For all of you who have been following my recipes, straight talking tips and life’s ups and downs, Harper Collins has now packaged them into a handbag-sized read, complete with illustrations of vodka bottles and stilettos.

Seriously though, it took a year to get the deal, two years to write the book, most of it while being pregnant and then on maternity leave.

So the launch was an excellent excuse for a wild party. I decide to invite 200 well-heeled Londoners, book a bar in London’s Soho and order crates of champagne, vodka and gin.

Except I then find out there is another naan in the oven. Yes, people, micro mini Basu is also on its way! That would mean no champagne, vodka or gin for yours truly. Not even to celebrate three years of hard graft.

The immediate concern was finding a maternity dress that didn’t resemble a sack. I’m happy to report on a sequin fuchsia pink chiffon number set off perfectly by a pair of complimentary cubic zirconia dangly earrings sent to me by the lovely Sarah of Lu Shae jewelry art designs.

The launch was a huge success. Let’s hope some of you like the book! Now back to blogging, bhunas and babies. Wish me the best for the rest!

PS = the book is on Amazon and at most good bookstores in Australia and New Zealand, Europe (Belgium & Luxembourg, France, Norway and Sweden), Kenya and the UAE. India launch to happen soon. I’ll keep you posted!

PPS = 1000 thanks to anyone who follows this blog for your unstinting support. Bloggers Asha, Sia, Sra, Sandeepa, Indosungod, Srivalli, Jenn, Ann and Elisabeth also got a special mention in the acknowledgments before I ran out of space.

Here I am, jumping in the back of a black cab for the Christmas lights on party at a high-end shopping arcade. As I meet friends and drink pumpkin soup, I moan about the delayed celebrity guest of honour. The shortage of macaroons. And then slip off with them for a special meal at a chi chi Mayfair American diner.

While on the other side of the world in Mumbai hundreds of innocent people are mercilessly targeted by mindless terrorists. Their lives turned upside down. Families distraught.

My heart goes out to everyone directly or indirectly touched by this terrible incident. If you’re lucky enough to be home, safe, in the comfort of your loved ones – Happy Thanksgiving.

Back in London I had just about enough time to rush to Covent Garden for dinner with the girls. Formerly journalism students, we all saw the error of our ways. Moved into PR. And regretted it ever since.

We tucked into another three courses and complimentary Bellinis at a low lit Covent Garden bistro. One German, a Kenyan, a Spaniard and me. The food was standard Brasserie fare. The conversation low brow to match – clients, classmates and copulation.

Sometimes it’s the simplest things that complete a meal.

Like Papad. These wafer thin discs of lentil crisps are the perfect accompaniment to any Indian meal. You can dry roast them on a naked flame. Or fry them in hot oil.

That’s a choice of too much effort or too much effort. So I don’t bother with either. I just stick them one at a time in the microwave for a minute each. They curl up slowly, turning crisp and golden in places. I’ve tried this technique with the perennial classic spicy Lijjat Padad and Khanum Madras Plain Pappadom. And it works every time.

Just don’t forget the three-part Indian meal to go with it…

Before I left I stuffed the desert island essentials of chilli powder, turmeric powder and asafoetida into my suitcase, mentally reminding myself never to make fun of travelling aunties again.

Four days I baked by the pool. Contemplating my big Tuscan curry effort, while our friends took it in turns to cook meals.

Soon it was mine. I found fennel seeds, cumin seeds, garlic and a pack plastered with the word “organic lentils” on it. So far so good. But no ginger.

This was a serious blow. But I ploughed ahead anyway. Hubby was tasked with chopping, washing and creating innovative implements to grind spices. Friends were banished from the kitchen unless collecting wine. I focused on making Moong dal-esque dal, Aubergine Raita and Pepper Chicken Curry.

In the stress of it all, I forgot rice. Sure enough, there was a large jar supplied in the villa. Of the well known Risotto family. Did I mention I was in Italy?

The meal was a success, despite the missing ginger and soggy rice. Which goes to show that if you care enough, you can always have a curry.

I told everyone about my grandmother’s famous parathas or shallow fried, stuffed flatbreads. In my childhood I ate these as breakfast. Post my fruit and green tea deskbound breakfasts in London, mid-day is the earliest I can face these now.

Next morning, the weather was equally rubbish. Half a bag of carrots and 4 small radishes were lying aimlessly in the fridge. And the sack of chappati flour in the cupboard was well by its best by date too.

Fancy that?

My love of kneading is well-documented. I rank it as one of my most hated activities, second only to standing in a blizzard on one leg. But the options were limited. And I didn’t fancy getting soaked again to top up the sorry contents of my fridge.

So I made gajar (carrot) parathas and mooli (radish) parathas for the first time. And I was pleasantly surprised with the results. It didn’t take long. The dough came off my nails fairly easily. And the parathas were as moreish and comforting as my nani’s.

Not just for rainy days then…

Feeds 2:

Carrot filling

• 2 small carrots
• 1 tsp fresh lime juice
• Quarter tsp chilli powder
• Salt to taste

Radish filling

• 4 small radishes
• Quarter inch ginger
• 1 green chilli
• 4 sprigs fresh coriander, chopped
• Salt to taste

Parathas

• 250 gm strong wholemeal or chapatti flour
• 4 tbsp Greek yogurt
• Hot water, as needed
• 1 tsp salt
• 4 tbsp oil

Heat the yogurt in a microwave for 30 seconds until warm. This helps break the four down. You can do this on the cooker also or just use room temperature yogurt. Traditionally, only water is used for kneading but my ageing chapatti flour could use the softening.

In a medium mixing bowl, add the flour and salt. Mix in the yogurt half at a time. Go in with your finger and mix well until the flour resembles biscuit crumbs. You want to keep breaking it down like this when you add the rest of the yogurt. Then add tiny bits of hot water, punching the dough with your knuckles on every side until you get a smooth dough that doesn’t stick to your fingers.

If it sticks to your fingers, you’ve added too much water so just chuck in a bit more flour. This part wasn’t problematic. Now keep kneading or punching the dough backwards and forwards for at least two minutes. The more you beat it, the softer it’ll be later.

Next, cover with a moist cloth (damp kitchen towel in my instance) and keep aside. Next, make the stuffing.

Grate the carrot and mix with the stuffing ingredients. Then cover and microwave or sauté for two minutes. Repeat the process in another bowl with the radish and ginger mix ingredients.

Finally, uncover the dough mix and in your palms shape it into a thick sausage and break into four equal parts. Sprinkle a flat chopping board with extra flour, then roll the dough lump into a ball, flatten and use a rolling pin to create a disc the size of a small tea saucer.

Spoon two teaspoons of the carrot mix into the centre and bring the ends together like a parcel to seal it. Then dip the parcel in the flour, flatten and roll out into a even half centimetre round shape. Don’t worry if the filling starts oozing out. This is the way it’s meant to be.

Now, put a flat tawa or frying pan to heat over a medium flame with the tablespoon of oil. When the oil is sizzling, place the rolled out bread on top and fry for two minutes on either side until dark brown sport appear. If the oil dries up, just add a tiny extra bit to the sides of the paratha.

While it’s cooking, get cracking with the next dough ball and repeat until you have four, devilishly soft, moreishly tasty parathas. Serve hot off the tawa with a large dollop of plain yogurt and some pickle.

I chose to dust off one of my Indian cookbooks.

Now, Indian cookbooks are objects of great desire in my home. I purchase many. Mainly to see the spines lined up on the bookshelf. Occasionally I leaf through each recipe. Ogle over the full page of ingredients required. And then stick it back on the shelf.

This time, I decided to put one to better use. Out came this one. It was the photos of the whacky chef with elephants in South India that first attracted me.

But ultimately it was his sister’s recipe for Gosht Kali Mirch or Lamb with Black Pepper that clinched it.

The recipe was simple, used (comparatively) few ingredients and so delicious that I had to restrain myself from eating it all immediately. Not for the faint hearted or chilli challenged mind you.

We’ll see if the girls leave it on the shelf.

Feeds 4-6

• 800gm lamb shoulder, diced with bone
• 2 small tomatoes
• 3 medium onions
• 2 tbsp Greek yogurt
• 2 black cardamoms
• 8 green cardamoms
• 2 x 2″ cinnamon sticks
• 6 cloves
• 2 tsp whole black pepper
• 2 green chillies
• 2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 4 garlic cloves
• Half tsp garam masala
• 3″ fresh ginger
• 3 tbsp oil

Chop the onion into little pieces and grate or puree the garlic and ginger together. Quarter the tomatoes.

In a large pot, bring the oil to heat over a high flame. When it’s hot, add all the whole spices. As they splutter, mix in the onion, garlic and ginger.

Fry this mixture for about five minutes until it turns a rich golden colour. Then add in the tomatoes, chillies, black pepper and garam masala. Stir for two minutes and as the tomatoes disintegrate, mix the yogurt and the lamb.

Mix the lamb into the masala vigorously. Add a pint of water, cover and cook on a medium flame until the lamb is tender. When it is, raise the heat and reduce the volume of liquid until the oil separates from the curry.

Serve with a squirt of lemon juice and chopped coriander.

I needed to get away from frantic deadlines, the summer social scene, grumpy people and smelly trains.

So I chose blinding heat, crazy traffic, tribal witch doctors, snake charmers and endless souks.

It was all going remarkably well until the fancy rooftop restaurant. Just as I finished tucking into half a kilo of couscous, two semi-naked belly dancers sashayed in.

My man instinctively fake-limped his way to the gents. The two pre-teen boys on the next table slithered underneath with their Nintendo. And the sickeningly glamorous girls beckoned me to the dance floor.

I wondered if there was any space left under the table next door. It’s never too late to master Nintendo.

There was hope yet. The next morning, I found the spice souks. Standing in front of sacks piled high with turmeric, cumin, coriander and mint I smiled stupidly.

Paradise. Found.

Needless to say I have amassed ludicrous quantities of eye-wateringly expensive saffron. I’m thinking saffron chicken or maybe a biryani-style rice?

Six days without Indian food is way too long. Watch this space – although I don’t promise any exotic dancing.

Off I went to the dreaded yoga class. Me in gym-friendly spandex amidst a sea of linen cotton.

An hour into the class the Irish sadhu instructor whispered, now you are going to do a shoulder stand. Stretch your legs to the heavens, then gently extend them sideways and take deep breaths.

I lay there twisted into an unrecognisable human tower. The blood rushed to my brain before I could say Dal Makhani. I. Felt. Empowered.

So I decided to master the wonderful world of the blogosphere. I finally worked out how to read all my favourite blogs in one go. This site is now complete with a super recipe index and snazzy food conversion calculators (in the toolbar) thanks to my blog and children’s storytelling supremo Hugh. And then, I found this fantastic resource, Foodari, that allows you to create your own cookbook online.

Feeling rather smug over the weekend, I made a fresh, healthy and blindingly simple Paneer Bhujia or Paneer crumble. Then, tried chappati making with renewed gusto. And finally, plate heaped with brunch, found my inner peace in front of the telly.

PS = It would come as no surprise to learn that I NEVER make my own paneer or Indian cheese. Store bought is fine. I wouldn’t know the difference anyway.

Feeds 2:

• 250 gm Paneer or Indian cheese
• 2 small tomatoes
• 1 small onion
• Quarter tsp turmeric powder
• Half tsp chilli powder
• 1 tsp whole cumin
• 1 large bay leaf
• 4-5 sprigs of fresh coriander
• 2 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

Chop the onion, tomatoes and paneer into little pieces.

In a small saucepan, heat the oil over a high flame. When it is hot, add the cumin seeds and bay leaf. As they sizzle up, stir in the onions and tomatoes

Fry, stirring well for about five minutes. By this time the onions will be limp and the tomatoes disintegrated. Now mix in the turmeric and chilli powders and fry for another two minutes until the raw smell of the spices go.

Finally, stir in the paneer and mix thoroughly smashing it up with your spoon as you do to get a crumbly mixture. Add salt to taste, fresh coriander and eat hot while the paneer is soft and full of flavour.

Sunday, I am told, is car boot sales day in the countryside. When one person’s clutter turns into another person’s treasure. No harm in getting stuck in for some new kitchen goodies, I thought.

Half an hour of sifting through dusty rubbish later, I came across a sweet square dish and inquired about its price.

“10p”, said the seller.

Not used to penny bargains, I blurted out: “Are you sure?”

To which he replied incredulously: “You want to pay more for that?”

I scurried off with the bowl and wondered what I would fill it with later. A morning at the car boot sale followed by a two-hour journey home meant no time to go food shopping. I would have to discover an old treasure in my crowded freezer.

Masala Mattar – sweet and spicy sauteed green peas – came to mind. Made with a bag of fresh frozen peas, this was the perfect side for our rump steak and sauteed potato dinner. Equally delicious with an Indian meal too.

Feeds 2:

• 250gm fresh frozen green peas
• 1 tsp whole cumin
• Half inch fresh ginger
• Pinch asafoetida
• Quarter tsp chilli powder
• 2 whole green chillies
• 1 tsp sunflower oil
• Salt to taste

Heat the oil in a frying pan and grate the ginger. When the oil is sizzling hot add the asafoetida, the whole cumin and the grated ginger.

Fry for about a minute until the ginger goes pale brown. Then stir in the frozen peas with the green chillies, red chilli powder and salt. Stir for two to three minutes until the peas are cooked and the water in the pan has evaporated.

Serve hot or cold as a side dish.

How appropriate, then, that I get tagged by Gori Girl for my six unspectacular quirks! Despite being somewhat quirky generally, I figured mine had to be Indian cooking-related here for obvious reasons. So here goes:

1. The only shortcut I will not use is ready made ginger and garlic paste. It tastes of nothing. Frankly, if you can’t peel and mince the real thing you might as well order a pizza.
2. I never make desert for dinner parties. After all that effort on the main savoury dishes, it somehow falls behind the agenda. Besides, what’s wrong with ice cream?
3. My stomach can’t handle chillies. Shocking and inexcusable. But goes to show that you can cook and eat Indian food without setting your insides alight.
4. My large kitchen has only two store cupboards. So I only buy a new spice variety when I run out of another one.
5. I don’t deep fry at home. My conscience and clothing will not allow it.
6. There is more frozen food in my fridge than fresh. I cook a lot, a few times a week and freeze everything apart from potatoes and rice to keep us going.

I tag the lovely Maninas, Elisabeth, Asha, Sandeepa, Smita and Nandita.

The rules are as follows:

1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules in your blog.
3. Tell us about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

PS = Hubby is making a speedy recovery and hopes to return to Indian food photography early next week.