Quick Indian Cooking

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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I dashed home from the low-lit Young Vic bar. Over-sized bag in one hand. New, cowboy-inspired black knee high boots tucked under the other.

It was Diwali. I was running late.

A quick trip to the supermarket en-route home and I had the ingredients for a festive meal. My hungry sister was hand delivering paneer in exchange for dinner. Cooked in a bombsite housing pots and pans.

The Dahi Wale Aloo and wok-stirred Paneer Capsicum came out really well. Recipes to follow. But the Diwali-special Kalakand, or sweet cardamom and cheese cakes, became a sticking point.

I ditched the idea of stirring them for 35-40 minutes in favour of a quicker approach. First, I baked them in a bain-marie. Big mistake. They were still watery after half an hour. Then I transferred the lot to a small dish for the microwave. Even bigger mistake.

I watched transfixed as the dish threatened to overflow every 10 seconds. Turning the power off and stirring overzealously. Then my sister came in to check on me: “Oi, freak!”

Quite. Where would I be without the loving support of my sisters.

I sent her home after main course. And finished off the Kalakand. Here is the quick recipe with my new found wisdom. And Happy Diwali. Better later than never, right?
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The pint-sized princess is back.

I am talking about none other than the student discount card-wielding, international development protagonist cum Bollywood starlet. My littlest sister.

So far, she’s invaded my flat. Eaten all my food. And reclaimed her shimmery black coat. I have hastily offered to help her settle into her flat with a brand new hand blender and supermarket trip.

Secretly, I am very thrilled. I once again have a little something to channel my bossy energies.

There is yet another cause for celebration. This blog has turned two. If I’m honest, I’d forgotten in the excitement of video making and sisterly bickering. But Sia’s blogiversary post reminded me of the two long and terrific years of cooking, writing and blogging I’ve had.

So here’s something sweet to say hurrah! A delicious Vanilla and Rose Firni ahead of Eid-Ul-Fitr. This flavoured ground rice desert has a wonderful light and cooling way about it. Perfect for new beginnings in every way.

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After months of dithering, we finally set a date for the man’s former local guardian’s to come over for dinner.

I decided to serve Pepper Chicken Curry with the Nariyal Bhindi I made earlier. As I did my thing, my man announced that he was going to help me.

Great, I thought, bring on the hindrance.

As I looked away, he whacked the flame up on the chicken. Then added an extra chopped green chilli to the masala.

We chatted away through dinner. Smoke gently blowing out of our ears. Eyes watery. Fingers of accusation firmly pointed at the man of the house.

Unwittingly, I had made the most powerful antidote to a spicy meal for dessert. The Mango Fool. Normally this is a creamy blend of ice-cold, ripe mango puree and heavy double cream. But I opted for the healthier but equally delicious alternative of low fat creme fraiche.

All conversation came to a stop. Sensation slowly returned to our mouths. A fool saved the day after all.

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