Now, a lot has happened since September last year. Micro Mini Basu, a little boy, arrived on 29 October 2010. I thought motherhood the first time was difficult. But a quick look back reveals those were the good days – I was still doing my nails!

Manicures are the last thing on the mind right now. I’m the mom of two under two. That’s a lot of nappies, tears and youth rejuvenating serum.

Still, I’m happy to report Micro Mini me is divine and angelic. God knows where he gets that from! Mini Basu, on the other hand, is shaping into a fiesty princess with a penchant for flouncy frocks. (Now, where did she get that from?!) And that I am still sampling the delights of wintry London, with the aid of a lovely Gujarati lady, albeit a little bleary eyed.

As for quick Indian cooking. Did I even know that meaning of “quick” before I had two kids? During the day, quick means whatever I can rustle up while Mini Basu terrorises soft toys or hangs off my skinny jeans, and Micro Mini gets his beauty sleep. In the evenings, it’s a real toss up between cooking and sleeping. Sleeping usually wins.

Makes the 50-slide presentations I put together at work seem easy peasy!

There would be no better to restart this blog than with another version of Dhaniya Murgh, the perfect recipe for the exhausted on a quiet evening. This creamy yet low fat chicken curry is steeped in two of my favourite ingredients – coriander and yoghurt. This version has more curry and cooks quicker with the boneless chicken thighs.

Here’s to everything bigger, better and quicker in 2011. Happy New Year everyone!

Feeds 2:

• 4 boneless and skinless chicken thighs
• 1 small onion
• 4 garlic cloves
• 1 inch ginger
• 250gm natural Greek (thick) yoghurt
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• Half tsp chilli powder
• 1 tsp coriander powder
• Half tsp garam masala
• 15 gm fresh coriander
• 2 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

Take the yoghurt out of the fridge. Roughly chop the onion and finely mince of puree the garlic ginger. Cube the chicken into bite-sized pieces.

In a medium-sized pan, bring the oil to heat on high. When it starts sizzling, add the onions, ginger and garlic and fry until the mixture is golden brown. The  stir in the all the powders apart from the garam masala.

Fry the masalas for five minutes, adding a serving spoon of hot water if they start getting stuck to the bottom of the pan. Then mix in the chicken and seal on the high heat for about two minutes.

Next, spoon in the yoghurt, lower the heat to medium low and cook, stirring regularly for about 10 minutes until the chicken is cooked and oil floats to the surface of the curry. Finally stir in the coriander, garam masala and salt to your taste. Serve piping hot with freshly-made Basmati rice.

Left my makeup bag and spectacles in the back of a black cab

Burnt mini Basu’s creative casserole and other gourmet offerings to crisp

Conducted a branding workshop for 22 senior corporate executives with my fly undone

Now, there’s Chinese food on an Indian cooking blog.

Bear with me. I’m a big fan of Chinese cooking. We eat Dim Sum every weekend. But Chindian is short for Indian Chinese. Originally from the Hakka Chinese community in India, with a bit of masala thrown in for good measure.

It’s all in honour of a dear friend and fellow blogger Ann Mah, whose literary debut Kitchen Chinese launched this week. The Hakka Noodle and Chilli Chicken combo fed my video guru, man and me last night. I can’t wait to get some brain cells back to read about the real thing!

Feeds 4:

Chilli chicken

• 10 small skinless chicken drumsticks
• 75ml dark soy sauce
• 1 large onion
• 4 garlic cloves
• 4 green finger chillies
• 2 tbsp sunflower oil

Soak the chicken in the soy sauce. Chop the onion into large pieces, the chillies into little ones and slice the garlic.

In a wok or kadai, bring the oil to heat on high. When it’s hot, fry the garlic until golden then add all the other ingredients and stir every few minutes until the chicken is cooked. You’ll know because the chicken will separate from the bone. While it’s cooking make the noodles.

Hakka noodles

• 300gm medium egg noodles
• 1 large tea mug shredded cabbage
• 1 large tea mug shredded carrot
• 1 green pepper
• 5 spring onions
• 1.5 tbsp chilli garlic sauce (any Chinese one will do nicely)
• 1.5 tbsp dark soy sauce
• 1 tbsp white vinegar
• 1 garlic clove
• Salt and pepper
• 2 tbsp flavourless white oil

Cook the noodles and set aside. Chop the garlic clove and mix it together with the sauces. Slice the green pepper finely and chop the spring onions.

Next, bring the oil to heat on high in a wok or kadai. When the oil starts sizzling, pour in the sauce mixture and in a few seconds the vegetables, bar one chopped spring onion. Cook for about two minutes until they soften, then mix in the cooked noodles, add salt and pepper to taste.

Sprinkle the noodles with the remaining chopped spring onion and eat straightaway.

If you develop a taste for this, try also Nags’ Gobi Manchurian or Meenal’s Egg-vegetable Fried Rice.

Wonderful. I bought a new pair of four-inchers and the shortest tulip dress I could find.

Hello intellectual emancipation.

Not that I didn’t make the best possible use of maternity leave. I researched the purchase of Mini Basu’s every toy, wardrobe essentials, equipment with the fervour usually reserved for groundbreaking client reports. I shook in my shoe boots as I read the latest baby management techniques. For the third time over. Mostly, I bonded with the little fiend. Wooden spoons, I am proud to report, are her favourite kitchen gadgets.

Six month’s later, I was tripping over myself to get back into the real world. Heartless me! It’s clearly okay to be asked why I don’t want to spend more time at home with mini Basu. It’s clearly not okay to wonder why one would want to embrace soiled nappies instead of a well-deserved promotion. Or am I being unreasonable?

It’s not easy. Racing home to see mini Basu, feeling guilty most of the time, about mostly everything. Still, I think I’m lucky to live in a world where I can make the choice.

I choose rushing around. And moist Aloo Keema, or lean mincement with potatoes, tucked into a pitta bread. Something different to an every day spag bol supper.

Feeds 2:

• 500gm lean mincemeat
• 1 medium onion
• 1 large potato
• 2 medium tomatoes
• 4 tsp ginger garlic paste
• 1 heaped tbsp Greek/thick yogurt
• 1 tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 1 tsp cumin powder
• 1 tsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp garam masala
• Half tsp ground black pepper
• 1 tbsp oil
• Fresh coriander to decorate

Chop the onion into little pieces and peel and cut the potato into little cubes. Bring the oil to heat over high in a large pan. When it’s hot, saute the onion and ginger garlic paste for 5 minutes until soft.

Add the mincemeat, turmeric, chilli, cumin and coriander, and cook, repeatedly bashing with a wooden spoon, until the meat is brown through and through.

Next roughly chop and add the tomatoes, potatoes, yogurt and half a pint of hot water. Lower the heat to medium and cook uncovered for 20 minutes. Stir this every 5 minutes carefully without breaking the potatoes to make sure the meat doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan.

When the time’s up, stir in the garam masala, black pepper and salt to taste. Sprinkle with fresh coriander if you fancy and eat tucked into a toasted pitta bread with mango pickle.

The last jobless Friday night involved a leggy single brunette. Also top friend and white wine fiend.

First stop, the global launch of Smirnoff’s new Green Apple and Lime flavours. My favourite choice of tipple. Followed closely by Tanqueray and tonic. And champagne. (There must be some others)

I expected free cocktails and vodka bottles. I got a row of melting ice sculptures. The top had fallen off St Paul’s Cathedral. The London Eye had liquefied beyond recognition. Drinks were an hour later in a different venue.

An hour? That’s two eternities for a new mum on a night out!

Cocktail bar, French bistro and Cinema cafe later I was ready to call it a night. Return to my previous life as a corporate superbitch. Whip the world into shape with some quick Indian cooking.

No better way to get going than an easy, simple dal. It takes 20 minutes. Doesn’t disappoint. Enjoy.

Feeds 4:

• 225gm yellow moong lentils (about 1 mug)
• Half inch ginger
• 4 garlic cloves
• 1 long dried red chilli
• Half tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 1 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

Pour the lentils into a large pot and wash thoroughly under a cold tap under the water runs clear.

Add three mugs of boiling water, the turmeric and return to the boil. As the lentils start bubbling, scum and foam will appear on the surface. Just skim it off with a wooden spoon and lower the heat to medium so it bubbles away gently.

The mixture will go all fibrous in 10 minutes. Chop the ginger and garlic finely and mix it in. You need to keep adding hot water half a cup at a time, when the lentils are dry and start spluttering, to keep a runny but thick consistency.

In another 10 minutes, when the lentils are well integrated with the water, heat the oil in a little saucepan on high. Chuck in the turmeric, red chilli and chilli powder and as the red chilli starts sizzling mix this, the tadka, into the lentils.

Add salt to your taste and a knob of butter if you fancy before you ladle it over steaming hot rice. For a simple, complete meal, try it with Dhaniya Murgh.

It was to celebrate the end of a major project – the development of a new luxury report followed by its global media launch. We had collectively spent months of blood, sweat and tears. Now it was time to let our hair down. In style.

We grabbed a glass of champagne and sandwich each and made our way to the red carpet box. As the acrobatics started, so did the assault on our senses.  With every air borne somersault, we clutched the edge of our seats. It was fresh, bold and full of punch.

Not unlike a Chaat, I thought to myself as we left the venue mesmerised by the production. [Do I never stop thinking about food??] These spicy and tangy snacks are the mainstay of street food vendors and tea parties back home. The word literally means “to lick” or relish. It’s impossible not to, with the explosion of flavours on offer.

I went out and bought Papdi (pronounce paap-ri), the flat flour biscuits, that are layered with boiled potatoes, yogurt to make Papdi Chaat. Spicy tamarind sauce, written about here by my friend Rosie, and coriander chutney give the dish a kick. Along with a sprinkling of pungent spices and topping of crushed crispy fried noodles or Sev.

Unlike the modern circus, this required no special skill. Just a specialist shopping trip.

Feeds 2-3:

• 16 Papdis
• 4 medium potatoes
• 500gm low fat natural yogurt
• 50gm little black chick peas or kala channa
• Half tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp black salt
• One tsp whole cumin
• Two tsp Sev or Bhujia

Coriander chutney

• 40gm or large handful of fresh coriander
• 1 green finger chilli
• Juice of 1 lime
• Salt to taste

Tamarind sauce

• 2 inch ball of tamarind
• 5 tbsp  boiling water
• 2 tsp brown sugar
• Half tsp black pepper
• Half tsp black salt

Soak the tamarind in the boiling water mixed with the sugar and rest of the spices. Next boil the potatoes and crush into little bite-sized pieces. I just peeled, chopped them and microwaved them covered for 7 minutes on high.

Next, puree the coriander with the rest of the chutney ingredients until you get a smooth paste. Strain the tamarind of its juices two times until you get a thick, sweet and sour sauce.

Now it’s a simple assembly job. Place the Papdis in a single layer on a plate. Spread the crushed potatoes  and kala channa on top, then pour over the whipped yogurt, sprinkle the spices, spoon the chutney and drizzle the tamarind sauce.

Finish with a sprinkling of the Sev or Bhujia and enjoy the colours, textures and flavours immediately before the Papdis soften. I served this with sparkling grape juice and birthday cake to a friend.

I cleverly used the 15-minute relaxation session at yoga to have a power snooze. Then changed into a pale gold top and dashed to the first Christmas party of the season. Sailing proudly past the other 10 awestruck dumbfounded pregnant women.

Then came the office Christmas party. Where I tried to blend into a room full of gorgeous, small-waisted colleagues. Three layers of makeup and an off-the-shoulder maternity party frock later my boss declared I had “just” maintained the glamour stakes.

But the biggest highlight of it all was meeting at least four different couples who wanted to cook a curry at Christmas. Not in place of the big bronze bird with all the trimmings.  But for pre-and post-dinners with friends and family.

I could barely conceal my excitement as I tried to rack my brains for simple curry recipes that wouldn’t send them into a blind ingredient-sourcing panic in the run up to the big event. I needed a chicken, lamb and vegetarian option. Crowd pleasing, one-pot meals that can be cooked easily and in large quantities to feed hungry families.

My next few posts are dedicated to this theme. The first recipe is for Dal Gosht, spiced lamb cooked with lentils. An Indian Cassoulet of sorts. I last made this in a large stock pot, divided it in half and froze it. Later serving it to two small groups of dinner party guests.

Both were well impressed. It’s tasty without being mouth-numbingly hot and a real winter warmer. From one big bronze bird to another – this is my spice-filled contribution to your Christmas meal.

Feeds 4-5

• 750gm lamb shoulder, diced with bones
• 150gm channa (Bengal Gram) lentils
• 2 large onions
• 2 medium tomatoes
• 1.5 inch ginger
• 4 garlic cloves
• 2 bay leaves
• 4 green cardamoms
• 2 inch cinnamon
• 1 tsp garam masala
• 1.5 tsp turmeric powder
• 1 tsp chilli powder
• Fresh coriander to garnish
• 3 tbsp sunflower/vegetable oil

Wash the dal in a sieve under the tap until the cold water runs clear. In a large pot, set it to boil with half a teaspoon of turmeric powder.

In the meantime, slice the tomatoes and the onion and puree or chop the ginger and garlic finely. Bring the oil to heat over a high flame in a medium pot. When it’s hot, throw in the whole spices and as they sizzle up, mix in the onions, ginger and garlic.

Fry the ingredients until they take on a pale golden colour. Now mix in the tomatoes with the spice powders and stir viciously for five minutes until the masalas are cooked. If they start sticking to the bottom of the pot just add a little hot water and scrape them off.

Then add in the lamb and brown it in the masalas. Make sure you keep an eye on the lentils. If they are dry, add a cup of hot water. When the lamb is brown, add a cup of hot water to it, cover and cook a medium flame for half an hour.

Finally, uncover the lamb and mix it into the lentils. Cook the two together until the lamb is tender and the channa dal just melts in the mouth. This dish is lovely sprinkled with fresh coriander and served with Jeera Pulao. But if you fancy making an extra effort, I would recommend some home made naan to go with it.

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.

Feeds 2:

• 200gm low fat natural yogurt
• 100gm cucumber
• Half tsp black salt
• Half tsp chilli powder
• 1 tsp whole cumin

Whip the yogurt well in a small bowl with a fork until you get a smooth, pouring consistency. You may need to add a bit of cold water depending on the thickness of the yogurt.

Peel and chop the cucumber into tiny pieces. I just used my chopper. Dry roast and powder the cumin. I make a big batch of roasted cumin powder in one go and would recommend you do the same.

Then all you have to is assemble the raita. Stir the cucumber into the yogurt and sprinkle all the spice powders on the top. If you add some dry mint, you get cucumber and mint raita. Serve it alongside a vegetable pulao and you have a comforting and simple TV meal.

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!

Feeds 2:

• 10 medium tomatoes (about 1 kg)
• 1 tsp whole cumin
• Handful of fresh coriander
• 2 fat garlic cloves
• 1 red finger chilli
• Half tsp Kasoori methi or dry fenugreek
• 2 teaspoons brown dememera sugar
• 1 tsp sunflower oil
• Salt to taste

Wash, slice the tops off and quarter the tomatoes. Slice the garlic.

In a medium-sized pot, bring the oil to heat over a high flame. When it’s hot, add the cumin and garlic and fry for a few seconds until the garlic browns slightly.

Then mix in the tomatoes, sugar, chilli and coriander. Cook on a high flame, stirring every two minutes, for about 10 until the tomatoes disintegrate. In the meantime, soak the kasoori methi in a tiny cup with two tablespoons of hot water. This will help balance the sweet and spicy soup with its bitterness.

Then take the pan off the heat for a few seconds, stir in the methi and go in with a hand blender to puree all the contents. If you don’t have a hand blender, just wait for the contents to cool a bit and transfer them to a larger blender. If you don’t have any blenders, just pass the contents through a sieve or colander.

Add salt to taste and enjoy piping hot.

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.
Feeds 2:

• 400gm chicken thigh, skinless and boneless
• 1 large onion
• 2 medium tomatoes
• 1 tsp ginger paste
• 1 tsp garlic paste
• 1 tbsp whole cumin
• 1 tbsp coriander seeds
• 1 dry red chilli
• 1 tsp garam masala
• Handful of fresh coriander
• Salt to taste
• 2 tbsp oil

Chop the onion and tomatoes into little pieces and cut the chicken into bite-sized chunks.

In a wok, bring the oil to heat over a high flame. When it starts sizzling, throw in the chopped onion and stir on a high heat for two minutes until it turns soft and golden brown.

In the meantime, powder the whole cumin, coriander and chilli in a small coffee grinder to make your own curry powder. Or just use a ready curry powder.

Now add in the ginger and garlic paste and stir for another minute. Then mix in the curry powder and fry for a minute quickly adding the chopped tomatoes before they start sticking to the bottom of the wok.

Keep stirring for another two minutes until they disintegrate and then stir in the chicken. Let the chicken cook, stirring from time to time for five minutes. Then lower the flame, mix in the garam masala and cover for another two minutes to finish off and add salt.

Sprinkle with the fresh coriander and eat with some toasted wholemeal pitta bread.

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.

Feeds 2:

• 175gm uncooked Basmati rice
• 4 cauliflwer florets
• Half cup shelled peas
• 3 small potatoes, halved
• 1 tsp chopped ginger
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• Half tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp cumin powder
• Half tsp coriander powder
• 1 tbsp sunflower oil

Bring the oil to heat over a high flame in a large pot. When it’s hot, stir in the ginger and as it starts going brown mix in the raw vegetables.

Stir for a minute until the vegetables are sealed all over and add the spice powders. Mix viciously for another two minutes to coat all the vegetables with the masalas. If the masalas stick to the bottom of the pot, add a bit of hot water and scrape it off.

Then measure the rice in a cup, rinse it rice thoroughly under a tap and pour it into the masalas. Stir it well mixing into the spices for about two minutes, add twice as much hot water as rice (measured in the cup) and salt to taste and bring to the boil.

When it starts bubbling, lower the heat and simmer until the rice absorbs all the water and is cooked through.