Quick Indian Cooking

I went around the supermarket with a serious mission. This was Italian countryside. I was as far away from an Indian spice shop as an Eskimo in the Sahara desert.

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.

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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