It’s a simple idea. Take a bunch of asinine kids hooked on cheap throwaway fashion. Subject them to the reality of the Indian apparel manufacture industry. And watch them recoil at the horror of having to work 14-hour shifts, in dingy factories alongside child labourers.

When they end up in the dark alleyways of Mumbai, one of the kids remarks on what a service they are doing by buying the cheap clothes in the first place - providing jobs to these workers.

No shit, Einstein!

Consider this. Never mind ethical labelling. Buy what clothes should actually cost and give the workers half a chance. For every £3 bargain basement top, somebody is paying the price!

Something to mull over while I bite into this Mumbai street food classic Pav Bhaji, a moreish vegetable curry served with buttered bread rolls, fresh coriander, onions and liberally doused with lemon juice.

Much as I hate using ready mixed recipe masalas, the Pav Bhaji one calls for 15 masalas to source, roast and grind. Stick to the ready stuff from ethnic shops and save the time for something more worthy instead.

Feeds 4:

• 2 medium potatoes
• 1 large carrot
• 15-20 green beans
• Handful of peas
• 2 medium onions
• 2 garlic cloves
• Half inch ginger
• 2 medium tomatoes
• 3 tsp Pav Bhaji masala
• 2 lemon wedges
• 4 white bread rolls/baps
• Handful of fresh coriander
• 2 tbsp sunflower oil
• 4 tsp butter
• Salt to taste

First make the bhaji or curry.

Peel and chop the raw carrots, potatoes and tomatoes into small bite sized pieces. Cut the ends off the green beans and slice into one-centimetre long pieces. Chop one onion, the ginger and garlic into little pieces.

In a large frying pan, heat the oil until sizzling. Fry the onion, ginger and garlic on a high flame for two minutes until brown all over. Chuck in the potatoes, carrots and tomatoes and stir for a minute .

Now add the Pav Bhaji masala powder, enough hot water to submerge the veg, cover and cook for five minutes until the potatoes are translucent at the edges but still uncooked.

At this stage, mix in the raw beans and peas, mix well, re-cover and keep cooking until the potatoes fall apart when probed with a fork. Add salt to taste and mash the vegetables roughly. The dish should have a moist, thick gravy.

Now prepare the Pav or bread. On another frying pan or flat griddle pan, heat one teaspoon of butter. Cut the bread rolls into half and toast lightly on the inside.

Serve the bhaji hot with the buttered bread, fresh coriander, lemon wedges and a sprinkling of chopped onion.

PS = Many make this with pre-cooked veggies. But you know how much I hate adding an extra level of effort when it comes to pre-cooking.

PPS = Saying that, this is a great way to use leftover steamed veggies. Just make the onion and tomato curry base and mix in the veg.

Dressed in my grungiest outfit, I made it to a plant nursery with hubby in tow.

I wasn’t fooling anyone. Three cries of “look honey, basil/coriander/jasmine” later, a kindly salesperson walked over with a thinly-veiled smiled and asked how he could help.

We wanted a creeper. Preferably something that grew bushy and tall. Without regular watering, sunlight or attention.

Or soil for that matter. We were talking about a three square feet, moss-ridden balcony here.

Finally we settled for a medium hedge. I brought it back and shoved it into a planter aided by a cheese slicer, kitchen scissors and amused neighbours.

Greenfingers Day, thankfully, is an annual event in my home. But I hope summer is here to stay.

With the first warm days, raw mangoes have made it to my Indian grocer cum spice shop. I made a light, sweet and sour dal made with them called Tauk Dal. The dal-making technique here involves boiling the lentils in lots of water in one go to get a watery, light texture.

Enjoy this with Basmati rice and a cool glass of Rose Blush. Preferably while gazing out of the kitchen at your new, bushy hedge.

Feeds 2:

• 75 gm Masoor dal (red lentils)
• 1 raw green mango
• Half tsp Nigella/black onion seeds
• 2 green finger chillies, slit
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 1 tsp sunflower oil
• Half tsp white sugar
• 1 tbsp sunflower oil

Wash the masoor dal thoroughly in a medium pot under a cold tap, until the water runs clear. Add cold water three-quarters up the side of the pot, mix in the turmeric and bring to boil on a high flame.

In the meantime, slice the mangoes lengthwise, quarter and peel off the skin with a sharp knife.

Make sure you watch the dal so it doesn’t boil over. If it starts bubbling up, take off the flame for a few seconds. Gently skim off and discard any foam that builds up.

The lentils will go soft and squidy in 20 minutes. The water will still be seperate from them. Now, make the tadka.

Heat the oil and when it starts sizzling, add the nigella seeds, the green chillies and the raw mangoes. Fry for a few seconds until the mango is sealed and pale brown on its side.

Mix this and the sugar into the dal for about five minutes, add salt to taste, and serve. The consistency will be light and wonderfully easy on the tummy.

I’ll be trying this delicious, South Indian version of mango dal next.

As we settled into our crisp onion bhajis, I let out a gasp. I had suddenly remembered my recent brush with international foodie fame and fortune.

I’m in Olive, I declared with a flourish.

Uncle one raised an eyebrow. Uncle two gave me a grunt. Aunt Madge just said: “Who’s Olive?”

Great. Only, like, the best food magazine published by the BBC. Read by a gazillion people, none of whom I actually know.

They asked me about my favourite cheap eat in London - the £6.95 eat as much as you want lunch buffet at Diwana Bhelpuri House in Euston. But if you’re not in London, this information is about as useful to you as your local weather to me.

So here are my top tips for spotting a really good Indian buffet instead:

1. Elderly Indians: No self respecting elderly Indian will pay money to eat poorly cooked version of the food they eat at home
2. Hot chapattis/rotis: There is little point in rotis that have languished on the buffet table, turning rock hard and stone cold
3. Wide selection: Surely, the whole point of the whole exercise is to eat until you can barely move, a huge meal that you would be nuts to cook at home?

In my experience, Indians don’t talk about death much. I’m quite happy to follow this fine example.

But now, I was sitting across a rather morbid will-writing consultant (or something). In between bites of my stone-baked, Capricciosa pizza I was being force fed likely future events.

“Do you have any possessions of real value you want to present to anyone?”

Gulp. My pots and pans?

“Real value.”

My shoes?

We finally settled on the only piece of pricey jewellery I possess. With that, I ran off to work leaving the husband to answer the last call.

To think I’d even momentarily considered parting with my pots and pans! I put them to use straightaway with Bhuna Gosht, and served it with my new found recipe for perfect naan - an Earthly reminder why life is worth living.

Feeds 4:

• 750 gm lamb shoulder, diced and bones included
• 2 medium onions, sliced fine
• 2 tsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 1 tsp garam masala
• 4 fat cloves garlic, minced or pureed
• 1 inch ginger, minced or pureed
• 4 tbsp vegetable oil
• Salt to taste

In a large pot, heat the oil over a high flame. When it starts sizzling, throw in the onions and fry for five minutes until they turn soft and pale golden in colour.

Now add in the ginger and garlic and fry for about two minutes until they turn a golden colour too.

Then mix in the lamb and all the spices, apart from the garam masala. Mix the ingredients well together until the meat is sealed and brown all over.

Now add in just enough water to come half way up the sides of the meat, cover and cook on a medium flame. You need to keep stirring from time to time and add hot water only when the curry in the pot dries up.

This is what bhuna means - to stir until the masalas caramelise and the meat cooks. This whole process will take 45 minutes to an hour depending on the quality of the lamb.

When the curry is thick and dry, and the lambs falls apart easily when cut with a fork, mix in the coriander, salt and serve.

Reminiscent of a second-class, three-tier train journey through India, I thought. Where cries of “Chai, Chai, Chai Garam”, literally tea, tea, tea hot start, at the crack of dawn.

Still, the £10-a-ticket paying customers did have their standards. “It’s bloody outrageous to have advertising on the flight!” he barked at the air hostess.

I wondered who he thought should pick up the actual cost of his ticket. I tried another tack.Your passengers aren’t actually deaf. This was promptly followed by a booming advert for prize draw tickets.

Fresh from the glow of winning a competition by one of my favourite bloggers, I was on fire. Clearly it was time for me to raise the stakes on my naan-making abilities before I fell for any hare-brained, money making schemes.

So back from my gorgeous break in Venice and north Italy, I made a quick phone call to mother, her aunty, and rolled up my sleeves. Guess what? They came out perfect and used ONLY THREE main ingredients and no yeast!

Look like I have the winning ticket for pretty perfect naan.

NOTE: For all of you whose patience I have tested with endless holidays, I am now penniless and thus unable to take any more hiatus until late 2008.

Makes 4:

• 350 gm self-raising flour
• 200 ml soda water
• Half tsp Nigella (black onion) seeds
• 1 tsp sunflower oil
• Butter to serve
• 1 tsp salt

Heat the soda water in the microwave for a minute. Sift the flour into a large mixing bowl with a fine sieve. Add to it the salt and nigella seeds.

Then pour half the soda in and crumble the dough mixture. Slowly add in the rest of the soda water in and mix it into the flour with your hands.

When the soda is evenly incorporated into the flour, start punching it with your knuckles over and over again in a rolling motion.

If the dough feels sticky to the touch, you could add a teaspoon of flour to it. Ultimately, you will get a pliable dough and that spings back when you touch it.

Of course you could just do all of this with a dough hook.

Now, transfer it to a bowl greased with the oil. Cover it with a clean, wet cloth and leave to sit somewhere warm. If it’s cold, you could just stick it in the oven turned to its lowest setting.

After an hour, take the dough out and punch it well for two minutes. Then stick it back in the bowl under damp cloth.

Another hour later, preheat the oven to 230 degrees centigrade. When it’s hot, line a baking sheet with kitchen foil. Roll the dough with your hands into a long, thick sausage. Break it into four equal parts. Fashion each part into a quarter inch thick tear shape and place on the sheet.

Bake for about eight minutes. Then rub the golden brown top with butter until it melts all over and serve hot.

If making more, you could add the butter and leave to sit wrapped with a clean cloth or some kitchen foil. Serve hot and freeze some for later like I did.

The birthday girl made chicken skewers with a peanut sauce. Open salmon sandwiches. Homemade hummus and aubergine dips. And her half Chinese bf brought a box of the rather unfortunately named Ching-Kee Cookie Rolls.

But it wasn’t enough.

Back at home in the wee hours of the morning, hubby swung his way to the kitchen and started furiously beating an egg. It appeared that he was making good use of the last remaining contents of our fridge - eggs, stale wholemeal bread and green finger chillies.

Unwittingly, he was also recreating a breakfast staple from my Kolkata home - French Toast. Eggs soaked fried bread. The Indian twist provided by green finger chillies and mango pickle.

As I drank my night cap and ate pickle-soaked French Toast, I thought about three things. One, no matter how ill or drunk I am, I always have time for Indian food.

Two, I am so ready for my next holiday. With that, I leave for a long weekend in Italy.

Arrivederci.
Feeds 1:

• 1 medium egg
• 1 tbsp milk
• 2 small green finger chillies, chopped
• 1 stale slice of bread
• Quarter tsp salt
• 1 tsp oil

Beat the egg and mix in the salt, milk and green chillies. Bring the oil to heat on a medium low flame.

Soak the bread in the egg mixture. Don’t use fresh bread because it’ll just fall to bits.

Now shallow fry the egg-soaked bread for about two minutes on either side until the bread feels hard to the touch again.

Eat with mango pickle. Sip a cuppa or your last drink after a long night.

• 3 garlic cloves
• 1 tsp cumin
• 2 tsp coarsely ground black pepper
• 4 cups of water
• Juice extracted from 1 inch diameter of fresh tamarind or Half a tbsp of the ready tamarind paste

Tadka:

• Half tsp mustard seeds
• Half tsp cumin seeds
• 1 whole dry red chilli
• 1 sprig curry leaves
• 1 tsp sunflower oil

Bring the water to boil in a large pot. Smash the garlic, whole cumin and ground pepper up in a pestle and mortar. When the water starts boiling, mix in this paste and the tamarind extract. Lower the flame and simmer for 10 minutes. When the time is almost up, heat the oil in a small pot and sizzle the tadka ingredients for a few seconds until they turn a darker shade. Finally mix the tadka into the soup and add salt to taste. Drink this piping hot in a large mug and let it work it magic.

Now, this is a tragedy of epic proportions. There is only one thing I do better than Indian cooking.

Talking.

I sat at my desk, in silence. Simmering gently. With only grunts and sign language to communicate. One grunt, yes. Two grunts, no. Two fingers, leave me in peace.

Clients and colleagues heaped sympathy on me. The husband rushed to the pub to celebrate. I stared at 12 bullet points in despair. Only a simple Indian meal would now lift my spirits off the ditch outside the office.

It had to be chicken curry and rice. Even on a vocally agreeable day, chicken curry is pure genius in a large pot. It takes about 45 minutes to make, even quicker in my pressure cooker. I can make a massive amount of it with little extra effort. And any extras can be frozen for use during a later meal.

Ticks all my boxes for busy bee Indian cooking.

This wonderful, basic chicken curry recipe is from the Basu Kolkata kitchen and can be tweaked for variety with the addition of whole garam masala in the hot oil or some plain yogurt with the tomatoes.

There’s only one way to voice my satisfaction at the end of this meal. Grunt.

Feeds 2 (two times):

• 8 chicken thighs and drumsticks (about 750 gms)
• 3 medium tomatoes
• 2 large onions
• 4 fat cloves garlic
• 1 inch ginger
• 1 tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 1.5 tsp cumin powder
• 1.5 tsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp garam masala
• Handful of fresh coriander
• 2 tbsp sunflower oil
• Salt to taste

Skin the chicken, roughly chop the onions and tomatoes, and finely dice the ginger and garlic. Heat a large, non-stick pan with the oil over a high flame. You could also use a pressure cooker.

When the oil is sizzling hot, add in the onions and fry for five minutes until pale gold and soft. Then throw in your ginger and garlic and keep frying for another five minutes until the whole lot is a darker shade of gold. If at any point the masalas start sticking to the bottom of the pan, just add a little water and scrape off.

Now mix in all the powders except garam masala, and the tomatoes. Keep frying this on a high heat for another five minutes until the tomatoes disintegrate and the pungent smell of the spices calms down to a softer fragrance.

Then, throw in your chicken, and stir like a maniac until it is white and coated with the masalas all over. Next, add just about enough hot water to submerge the chicken pieces, cover and cook on a high flame for 20 minutes until the chicken is cooked through. Just make sure you stir the chicken every five minutes or so.

If you use a pressure cooker, as I did, this takes about 6-7 minutes after the first whistle. But you won’t get a deep, red colour like the chicken curry in my new video.

Finally, stir in the garam masala, salt and a handful of fresh coriander. Serve with plain, steamed Basmati and a spicy pickle of your choice.

I popped paracetamol, drank red wine and danced furiously to electro Tango. It was Friday night.

The limp home was just the beginning. By next morning, my nostrils flared to the size of accordians. The only sensation I had left was the buzzing in my ears from oversized speakers.

I needed a rescue operation that would charge through me, bringing a sense of purpose back to where the five senses one used to be.

I chose Rasam. This potent, spicy and sour soup is of South Indian origin but drunk widely across the country. People swear by its ability to cure even the most dastardly colds, by setting the taste buds alight.

The most basic Rasam is the one that uses just tamarind water. I opted for a more wholesome Tomato Rasam, the kind I drank in “South Indian” restaurants back home.

I felt better the minute the 10 dry whole red chillies started roasting expelling a sharp, pungent kick into the kitchen. By the time I got to the Rasam, I could actually taste and smell it! Thankfully, there’s enough powder left over for tonight’s hit.

If things go to plan, I’ll be fully recovered for this Friday’s festivities.

Feeds 4:

• Quarter cup Toor lentils
• 1 medium tomato
• 1 inch ball of fresh tamarind (or 1 tbsp ready tamarind paste)
• 2 sprigs curry leaves
• 1 tsp mustard seeds
• Sprinkle of asafoetida
• 1 tsp sunflower oil
• Salt to taste

Rasam Powder

• 2 tbsp coriander seeds
• 2 tsp cumin seeds
• 10 whole dry red chillies
• 5-6 black peppercorns

Preheat the grill to a high heat (200 degrees centigrade). In the meantime, wash the lentil thoroughly and roughly chop the tomato. Soak the fresh tamarind in four tbsp of hot water.

Put all the Rasam powder ingredients under the grill for about 10 seconds. Then powder in a coffee grinder or small food processor until fine.

Place the lentils, tomato and two heaped teaspoons of the powder in a large pot with four cups of water and bring to the boil. I used a pressure cooker for this (10 minutes after the first whistle). But you could just as well boil it in a pot. Just make sure you watch it to prevent contents from spilling over (take off the flame for a few seconds) or from drying up (add more water).

The perfect consistency for Rasam is watery, with fibres in it. Like orange juice with bits. The tomato will almost disappear.

When this happens, mix in the strained tamarind water (or paste). In another small pan bring the oil to heat over a high flame. Add in order, the asafoetida, mustard seeds and curry leaves. Fry for a few seconds until the curry leaves turn a dark shade of green and then mix into the soup.

Drink the Rasam piping hot as a soup or enjoy it with some plain steamed rice.

It takes no less that the first half hour to fire up the computer. Which then promptly crashes leaving me helpless and hormonal. I proceed to get barked at by colleague/ supplier/ journalist. And finally face an impossible client deadline that likens the plot of Mission Impossible to an urgent trip to the cornershop.

The 5-10 ingredients that add up to an Indian recipe are a far cry from all this. So they smell. Are well fiddly. And require some planning. But boy do they make up for working day misery as well as a stiff drink and trash TV.

(To think ready-mixed curry powder was once my holy grail of quick Indian cooking.)

My favourite ingredient for Indian cooking has to be yogurt. I know this sounds ridiculous, when there are a million wonderful and exotic spices we use. Hear me out. Yogurt:

1. Is a low-fat substitute for cream
2. Thickens curries without the need for dubious additions
3. Softens and tenderises meats
4. Has heaps of health benefits

Not so idiotic now, is it?

When cooking yogurt, I strongly advocate using the thick, full fat variety. We call it Greek Yogurt here, but it’s made from cow’s milk. Even on a high flame, this stuff does not split and gives a delicious richness to dishes. Any oil that escapes it, you can simply leave behind in the pan when you eat.

The low fat, natural variety works best for things like Raita or Lassi. I’ve tried mixing flour/cornflour into it and straining to thicken further - but it still curdles the minute it touches the high heat that’s a must for quick cooking.

Here is Zafrani gosht, a simple, tender saffron goat meat curry to get you thinking differently about this wonderful ingredient. You could also substitute the goat meat with chunks of lamb, bones included.

Feeds 4:

• 800 gm diced goat leg, bones included
• 200 gm Greek yogurt
• 2 tsp coriander powder
• 2 whole red chillies
• 1 whole brown cardamom
• 1 bay leaf
• 2 large onions
• 4 fat cloves garlic
• 2 inches ginger
• 10 strands saffron
• 2 tbsp sunflower oil
• Salt to taste

Finely chop or puree the ginger and garlic. Slice the onions.

In a large pan, heat the oil until very hot. Add the whole spices and as they sizzle, mix in the sliced onions.

Fry the onions over the high flame for five minutes until they turn a pale golden brown. Then stir in the ginger and garlic and fry for another five minutes until the masala transforms to a darker shade of gold.

Now add the coriander powder, yogurt and meat and stir like a maniac, until it is well sealed all over. Add a cup of hot water - enough to submerge the meat - and cook covered on a high flame for about 45 minutes.

You will need to keep stirring to prevent the meat from burning or sticking to the bottom of the pan. If this happens, you just need to add more hot water.

If you’re the proud owner of a pressure cooker, by all means use it. But the taste of this delicate curry, comes from the cooking time.

When the goat meat is tender and starts falling away from the bone, mix in the saffron strands and salt, simmer for a minute and serve piping hot with some Naan, and as in my case, premium beer.

Ps = This is my entry to the fantastic competition being organised by Maninas. I have my toes and fingers crossed.