Quick Indian Cooking

The mini Basu princess is a month old. A tiny terror. Unsurprising given her fine genetic pool.

Let’s just say motherhood is much like cooking a biryani, naked, on a patio, in the middle of a blizzard.

Still, I’ve had plenty to keep me going. My personal favourite is the card that reads: “When I grow up I wan to be a total bitch, just like my mother”. A close tie with the one featuring a designer-clad mummy whispering “Gucci, Gucci” into her stroller.

Oh and the bottle of yet-to-be-opened gold-encased limited edition Armand De Brignac champagne.

Mini Basu is sampling the delights of Baby Dior, the farmer’s market and the cultural hotspot of South Bank. While I snatch precious moments for a spot of shopping, beauty sleep and cooking.

Thank God for quick Indian cooking.

My first recipe back had to be a light and healthy chicken curry steeped in fresh coriander – Dhaniya Murgh. It took care of dinner. Suitably impressed visitors. And launched my comeback in half an hour.

Here’s to life’s next phase…

PS = Thanks SO much for all the wishes, emails and love you’ve sent my way. Mini Basu will wield a wooden spoon as soon as possible.
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I’ve only just thawed following the rogue snowstorms in London.

It has not been pleasant for the East Indian in me. I normally get cold opening the fridge door and handling ice buckets.

Imagine my horror at having to make it to work in six inches of snow?

This was nothing compared to the tremor felt by the Mayor of London. He declared profoundly, “There’s just too much snow!”

As the snow turned to slippery ice, the local government street cleaning service casually informed me that Spring would arrive before their next supply of grit and salt. And that if I was so worried about slipping, I should buy some salt and save my frozen street myself.

To think a large slice of my income funds these people…

I had to cheer myself up. First, I acquired a hideously expensive, impractically large, black leather Italian designer tote.  Second, I cooked Murgh Masala for a cosy night in.

Murgh Masala is basically the generic Hindi name for chicken curry. Cooked in a myriad different ways, it always hits a spot. I’d bookmarked a great version of it by Maninas. With readily available fridge and cupboard ingredients, I gave this a go in the comfort of central heating.

Bring on the next Arctic blast.

PS= This recipe was made for chicken on the bone.

PPS= I only needed to add one green chilli to set my belly on fire, but please add more if you are a) brave, b) unimpressed by the potency of your stash.

PPPS= Maninas stresses the importance of frying the onions properly. I whack the flame up high and stir viciously for 15 minutes to brown them quickly without burning them.
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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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I staggered home after the three-course French Bistro meal and drink at the Dirty Martini.

A scene from Outbreak, the virus blockbuster, greeted me. Large sheets of green PVC everywhere. Rooms sealed with thick masking tape with strategic openings to allow entrance and departure.

Our building work had commenced. I was going to live in my own horror production for the next two weeks.

On the plus side I found two HUGE trouts in our freezer.  The wonderful project manager brought them from his fly fishing trip. But these had to be safely frozen until I found a friendly fishmonger to clean them for me.

And until the kitchen had been restored to its original splendor. Now it was a particular danger zone with our computer equipment all over the dining table and worktop. Dinner was going to be an exercise in new spatial orientation.

But quick Indian cooking is always alive and kicking. I turned to a box of Khanum goodies I got sent to trial. It had an excellent minced ginger and garlic paste, a saviour of sorts if you get a potent-enough substitute for the real thing. I set to work on Kadai Chicken (pronounced Ker-Hai), a blindingly simple stir fry.

So simple in fact that I felt guilty and made my own curry powder for it. I normally never recommend using ready blended curry powder. But some messy situations call for alternative action.
PS = Just don’t use chicken breasts. That’s one compromise too far. Read More