Quick Indian Cooking

I know. Shoddy. It’s the only word that accurately sums up the abysmal rate of new posts on this site.

The truth is I ran out of steam. Pregnant for the second time, with mini Basu turning into the Tasmanian Devil. Mega intense book launch in India following a short break with the family. And never mind the PR job.

But let me put the violin away for a moment. There are lots of positives to report. Miss Masala is now up there with “Hot Desi Masala” in Google searches. Summer has been short but brilliant fun. And I’ve been cooking loads.

Just eating it all too quickly and passing out straight after!

This is one of the recipes that proved a hit when a girlfriend came over to discuss urgent love matters. A lightweight, meal-in-one Palak Murgh or chicken curry with spinach. Of course, who thought to take a photograph or, more importantly, make a note of the recipe at the time!

So try two, I rustled it up again for a mid-week dinner ticking all above boxes. Except this time I dived in cooking sans shower cap and eating with fingers, forgetting the big client meeting the next day. I swear his nose twitched as I quickly greeted him with an air kiss. The Palak Murgh emanating from my now truly luscious locks came a close second to the aromatic but turmeric-stained fingernails I was sporting.

Still, this curry was worth every moment. Here’s to more where it came from…

PS = You can use diced chicken thighs in this recipe but the end result will not have the same depth.
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It’s been a tough three weeks. No sooner had I indoctrinated Mini Basu into my bootcamp than a copy editor started whipping my book into shape.

I mean who knew one shot of vodka was 25ml? Everyone has a tequila glass!

And why would anyone who buys a cookbook written by yours truly expect to find a recipe for home made ghee in it? I’d rather spend the time trimming my hair with a nail clipper, thank you very much.

Meanwhile, the summer barbeque season has truly kicked off. I’ve also been drinking copious amounts of Rose wine, while billowing barbeques blow sausage smoke through my carefully crafted locks.

True to form, I’ve been saving time, effort and precious brain cells these days by making the same kebab for every barbeque I’ve attended. The juicy, skewered Chicken Reshmi Tikka has been reeled out on three occasions causing quite a sensation. It’s dead easy to make with readily-available ingredients.

Look out for the meat tenderiser powder that goes into it at supermarkets. It’s totally natural and works a treat to soften even the hardest pieces of meat. Perfect for quick fix marinades when every second counts.
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We had a long weekend here. And Notting Hill Carnival.

Living with seven million people is so my thing. Sharing a weekend with most of them and tourists on rubbish-strewn West London streets totally isn’t.

We shoved a duvet, an aunt, one brother, chocolate and home-made Tandoori Chicken into the car and drove off to an idyllic Cambridge village to visit another brother.

The BBQ was ready for my glistening red chicken portions. I stood in a cloud of dark smoke, basting them with a mix of lime juice and vegetable oil. While Harry the dog and the relatives took it in turns to pace around the BBQ.

The result was soft, juicy, full of flavour. Worth every smokey moment. And escaping London for.

PS = To enjoy Tandoori Chicken properly I recommend using a tandoor or BBQ. You could grill it, but that wonderful charcoal smoked flavour will be MIA.
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Our Australian neighbour planned an all day BBQ to celebrate turning 21 (again). Of course, the weather here is more Mordor than Melbourne.

So last minute the BBQ, the aptly-named Outback, had to be transported from the communal garden to his three square feet balcony on the second floor of our building.

This threw my party trick into total disarray. Sausages and burgers would work just fine on the billowing monster. But my tandoori chicken was clearly out of the question unless our neighbours fancied masala upholstery.

I took a chance on Lamb Seekh Kebabs. If anything was going to impress the 30 grown men and women, it was this.

But by the time I shaped them, had a shower and slipped on a ra ra miniskirt, the party was in full swing. Mounds of food lay all over the table. The crowd were more interested in the vodka on tap than soft, buttery kebabs of Mughal origin.

I sneaked off later, slyly taking the platter of kebabs back downstairs with me. Turned the grill on. Cooked a few to perfection. And ate them with copious amounts of Dhaniya Pudina Chutney and tomato ketchup.

Even the best-laid plans…

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