Quick Indian Cooking

The festive season has started with a bang. Not one to do things by halves, I went to two parties on Saturday night.

The first was a spookily quiet house party. The second, an Irish birthday bash at a new Covent Garden cocktail lounge.

I thawed in the living room at the first stop. Teeth chattering from the big Arctic freeze outside. And then I got involved in a slagging match over a male friend’s hideously-inappropriate party attire of ski boots.

He defended his patch: They’re manly.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Try stepping out in freezing weather in a lace off-the-shoulder dress in the style of Victoria Beckham, silver kitten heels and no socks. Now that’s balls!

And off I went to the madness of central London. This time in a cab to protect the block of ice that once served me well as toes.

To celebrate the start of the jolly season, I cooked a lavish vegetarian main dish that knocks the socks off a plain ingredient. This is Bandh Gobhi Massallam, a whole cabbage smothered in a nutty curry and baked until tender.

Moist, creamy and utterly divine, this party accessory won’t draw any undesired attention.
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I’ve just had my last supper, i.e. the final Basu dinner party for a few months to come.

There are three good reasons for this. One, the festive season is about to start. Trying to get dates in diaries amidst Christmas parties, drunkenness, hangovers and more parties is virtually impossible. Two, I am fast growing into the female Hulk. Three, it’s no fun watching people get pissed.

I invited the group of Tuscany friends over, which included two of the grumpiest Scotsmen alive. One will eat what he’s served. The other will inspect it closely to make sure it’s worthy of consumption.

Initially, I toyed with the idea of serving the rainbow trout presented by our builder that was still tucked away in the freezer. I can clean fish, I convinced myself. Then I considered fishy fingernails. A kitchen smelling of the fish stall at the farmers market. Finally, a vision of the grumpy Scotsman unraveling my botched cleaning job flashed before my eyes.

Chicken curry it was. I picked a classic Kerala-style chicken curry that I knew would impress – coconut milk, curry leaves, baby onions and tender cubes of chicken. It was a huge success. His four helpings meant I had to cook it again to photograph it for this site.

A grand way to start a short but well-deserved break from entertaining large groups…
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Eid-Ul-Fitr marks the end of Ramadan, the Holy month of fasting for Muslims.

In India, I’d be celebrating with mounds of Goat Meat Biryani, Seviyan and Shammi Kebabs. Our Hindu family never missed an opportunity to celebrate in style, irrespective of the religion in question.

But 12 years of living in London later I’ve resigned myself to missing out as my family indulge themselves back home.

As fate would have it, I got a chance to do something a bit special myself this year. Asian Woman magazine got in touch, requesting festive Eid recipes. I immediately got thinking about how to simplify a Biryani without compromising method, taste or authenticity.

And Seafood Biryani was born. It uses pricey fresh seafood. And, be warned, the fatty ghee. But this is a festive treat people. Leaving ghee out would be like cooking Christmas turkey in a George Foreman Grill.

Serve this with a simple Raita and Firni for a decadent meal inspired by a real celebration.
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We were eating spicy spare ribs and Vietnamese noodle salad. At a BBQ. In pouring rain. The conversation went from the dire summer weather and China’s human rights record to how early is early to eat a curry.

I told everyone about my grandmother’s famous parathas or shallow fried, stuffed flatbreads. In my childhood I ate these as breakfast. Post my fruit and green tea deskbound breakfasts in London, mid-day is the earliest I can face these now.

Next morning, the weather was equally rubbish. Half a bag of carrots and 4 small radishes were lying aimlessly in the fridge. And the sack of chappati flour in the cupboard was well by its best by date too.

Fancy that?

My love of kneading is well-documented. I rank it as one of my most hated activities, second only to standing in a blizzard on one leg. But the options were limited. And I didn’t fancy getting soaked again to top up the sorry contents of my fridge.

So I made gajar (carrot) parathas and mooli (radish) parathas for the first time. And I was pleasantly surprised with the results. It didn’t take long. The dough came off my nails fairly easily. And the parathas were as moreish and comforting as my nani’s.

Not just for rainy days then…

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