Chicken Palak

I lived in Washington DC for the summer of 1989. My intention was to get an internship at a nonprofit and wait tables at night. I needed to find the paid job first to cover rent. The day I arrived, I went to see my cousin Piño in his office, he was running a Spanish language newspaper called El Latino. His colleague, an Indian-American man whose name I have forgotten and who I never thanked properly, heard me explaining my plans and made a phone call. When he hung up, he told me I had an interview the following day at his friend Ashok’s restaurant.

The Bombay Club was and is one of the top Indian restaurants in the world. I was clueless. I had never eaten Indian food, and admitted that to the posh maitre d’ when I showed up. He hired me anyway-he must have been told to do so by Ashok-and sent me home with a menu to study. When I returned the next day, he quizzed me. I was a college student, I knew how to cram for a test. I recited terms I didn’t understand, and graduated to my next assignment— to stand next to Chef Ramesh throughout the lunch and dinner service to learn the real thing.

Ramesh was a tiny, darling man from the south of India. He was extraordinarily kind and took a shine to me when I told him my father was a cook. On that first day, he told me all about the regions of India, and the history, culture and nature that shaped their cuisine. All while calmly plating the most beautiful, colorful dishes to serve the well-heeled Capitol Hill crowd seated in the wood-paneled dining room during the lunchtime rush. To this day I regret not writing down his words, but he taught me to adore Indian food and painted the images in my head that inspired my visit to India just a few years later.

I never got that political internship; instead I worked double shifts six days a week. But what an education I got. In those two short months waiting tables in my ridiculous tuxedo shirt and bowtie, I learned everything from the basics of service to how to de-bone a fish tableside, eavesdropped on Oliver North and his attorney, and sang happy birthday to Tina Turner. Best of all, I learned to appreciate one of the greatest cuisines in the world from a world-class chef.

The first thing Ramesh prepared each morning was the base for the staff lunch served between shifts, a big stew pot of curried leftovers he called giligili. It was spicy as hell, so none of the front of house staff ate it. I only tried it once, but I still chose to sit with the kitchen crew for shift meals and eat fresh naan with mango chutney instead. The base of the stew was the classic onion-tomato-garlic-ginger gravy that Ramesh told me forms the heart of so many Indian sauces, even surprisingly perhaps, this classic spinach stew.

Ramesh would want me to tell you palak means spinach in Hindi, saag means mixed greens. The latter name is used when you combine spinach with a bitter green like mustard or kale, and is a traditional Punjabi style made with yogurt instead of cream when meats are involved. If using the soft Indian cheese called paneer instead of meat, the dish is typically made with baby spinach and cream. I like the paneer style sauce better with chicken as well. If you are able to buy paneer where you are, you can substitute it for the chicken, just add it at the end with the spinach purée.