Quick Indian Cooking

I overslept on Sunday. Dashed to the shops to buy some kitchen cupboard essentials. Offloaded the whole lot in my kitchen. Grabbed my laptop and legged it to Geeks R US (with a small detour to research my Spring wardrobe).Back at home, I changed into pyjamas, lined the kitchen surface and took the plunge.I made naan.Yes. The stores sell perfectly, half decent ones. They do take longer to make that my one hour cap on Indian cooking. And kneading dough is my one of my least favourite activities, narrowly trailing behind eating Indian takeaways.But I could just never get the thought of those soft, fluffy flatbreads rising gently in the oven out of my head.(This Indian cooking thing is getting seriously out of hand.)Rammed full of all possible shortcuts, I got the time needed to get these babies finished down to three hours. Of course, two and half of those you don’t actually have to do anything. Except take loving looks at the dough. And gloat about your own genius.The dough really is the sticky part. First it clung to my powder pink painted finger nails like Elasto Girl. I got it off with a butter knife and plain white (all purpose) flour.Then the whole lot doubled into this enormous, heaving pile of naan dough that no amount of finger nail action could rescue. So I rolled them in some more plain white flour. The whole lot contracted. Making the early addition of yeast fairly pointless. At which point I stormed out of my kitchen swearing like a Bengali fishwife.If I am perfectly honest, this recipe was not bad for a first try. However, it is in no way ready to be sprung upon you greasy-elbowed lovelies.Thankfully, I am not ready to accept defeat yet. A blow by blow account of try 2 will follow. Hopefully, with a recipe in tow.In the meantime, cherish your nearest readymade naan. And remember: naan means bread. So saying “naan bread” is inexcusable. However sticky the situation…

I got used to being offered enlargements for body parts I didn’t possess. Or pills for body dysfunctions I biologically couldn’t have.

But this weekend, some scheming geeks inserted all sorts of unholy, adult website links into my innocent little blog!

An apology is in order if you spotted something odd in your brown basmati pulao in the last few days.

I should also apologise if you quite enjoyed the now deleted links.

Sadly, the only position this blog promotes is the quickie in the kitchen…

The office Christmas party for staff and spouses was a roaring success. Secret santa gave my colleague a candy whip, my boss a book on how to be nice.

I got two bottles of greasy, glutinous tikka masala curry paste. Which my husband promptly appropriated declaring he hadn’t eaten decent curry for years.

Har har.

So I despise the rubbish passed off as curry around the world. And my ultimate goal is to get people cooking real Indian food, quickly and simply. Technically, this means I may have to suffer the odd crap joke or two, right?

Forget it, I tracked down and decked my Secret Santa.

It’s now time to cook real Indian food for the greater good of mankind. Spread the love, feed the world with Menu for Hope, the annual fund raising event from food bloggers everywhere for the UN World Food Program.

It’s a simple idea. Food bloggers like me offer delicious prizes, which our readers can then buy raffle tickets to win.

Up for grabs here is the only Indian cookbook you’ll ever need – the National Indian Association of Women Cookbook:

A seminal tome, this little wonder has been passed down the generations to many a hapless bride, emigrating student and clueless bachelor. It has the most popular classic Indian dishes from around the country, contributed by the women who know them well – aunties, mummyjis, and even the Oberoi Group of Hotels. If you have ever wondered how to cook a real Pork Vindaloo, this book is for you. It is only sold in India, so I will source a special copy for a very lucky person.

This is what first got me cooking Indian food, and I haven’t stopped since!

All you have to do is visit The Passionate Cook, to view the prizes available. Then follow these simple instructions:

1. Go to the donation site at http://www.firstgiving.com/menuforhope4 and make a donation
2. Please specify which prize you’d like in the ‘Personal Message’ section in the donation form when confirming your donation. You must write-in how many tickets per prize, and please use the prize code
3. Each $10 you donate will give you one raffle ticket toward a prize of your choice. For example, a donation of $50 can be 2 tickets for EU01 and 3 tickets for EU02. Please write 2xEU01, 3xEU02
4. If your company matches your charity donation, please check the box and fill in the information so we could claim the corporate match.
5. Please check the box to allow us to see your email address so that we could contact you in case you win. Your email address will not be shared with anyone
6. Check back on Chez Pim on Wednesday January 9 for the results of the raffle

Go on… tikka look at it now…

It’s Diwali or Deepavali. The biggest event in the Hindu calendar. Festival of light, also noise, and celebration of good over evil.

Back in India, I spent it mostly hiding under my bed with our German Shepherd. The fireworks petrified the both of us.

The allure of the cash my father distributed after the Ganesh and Lakshmi Puja brought me out briefly. As did the food, of course. Light, swollen pooris or fried flatbreads. Ghee soaked halwa. Sookha kala channa or sauteed little dark chick peas.

You can see why it would have been hard to resist. Even under the circumstances.

This year, for the first time, I got my act together in time to get a group of friends over for dinner. We’re playing cards, eating traditional vegetarian food and setting off some garden fireworks in our unkept communal garden.

But it’s not, I’m afraid, well planned enough to feature the halwa barfi, kala channa and aloo kadhi I have cooked as part of dinner tonight yet.

Recipes to follow. Enjoy Diwali everyone.