Quick Indian Cooking

There’s been an interesting development. We bought a house. A whole one. With a staircase and a roof. Excuse me if I sound a little shell-shocked at this outcome. Shoot me, however, if I populate it with more offspring, furry live animals or toys. (Shoes and clothes, on the other hand, are perfectly acceptable).

Now here I was thinking we would never be seduced by a patch of green and a few decent schools. What a change a few years makes.

A new house means a new kitchen everyone. And this alone calls for celebration! Quick Indian Cooking is about to get a new HQ. A space that is actually designed for Indian cooking. Shiny black floor tiles and glossy white units aren’t best matched with turmeric powder and lemon juice after all.

An architect is on the case, under my watchful gaze and a precariously-dangled wooden rolling pin. He has a tough job ahead. The brief: to create the most gorgeous, functional and special space for £2.75. Now there’s a challenge.

In the meantime, I am dreaming dreams about floral aprons, flour-dusted hands and perfectly-stacked rotis with two charming angels playing happily with plastic bricks. In reality, I’ll be in my heritage-look trousers and shoe boots, trying to feed them porridge and make the dash to work while they squeal “my don’t like it, my don’t want it”.

Still, they’ll have plenty of space to grow now. And eventually, they will listen to me and do as I say because I am the mother. Or so I think. On the threshold of our new home, I wanted to dedicate this post to all other deluded mothers and father out there, swapping their old lives for the uncharted.

This recipe for Dim Begun – a lightly spiced egg and aubergine saute – comes from no other than my little sister’s childhood friend and flatmate. It’s her mother’s recipe, which she sent to me in a series of bullet points starting with “ma said” and unsurprisingly ending with “but I didn’t listen to her”.

I loved it, all three times I made it. Even though I never did write the recipe down until the very last attempt. If change tastes this good, I’ll have a second helping, thanks.
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Something unusual happened to me recently. A new friendship turned ugly. Nasty accusations got made. Yours truly got to play chief antagonist in a real-life Lindsay Lohan drama.

Normally, I’d take a whiff and move on. But my testosterone levels have sunk to record lows lately. I blame motherhood. So I cried copious tears, while cradling a bottle of vino and ranting down the phone to an unsuspecting close friend.

A whole hour later I realised the poor man had slid off to watch TV. Not wishing to bother him with my theatrics, I plonked myself on the sofa pleasantly enquiring about the sword-wielding blonde gracing the silver screen.

It’s Kill Bill, he said. A movie about a woman who is betrayed by everyone she loves and trusts. Cue: more floods of tears followed by a prompt end to the day.

Sometimes in life you need things that just work. Like unconditional love. Solid friendships. Trusted kitchen appliances. Failsafe recipes. The things that you care for dearly. That take anything you throw at them. Last forever. And can be relied upon come rain or shine.

This recipe is one that has survived through thick and thin with me. Quick dinner for sister. Check. Lunch for toddler playdate. Check. Centre piece for dinner party. Check check. I’ve left the peas out once, taken the tomatoes out another time and used yoghurt instead, mixed in some fresh coriander and each time the result is tremendous.

The trick is to cook the rice separately while the prawn masala bubbles away and then mix the two together. This is cheating, of course (this isn’t), but it speeds up the cooking time dramatically and the end result is almost foolproof in its fluffy perfection.

To be eaten with true friends and plain yoghurt. Naturally.
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My social life has taken a battering. No surprise there. But when an invite appeared for a big 4-0 knees up, I could hardly pass it up.

There I was in my new 70s wooden platforms. Drinking Pimms on a boat. Dancing to Electronica. Smiling as I waited for a taxi in biting wind. Thrilled as I leapt into bed well past midnight.

And then the kids woke up at 5:30am.

The man and I valiantly took it in turns to nurse sore heads and play doting parents. As I lay starving stretched out on the once-pale cream rug being prodded with lego pieces, I remembered the glimmer of hope in the fridge.

Introducing my new secret weapon: K ji. Nanny extraordinaire. Superlative cook. This is the roti making, cumin seed/mustard seed loving soul I have been waiting for my whole life. (The kids love her too)

On Friday, I trialled her very own Capsicum Bhaji recipe – spicy bell peppers sauteed with gram flour, with just a hint of sweet and sour. It took 20 minutes to make. She expertly rolled the rotis and together we stashed the results into the fridge.

The keyword here being result! I slowly felt life return as I shoved warm rotis stuffed with K ji’s special into my parched mouth. A much needed lie-in or two and I’ll be ready for another big night. Maybe.

PS = Bheja means brain, and Bhaji means fry. Thank you Sandeepa, for inspiring this post’s title!
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I am back at work. Six months with Micro Mini Basu just flew. He is now ready for university. Well. One can hope.

Seriously though, I am really enjoying motherhood.

It’s just that two closely-timed pregnancies later, I was beginning to go funny. You know. Saying things like “Don’t lick the floor”. Swinging from side to side sans baby. Counting the hours until a large glass of ice cold wine…

So how does it feel to be back at work? Wonderful. Monday to Thursday is a long weekend compared to the chaos of home. Uninterrupted cups of tea. Trips to the loo. Adult conversation. Shame it’s so hard to say goodbye to the bundles in the morning!

On the quick Indian cooking front, I haven’t been great have been pathetic on the blogging front. Behind the scenes, however, I have been hard at work perfecting a “quick” version of a tangy chilli Kerala beef fry. My friend Boobie fell in love with this recipe at her last trip to India and we’ve been at it ever since!

The trick to this recipe is to either slice thin beef steaks very finely and stir fry everything in a wok. Or to cook cubes of boneless beef/lamb/goat in a pressure cooker until they are virtually falling apart.

With the coconut, I nabbed a fresh coconut in my local grocer, smashed it open and grated and froze the flesh. Two months ago… I really recommend saving a stash in your freezer if you don’t have access to the fresh stuff. Dessicated coconut is a very poor distant cousin of the real stuff.

So here it is. A fresh new start for a fiery classic. Let’s hope it works for you and me!!
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