake will soak it up for you, becoming even moister and spongier and oh so delicious, and preserving each and every drop and bite of the slice intact.

I imagined a bleak future for humanity. Life was perfect once, Cassata was perfect once, and then my vision blurred for a moment, and I saw the

signs. It was as if I found my calling, as the skies thundered, a mighty storm started to brew, and I felt a jolt of power run through me. The day to

reincarnate the original Cassata had come, and I was the chosen one. Meanwhile back in my tiny kitchen, I get ready to change the future of mankind. Turned out to be a simple task! All I needed was some Cake, some ice creams and some nuts, and not-too-much time to analyze the true effects of my ice cream slice revolution.

But first, Cake! The recipe for the cake used in the original Italian dessert can best compared to the angel food cake, and it's called the Pan Di

Spagna, or literally translated into the bread of Spain. Check it out here.

Once you have the cake, you've got to let it cool down thoroughly and allow it to come to room temperature. I actually let it sit in the fridge overnight and sliced it the next day. At that point you just pull out the ice creams from the freezer and let it sit for around 30 mins at room temp to make it easier to spread and layer. This is how it goes: layer of cake at the bottom, ice cream, another layer of cake, some more ice cream, more cake and then some more ice cream, finally some toasted Pistachios.

Traditional Indian Cassata also used candied fruit, but I skipped that since I could not find the right kind and the ones I tried were totally passably delicious ;) So...moving on!

TIP: Before layering in the ice cream, just spoon in a couple of tablespoons of milk over each layer of cake to keep it moist, but not too much since milk will turn to icicles in the freezer.

Another HUGE TIP: Nuts go from brown to black the moment you take your eyes off of them, like... in 10 seconds. So, yeah don't do that.

And once you have your layers of cake and ice cream, rejoice! And then get bummed out, since you can't touch that loaf pan, since it needs to go into the freezer overnight. Trust me you want to do that! And when you wait, you have something amazing. Then you go for it! Share it with someone and let them see what you meant, and experience your journey when you were a child running to the end of that street for a slice of heaven and love, made with cake (umm...obvz!) and equal parts ice cream.

Nitin Budhiraja

The origins of Nomaste is the result of my personal story. Nomaste is an ode to the rich diversity and versatility of Indian food, and aspires to tell a story that's memorable yet surprising. Born into a typical Punjabi family in New Delhi, India, food has always been an inseparable part of my life. My mother–through her cooking–kept our family a tight unit. I vividly remember our weekly tradition of long Sunday lunches, where for hours, the aromas would linger around in the air, making it a complete sensory experience.

And my grandmother–a lady of boundless love and tenderness–who we would visit every summer in the lovely countryside where the air smelled of all things nature and peacocks supplied the acoustics. She would pamper us with freshly harvested milk and yogurt delivered from across the street (thanks to for neighbors and their cattle), and food made with herbs and vegetables from her kitchen garden. She made every meal an act of love, and we felt it!

And lastly, my dad–a man who opened up for me the world, literally. And a man who traveled with his a family to the far ends of beautiful India and the world, exploring its endless beauty and instilling a sense of wonder along the way. Thanks to my father, I still carry with me to this day, a defined spirit of boundless exploration and creativity.

I migrated to America in the early naughts. My first week in America, was nothing to write home about. I felt homesick and missed that warm blanket of food that was familiar. I was a student studying art and as a desperate measure took matters in my own hands.

As I set out to make some Dal, a warm, comforting lentil soup, I realized how complex this seemingly simple soup was. Food apocalypse ensued shortly after. The occasional lentil found in the soup was still crunchy, and the a fistful of salt added a unique level of in-edibility, not to mention ‘eye-watering’ levels of spice.

Ironically, those days of culinary crises had a positive outcome. I was relentless, and spent countless hours in the kitchen, recreating my mom and grandma’s recipes down to the details. I understood food and its value, it helped me find a new sense of respect for my cultural roots.

The act of cooking transports me into a blissful state, something I’ve yet to find in anything else I do. As I grow, in true spirit of ‘boundless exploration’ I aspire to scratch the surface of something new or redefine an oldie and wonder if grandma or mom would approve. I think they would, and be proud.

America’s hunger for Indian food is getting stronger, yet there is lots more to be discovered, and a unique story is waiting to be told.

http://www.nomnomaste.com/

Indian Cassata. I love thee.

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