Quick Indian Cooking

I have been known to serve my food with readymade, store bought naan. But as this is Christmas. I thought I’d make an effort and trial Peshawari Naan, a soft mixed nut and raisin-filled tandoori flatbread. I cleared the kitchen surface, cancelled all appointments and got ready to prepare the feast.

Just then I got a note about the evening plans. Christmas carols under the tree will now feature more than tuneless singing and too much drinking. Our host, the neighbour downstairs, has tasked his long suffering man with cooking dinner for the seven invited guests. Using a recipe from this blog.

Eeek.

I immediately offered assistance. And Peshawari naans. But it was hard to tell who was freaking out more. The lovely new Indian cook downstairs. Or me about the potential for two recipes to fail in front of all my neighbours.

The Peshawari Naans have been made. The recipe follows below. The jury is out. I will keep you posted. Most importantly, to make these simply remember:

1. Yeast does some sort of weird sticky alien thing with fingernails. Kneading is best avoided with freshly manicured hands
2. The dough needs to rest in a warm place. Avoid your wardrobe. Turn the oven on to a minimum and stick in in there
3. Naans are teardrop shaped. My tried and tested scientific method to achieve this is by rolling them out any way I want and then stretching them by hand into the desired teardrop
4. Don’t worry about the stuffing bursting out. There are bigger things to worry about (e.g hands, as above)
5. Unless you fancy staying sober and attached to the naan-making assembly line, make these beforehand. Wrap them up in cling film or stick them in an airtight container and microwave for 30 seconds each with a sprinkling of water before serving

PS= Recipe a big hit!

PPS= The reason I made naan in the first place was because I got tagged for Breadline Africa by one of my favourite bloggers Bharti of Veggie Foodist. A sober reminder of the less fortunate as we dive into Chrismas feasts…

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Last week had several highlights.

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.
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When a magazine asked me to review a new Indian restaurant in London, I jumped at the chance. What dissect a menu? Criticise the food? Scrutinise the ambience? For a fee?

Christmas has arrived early!

I thought I’d practice my restaurant review skills before the assignment. At a Keralan restaurant in South London. With food blogger and soon-to-be cookbook author Rosie, her man and mine.

A blast of incense greeted us as we walked into the place. I spotted linen kurtas, banana leaves and stainless steel glasses. Momentarily distracted, I murmured “home” before hanging my coat and greeting Rosie.

As we pored over the menu, my husband ordered lemonade. The waiter said they didn’t have any. Okay, nimbu pani then. To which the waiter replied, you have to go to India for that. Funny he didn’t recommend we head to India for the food too.

We probably should have anyway. The Masala Dosa and Idiappam were tasty but stone cold. I was told I couldn’t have sambhar with the rice noodle cakes. And the feast, with two free glasses of tap water came to £15 ($30)! Rosie then declared she didn’t like the waiter’s vibe and we left without trialling the chocolate chilli and cardamom cake.

That would have made for a very short magazine review indeed.

Good food is better served simply with a smile. Like this Peas Pulao. A restaurant staple in several guises – luminous yellow, golden brown, saffron spiked. But the simplest one of all never fails me. And then of course, you can dress it up with other lovely ingredients.
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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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