Quick Indian Cooking

We were eating spicy spare ribs and Vietnamese noodle salad. At a BBQ. In pouring rain. The conversation went from the dire summer weather and China’s human rights record to how early is early to eat 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…

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The champagne went in the fridge. The quality lamb was acquired. The stage was set for the mid-week girly dinner. Now I needed a recipe to really wow the girls on a Wednesday night.

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.
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Did I mention I was going to Morocco?

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.

Five consecutive late evenings and I needed to relocate my Karmic centre.

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.
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