Quick Indian Cooking

I’ve developed an inexplicable fascination for cupcakes.

It could be the inch-thick sugar toppings, the heart sprinkles or the cute little trays they’re displayed on. But every sighting of these evil treats sends my normally logical brain into semi-paralysis.

Imagine my horror at seeing a whole box of them at the tea party I went to over the weekend. I stared at the vile things as they got placed on a Versace tea set. The pinnacle of decadence being served with relatively-innocent masala chai.

Of course, I went home clutching the two leftover cupcakes. I ate them for desert, following a dinner of two toasts. And spent the night tossing and turning from the self-inflicted, sugar-induced high.

Strangely, it made me think about raita.  That, and a reader’s request for a Cucumber Raita recipe. Raita is to Indian food the complete opposite of what cupcakes are to a restful evening. The savoury yogurt salad soothes the taste buds, calms the tummy and aids digestion. Also provides a generous helping of whatever vegetables go into it.

There are so many raitas – cucumber, kachumbar (finely chopped mixed salad), anda (my favourite egg raita), aloo (potatoes), aubergine and boondi (made with little deep fried gram flour balls). The principles are pretty much the same: filling steeped in yogurt. Spiced either with a sprinkling of spices and herbs or with a tadka (tempered ingredients). Every family has its own variations.

Cucumber raita is an all time classic. It stupendously easy to make. Refreshing. And very authentic served alongside a simple Indian meal. This is how it’s made in my home. Without the fancy touches.
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I’ve been outed. Shortly after the Frankfurt book fair, an Indian magazine announced my other big news.

My mad ramblings, irreverent rants and quick recipes are to be published into a lifestyle/narrative cookbook by HarperCollins titled “Miss Masala”.

Of course this being journalism, they got two out of three facts wrong. I write a Quick Indian Cooking food blog. True. I live in the US. False. I am the obese spoon-wielding aunty in a cotton sari depicted by the resident cartoonist. Gross misrepresentation!

Still, it’s far better than the tepid response from some of my family members. Gran and dad take it in turns to claim I inherited the skill from them. On his recent trip, dad responded disbelievingly at the meal I cooked for him. And even asked me if I knew what “blanching” meant.

Thank god I have publishing glory to look forward to. Even though the book won’t hit the shops until March 2010. Watch this space.

In the meantime, here’s a Tamatar Shorba or Mughlai-style Indian tomato soup recipe requested by one of my readers. I’ll spare you too much sentimentality, but I wouldn’t be here without you lot, yadi yadi yada…  Just please start saving to buy my book!
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I staggered home after the three-course French Bistro meal and drink at the Dirty Martini.

A scene from Outbreak, the virus blockbuster, greeted me. Large sheets of green PVC everywhere. Rooms sealed with thick masking tape with strategic openings to allow entrance and departure.

Our building work had commenced. I was going to live in my own horror production for the next two weeks.

On the plus side I found two HUGE trouts in our freezer.  The wonderful project manager brought them from his fly fishing trip. But these had to be safely frozen until I found a friendly fishmonger to clean them for me.

And until the kitchen had been restored to its original splendor. Now it was a particular danger zone with our computer equipment all over the dining table and worktop. Dinner was going to be an exercise in new spatial orientation.

But quick Indian cooking is always alive and kicking. I turned to a box of Khanum goodies I got sent to trial. It had an excellent minced ginger and garlic paste, a saviour of sorts if you get a potent-enough substitute for the real thing. I set to work on Kadai Chicken (pronounced Ker-Hai), a blindingly simple stir fry.

So simple in fact that I felt guilty and made my own curry powder for it. I normally never recommend using ready blended curry powder. But some messy situations call for alternative action.
PS = Just don’t use chicken breasts. That’s one compromise too far. Read More

I waited patiently in front of the Royal Exchange, in three layers of make up.

How do I get myself into these situations?

My dear friend / film producer / cameraman walked enthusiastically over with a bulging pocket. And the full dread of being filmed, at lunchtime, in London’s financial district, suddenly filled me.

Is it too late to change my mind?

Steely eyes stared back. I got his drift.

Normally, I am a shameless self publicist. But merrily shopping with a big smile while the credit crunch wipes if off everyone else’s was a tad shameless too far.

Even the cab driver sighed “cutbacks” when I asked him to drop me some two minutes down the road.

And then there were the do-I-recognise-this-Z-list-celebrity stares. I half contemplated hand writing a placard saying “No. You do not know who I am“.

I quickly checked out the gorgeous silver jewellery at Tateossian, then bought a stash of chocolates at Paul A Young and fled the area.

It was just as well that this video‘s theme was Comfort Eating. I cooked Taheri, a moreish vegetable pulao from North India, with my friend Boobie’s Anda or egg Raita.

The Egg Raita might take some getting used to. But, like my cookery video jaunts, once you try it there really is no going back.
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