Quick Indian Cooking

I showed up at the exposed brick, loft-style bar looking like a green goblin in what was once a trendy balloon top. The day had been spent trialling a new chilli chocolate cake recipe. The result didn’t look like it would cause bodily harm.

I am improving every week.

As I handed it over to the manager with instructions about when to bring it out for the birthday girl, she dropped the bombshell. The bar has a cakeage charge of £1.50 per person.

Or I could buy their birthday cake at the bargain basement price of £45 for 6 portions.

I tried every trick imaginable:

• That’s more than what it cost me to bake the damn thing.
• But the cake isn’t worth the charge!

And finally, when my long face wouldn’t melt their cold hearts. I pulled the ace card: I spent all day baking that over eight months pregnant.

Cakeage cancelled. Job done.

Shame I have only three weeks more of this fantastic opportunity. Like me, my social life is now slowly grinding to a halt. London Fashion Week – decline. Award-winning theatre – pass. All replaced by cosy nights in with friends and wholesome one-pot meals.

Like this Lamb Pulao. The biggest difference between a pulao and biryani is complexity. So I cooked the dish quickly like a pulao but with a number of biryani-style spices for added oomph.  It was just what a friend and I needed with a glass of quality red vino on a Wednesday night.

PS= This took a good 1.5 hours to make. But I ate it for three meals so it was highly time-effective

PPS= You could use a pressure cooker to stew the lamb. One whistle and then 10 minutes. Then lid off to dry up the curry
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I’ve only just thawed following the rogue snowstorms in London.

It has not been pleasant for the East Indian in me. I normally get cold opening the fridge door and handling ice buckets.

Imagine my horror at having to make it to work in six inches of snow?

This was nothing compared to the tremor felt by the Mayor of London. He declared profoundly, “There’s just too much snow!”

As the snow turned to slippery ice, the local government street cleaning service casually informed me that Spring would arrive before their next supply of grit and salt. And that if I was so worried about slipping, I should buy some salt and save my frozen street myself.

To think a large slice of my income funds these people…

I had to cheer myself up. First, I acquired a hideously expensive, impractically large, black leather Italian designer tote.  Second, I cooked Murgh Masala for a cosy night in.

Murgh Masala is basically the generic Hindi name for chicken curry. Cooked in a myriad different ways, it always hits a spot. I’d bookmarked a great version of it by Maninas. With readily available fridge and cupboard ingredients, I gave this a go in the comfort of central heating.

Bring on the next Arctic blast.

PS= This recipe was made for chicken on the bone.

PPS= I only needed to add one green chilli to set my belly on fire, but please add more if you are a) brave, b) unimpressed by the potency of your stash.

PPPS= Maninas stresses the importance of frying the onions properly. I whack the flame up high and stir viciously for 15 minutes to brown them quickly without burning them.
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I decided to bake a cake. It was our aunty’s birthday. We were off for live opera sung amidst a three-course meal and a rowdy group of 10.

Now curries I can cook. Sweets I can make. Cocktails I can mix. But baking is one art that has so far escaped me.

Still, I have a collection of cake trays from my efforts over the years. I even bought a retro black lacquer cake stand in the recent winter sales. One divine-looking recipe on the internet later I was ready for yet another attempt.

The warning bells went off when the chocolate orange cake batter didn’t taste remotely orangey. It failed to rise and go fluffy in the oven. And promptly collapsed into a biscuit on the wire rack when left to cook.

I bravely ganached the top and took it to the party anyway. The birthday girl hurt her elbow trying to cut the darn thing. The elderly uncles nearly chipped their teeth trying to eat it. And then, the bottom fell off the cake stand.

I might throw the rest of the cake at the next person who calls me a domestic goddess.

It was time to reinstate my faith in sweet things by trying my hand at something more in my comfort zone. I made a batch of Nariyal Burfis, soft and delicately-sweetened little coconut bites that are perfect for any occasion. They were divine. A few candles and perhaps it’ll be the perfect present for next week’s birthday girl.
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