Nuchi Nebu Nonka

There are two kinds of people. Those who drizzle chilli oil on everything. And then there are those who have not yet realised they are supposed to.

If you have been around Nuchi Nebu Nonka long enough, you will know my love language is garlic. I must admit garlic was not a forever favourite. It grew on me, with me. My love for garlic is closely followed by butter. And then comes peeking, chilli. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before the three sat together and plotted absolute chaos.

It was one of those “let’s just see what happens” afternoons. I was making a fresh batch of my favourite garlic confit – garlic cloves lazily bubbling away in some rice bran oil (this keeps changing from rice bran to sunflower, to olive – much like my mood), becoming softer, sweeter and more mellow by the minute. While the garlic cloves were busy turning brownish, my eyes wandered to the jar of homemade chilli oil sitting on the counter.

Not the oil, but, the tiny discs of chilli seeds with a slight slurry like coating on them. In other words, the glorious, crunchy, fiery, flavour-packed chilli sediment sitting at the bottom of the jar. You know the one. The part everyone secretly wants more of. And a little voice in my head said, “Don’t waste that.”

And I obliged. 

The moment the garlic was perfectly soft, I switched off the flame and folded in a generous spoonful of those chilli bits, carrying just enough oil to coat everything. The residual heat woke up every spice all over again. Suddenly, the kitchen wasn’t just smelling of garlic anymore. It smelt like the promise of very bad portion control.

Now, if we stopped here, we’d already have something outrageously delicious. But we don’t stop here. Because butter exists.

Once the garlic and chilli mixture cooled completely, I folded it into softened butter until it transformed into the most ridiculously beautiful speckled spread. Tiny flecks of chilli. Soft confit garlic waiting to be smashed into creamy oblivion. Butter acting as the peacemaker between the sweetness of the garlic and the fiery kick of the chillies. My friend, I have eaten this standing in front of my fridge with a spoon. No regrets.

Spread it over warm toast and suddenly breakfast feels expensive. Slather it over sourdough and you’ll understand why bakeries charge what they do. The Best Thing to Happen to Bread Since Butter. Rub it over chicken before grilling. Massage it into prawns. Coat mushrooms, corn, or baby potatoes before they meet the barbecue. Melt a dollop over a hot steak. Toss it through pasta at midnight because you’re hungry and life is too short to overthink dinner.

Or do what I do.

Keep opening the fridge. Cutting “just one more” slice of bread. Telling yourself this is definitely the last one. It never is.

I think that’s my favourite kind of recipe. The ones that do not seek perfection or fancy ingredients. They simply ask you to trust your instincts. To taste as you go. To use up what’s already sitting in your kitchen. To discover that sometimes the best recipes aren’t invented from scratch, rather, they’re born because one delicious thing accidentally bumps into another.

And honestly? I don’t think my homemade chilli oil ever knew it was destined for such paramount greatness until it met butter. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a loaf of sourdough on my counter that’s looking far too plain.