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My annual Greenfinger’s Day came and went this year. Planting pots and pruning hedges hardly feature in my top ten things to get flustered about these days.
One sunny morning, I opened our balcony door to let the first seasonal rays of sunshine in. A breath of fresh air. A joy in my step. A view of dead leaves.
Lovely.
My father-in-law took pity on me and decided to lead the charge on the gardening project. I extracted my fluorescent gardening gloves and scissors in preparation.
“Those are kitchen scissors.”
Yes, I know dad.
“When did you last water these plants”
Two weeks ago.
“You know plants need water to survive?”
That’s only a small technical oversight!
We spent the evening clearing up, replanting courgette and tomato plants my sister-in-law had ambitiously donated to me. Dad did, that is. I made every excuse to leap back into the flat: dinner, baby, strange itch in my little finger.
One week of watering later, I have two courgette flowers and a thriving collection of flowers (identity unknown). I won’t swamp you with courgette curries yet, but here’s a winter to summer Gobi Mattar or cauliflower and pea stir fry to celebrate seasonal changes.
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We had an early burst of summer sunshine. I was ready with the accessory of the season - a short white jumpsuit complete with brass buttons acquired brand new on eBay.
All blingtastic, I was going to attend the lunchtime launch of Spooning with Rosie, my friend Rosie Lovell’s book. The lovely Rosie runs a deli cafe in trendy Brixton. Vintage dresses and unshaven faces were going to rub shoulders amidst mounds of quality cheese, loafs of bread and stacks of her cupcakes.
The anticipation was immense as I dressed mini Basu in a co-ordinated romper. Rosie’s cookbook is a sensational tome brimming with eclectic recipes that nod to London’s vibrant cafe culture. That aside it featured my Bhapa Doi Bengali cheesecake recipe with a mention of yours truly.
Several glasses of wine and hours of mingling later, I couldn’t wait to get stuck into a semi-complicated recipe that matched the dizzying heights I had reached. It was going to be Kofta Curry, soft spicy meatballs in a tomato base.
I mixed the Kofta or meatballs before going to bed. Cooked the dish the following day. Scooped the finished lot into a bowl. Just in time for my hungry dad’s arrival. This experienced cook was not going to be easy to please. “So how is it”, I asked, waiting for the lavish praise.
“Delicious”, he replied. And just as I was about to mutter a thanks, he added: “You could have cooked the masala a bit more.”
Nothing like family to keep you grounded. Here’s the perfected recipe for when you want to show off. Best served with a pinch of humility.
PS = I made this with beef mince but you could just as easily substitute it with lamb.
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My body has regained its size small splendour. Remarkable what a combination of forced sleep deprivation and skipped meals can achieve…
Then an invite arrived for the launch of Iron Maiden’s new boutique hotel in Soho. Champagne? Canapes? Paparazzi? Hallelujiah! Finally, a reason to resurrect the glamour stakes to their original high standards.
I slipped off to the hairdresser. A lovely Spanish gal, who can talk for England. Darling, I said, I have two hours; make me beautiful again.
She set to work with gusto. Clicked her tongue at the disgrace that used to be my lustrous locks. Sat me under an over-sized chrome dryer. Handed over the month’s latest fashion and gossip magazines and said: “You have 40 minutes”.
40 minutes? Forget getting my hair done. I could have slept!
I spent the time bringing myself up to date with the season’s latest fashion trends. Safari. 80s body con. Bright colours. Do they make playsuits for babies?
I came home fabulous, wore a shower cap and cooked Paneer Capsicum, a light and breezy Indian cheese and bell pepper sir fry.
Life is slowly returning back to normal. Or some version of it at least. Just in time for summer.
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The mini Basu princess is a month old. A tiny terror. Unsurprising given her fine genetic pool.
Let’s just say motherhood is much like cooking a biryani, naked, on a patio, in the middle of a blizzard.
Still, I’ve had plenty to keep me going. My personal favourite is the card that reads: “When I grow up I wan to be a total bitch, just like my mother”. A close tie with the one featuring a designer-clad mummy whispering “Gucci, Gucci” into her stroller.
Oh and the bottle of yet-to-be-opened gold-encased limited edition Armand De Brignac champagne.
Mini Basu is sampling the delights of Baby Dior, the farmer’s market and the cultural hotspot of South Bank. While I snatch precious moments for a spot of shopping, beauty sleep and cooking.
Thank God for quick Indian cooking.
My first recipe back had to be a light and healthy chicken curry steeped in fresh coriander - Dhaniya Murgh. It took care of dinner. Suitably impressed visitors. And launched my comeback in half an hour.
Here’s to life’s next phase…
PS = Thanks SO much for all the wishes, emails and love you’ve sent my way. Mini Basu will wield a wooden spoon as soon as possible.
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