In my experience, Indians don’t talk about death much. I’m quite happy to follow this fine example.

But now, I was sitting across a rather morbid will-writing consultant (or something). In between bites of my stone-baked, Capricciosa pizza I was being force fed likely future events.

“Do you have any possessions of real value you want to present to anyone?”

Gulp. My pots and pans?

“Real value.”

My shoes?

We finally settled on the only piece of pricey jewellery I possess. With that, I ran off to work leaving the husband to answer the last call.

To think I’d even momentarily considered parting with my pots and pans! I put them to use straightaway with Bhuna Gosht, and served it with my new found recipe for perfect naan - an Earthly reminder why life is worth living.

Feeds 4:

• 750 gm lamb shoulder, diced and bones included
• 2 medium onions, sliced fine
• 2 tsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 1 tsp garam masala
• 4 fat cloves garlic, minced or pureed
• 1 inch ginger, minced or pureed
• 4 tbsp vegetable oil
• Salt to taste

In a large pot, heat the oil over a high flame. When it starts sizzling, throw in the onions and fry for five minutes until they turn soft and pale golden in colour.

Now add in the ginger and garlic and fry for about two minutes until they turn a golden colour too.

Then mix in the lamb and all the spices, apart from the garam masala. Mix the ingredients well together until the meat is sealed and brown all over.

Now add in just enough water to come half way up the sides of the meat, cover and cook on a medium flame. You need to keep stirring from time to time and add hot water only when the curry in the pot dries up.

This is what bhuna means - to stir until the masalas caramelise and the meat cooks. This whole process will take 45 minutes to an hour depending on the quality of the lamb.

When the curry is thick and dry, and the lambs falls apart easily when cut with a fork, mix in the coriander, salt and serve.

Reminiscent of a second-class, three-tier train journey through India, I thought. Where cries of “Chai, Chai, Chai Garam”, literally tea, tea, tea hot start, at the crack of dawn.

Still, the £10-a-ticket paying customers did have their standards. “It’s bloody outrageous to have advertising on the flight!” he barked at the air hostess.

I wondered who he thought should pick up the actual cost of his ticket. I tried another tack.Your passengers aren’t actually deaf. This was promptly followed by a booming advert for prize draw tickets.

Fresh from the glow of winning a competition by one of my favourite bloggers, I was on fire. Clearly it was time for me to raise the stakes on my naan-making abilities before I fell for any hare-brained, money making schemes.

So back from my gorgeous break in Venice and north Italy, I made a quick phone call to mother, her aunty, and rolled up my sleeves. Guess what? They came out perfect and used ONLY THREE main ingredients and no yeast!

Look like I have the winning ticket for pretty perfect naan.

NOTE: For all of you whose patience I have tested with endless holidays, I am now penniless and thus unable to take any more hiatus until late 2008.

Makes 4:

• 350 gm self-raising flour
• 200 ml soda water
• Half tsp Nigella (black onion) seeds
• 1 tsp sunflower oil
• Butter to serve
• 1 tsp salt

Heat the soda water in the microwave for a minute. Sift the flour into a large mixing bowl with a fine sieve. Add to it the salt and nigella seeds.

Then pour half the soda in and crumble the dough mixture. Slowly add in the rest of the soda water in and mix it into the flour with your hands.

When the soda is evenly incorporated into the flour, start punching it with your knuckles over and over again in a rolling motion.

If the dough feels sticky to the touch, you could add a teaspoon of flour to it. Ultimately, you will get a pliable dough and that spings back when you touch it.

Of course you could just do all of this with a dough hook.

Now, transfer it to a bowl greased with the oil. Cover it with a clean, wet cloth and leave to sit somewhere warm. If it’s cold, you could just stick it in the oven turned to its lowest setting.

After an hour, take the dough out and punch it well for two minutes. Then stick it back in the bowl under damp cloth.

Another hour later, preheat the oven to 230 degrees centigrade. When it’s hot, line a baking sheet with kitchen foil. Roll the dough with your hands into a long, thick sausage. Break it into four equal parts. Fashion each part into a quarter inch thick tear shape and place on the sheet.

Bake for about eight minutes. Then rub the golden brown top with butter until it melts all over and serve hot.

If making more, you could add the butter and leave to sit wrapped with a clean cloth or some kitchen foil. Serve hot and freeze some for later like I did.

• 3 garlic cloves
• 1 tsp cumin
• 2 tsp coarsely ground black pepper
• 4 cups of water
• Juice extracted from 1 inch diameter of fresh tamarind or Half a tbsp of the ready tamarind paste

Tadka:

• Half tsp mustard seeds
• Half tsp cumin seeds
• 1 whole dry red chilli
• 1 sprig curry leaves
• 1 tsp sunflower oil

Bring the water to boil in a large pot. Smash the garlic, whole cumin and ground pepper up in a pestle and mortar. When the water starts boiling, mix in this paste and the tamarind extract. Lower the flame and simmer for 10 minutes. When the time is almost up, heat the oil in a small pot and sizzle the tadka ingredients for a few seconds until they turn a darker shade. Finally mix the tadka into the soup and add salt to taste. Drink this piping hot in a large mug and let it work it magic.

Now, this is a tragedy of epic proportions. There is only one thing I do better than Indian cooking.

Talking.

I sat at my desk, in silence. Simmering gently. With only grunts and sign language to communicate. One grunt, yes. Two grunts, no. Two fingers, leave me in peace.

Clients and colleagues heaped sympathy on me. The husband rushed to the pub to celebrate. I stared at 12 bullet points in despair. Only a simple Indian meal would now lift my spirits off the ditch outside the office.

It had to be chicken curry and rice. Even on a vocally agreeable day, chicken curry is pure genius in a large pot. It takes about 45 minutes to make, even quicker in my pressure cooker. I can make a massive amount of it with little extra effort. And any extras can be frozen for use during a later meal.

Ticks all my boxes for busy bee Indian cooking.

This wonderful, basic chicken curry recipe is from the Basu Kolkata kitchen and can be tweaked for variety with the addition of whole garam masala in the hot oil or some plain yogurt with the tomatoes.

There’s only one way to voice my satisfaction at the end of this meal. Grunt.

Feeds 2 (two times):

• 8 chicken thighs and drumsticks (about 750 gms)
• 3 medium tomatoes
• 2 large onions
• 4 fat cloves garlic
• 1 inch ginger
• 1 tsp chilli powder
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 1.5 tsp cumin powder
• 1.5 tsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp garam masala
• Handful of fresh coriander
• 2 tbsp sunflower oil
• Salt to taste

Skin the chicken, roughly chop the onions and tomatoes, and finely dice the ginger and garlic. Heat a large, non-stick pan with the oil over a high flame. You could also use a pressure cooker.

When the oil is sizzling hot, add in the onions and fry for five minutes until pale gold and soft. Then throw in your ginger and garlic and keep frying for another five minutes until the whole lot is a darker shade of gold. If at any point the masalas start sticking to the bottom of the pan, just add a little water and scrape off.

Now mix in all the powders except garam masala, and the tomatoes. Keep frying this on a high heat for another five minutes until the tomatoes disintegrate and the pungent smell of the spices calms down to a softer fragrance.

Then, throw in your chicken, and stir like a maniac until it is white and coated with the masalas all over. Next, add just about enough hot water to submerge the chicken pieces, cover and cook on a high flame for 20 minutes until the chicken is cooked through. Just make sure you stir the chicken every five minutes or so.

If you use a pressure cooker, as I did, this takes about 6-7 minutes after the first whistle. But you won’t get a deep, red colour like the chicken curry in my new video.

Finally, stir in the garam masala, salt and a handful of fresh coriander. Serve with plain, steamed Basmati and a spicy pickle of your choice.

Me, yesterday: “I might cook potatoes for dinner tonight.”

Him: “I hate potatoes.”

Splutter. Choke. Since when?

Me: “But you’re Peruvian! You grew up with 3000 potatoes!”

Time runs out. I dash to work.

Resigned to give in to his whimsical ways I stocked up on starchy spud at lunchtime. With my colleagues. At the local. Three bowls of thick cut fried chips. Washed down with two glasses of vino.

But it wasn’t enough. I decided to ignore the morning’s half-witted conversation and find a way to sneak potatoes into our “continental” dinner.

Inspired by the sheer gorgeousness of these lamb chops, I made my own. Steamed some mange tout. And piled a large serving spoon full of a traditional Bengali potato mash - spiced with mustard oil, green chillies and onions - on the side.

Called Aloo Makha, this dish was traditionally served by mother during summer to cool down stomachs. Perfect to calm fiery tempers too methinks. Feeds 2:

• 2 large white potatoes
• 2 tbsp mustard oil
• 2 green finger chillies
• 1 small onion
• Salt to taste

Peel, quarter and boil the potatoes. I cooked them in the microwave, with a few tablespoons of water, for 10 minutes. When they are done, drain them.

While they cool down slightly, chop up the onion and the green chillies. Don’t be a wus - use them pips and all.

Finally, mix the ingredients with the potatoes and mash the whole lot together well. Also delicious with a simple dal and rice combo.

PS = This is my entry to Supriya’s Ode to Potato event. How appropriate!

A flight crash landed in Heathrow.

A woman started her bid for the US Presidential elections.

I turned 30.

And I lost a wonderful colleague to Australia. (Constant sunshine vs. The London Underground. A tough call!)

Just as I was getting back into the swing of things at work something caught the corner of my eye.

Splashed across the flat screen TV, on BBC World Service, were the words that sent a chilli down my spine.

CURRY CRISIS

Turns out the Basmati rice shortage that was rippling through the globe has deepened, worsened. Basmati rice is running out. Oh yes. restaurant owners the world over are scratching their heads about their “peas pulaos”.

And this could spell disaster for our regular rice supplies! Life minus perfectly fluffy rice, jeera rice would equal to a very sad place indeed.

One word comes to mind.

Stockpile.

And when you do - this hara bhara pulao might come in handy. Fresh green pepper, spring onions and healthy wholesome brown rice will make sure you’re ready to beat any crisis!

This recipe feeds 4:
Half pint glass of brown Basmati rice, washed thoroughly

• 1 large green pepper (capsicum)
• 3 spring onions
• 1 tsp mustard seeds
• 1 tbsp sunflower oil
• Salt to taste

Chop the spring onions and green pepper into tiny pieces. Don’t worry about it looking good!

In a large pot bring the oil to heat over a high flame. When the oil is hot, throw in the mustard seeds and as they sizzle up, mix in the spring onions and green pepper.

Then fry the whole lot for about two minutes until you see the greens turning translucent. Now stir in the rice and fry for another two minutes until the rice turns sparkling white.

At this stage, mix in some salt.

Next, add a whole pint and a half of hot water and bring to a boil. Then lower to a medium flame, cover and cook until the rice is soft and squidgy between your fingers.

Don’t worry if the rice sticks to the bottom of the pot. We call this “kur kerey” at home and often fight over it! These burnt bits have a lovely, rich and smoky flavour.

Serve it with anything you like! I love a bit of masala fish or chicken on the side.

Preparations began six weeks ago in earnest. By dear mother, that is.

First, she aired our room. A tribute to the eighties, complete with my trophies for winning egg and spoon races and coming last in a beauty contest. Then she road tested Biryani chefs oblivious to the global Basmati rice crisis.

I, for my part, have a filled a suitcase with thoughtful presents, too many clothes, and twelve pairs of handbags and shoes. (You never know who you’ll meet British Airways)

Of course, my holidays are only partly about lounging around. There are Bollywood dance moves to get right for my cousin’s five-day wedding extravaganza, the World Spice Congress to attend and a 100 aunties to keep content all in the space of the few weeks.

On the plus side - there will be Indian food. LOTS of it. Which I will then proceed to cook with every shortcut possible for myself and this blog.

So please bear with me. Have a BRILLIANT New Year. And treasure your Basmati rice supply.

PS = Pictured is Asha’s coconut rice. It is superb. I have cooked it for my boss and on Christmas Eve for all the family. I am still employed and my family love me more than ever. Need I say more?

The first was all festive glitter, mulled wine and the most amazing macaroons at a chi chi Christmas lights on party for this London shopping arcade.

The second saw me travel cattle class to the depths of North England for work.

The 3-hour train journey I can handle. Being rudely awoken by drunk girls while I’m asleep on six-inch, deep filled mattress in a boutique hotel I can deal with. But failing to find something decent for lunch in a 60s-style shopping parade is where I give up.

Convinced the only decent thing to do would be to get with the programme, my colleague dragged me off to a local chippie. Which evidently sustained the town’s entire school going population and had a lucrative sideline in Chinese specialties.

Fancy a deep fried sausage with Singapore noodles?

Me neither.

The stress of it made me crave curry. Anything with a hint of masala would do. I bought a chicken tikka wrap. Slices of pre-cooked chicken smothered in a ready made curry sauce and doused with raw onions. But I couldn’t stomach it.

I’m not usually the tiffin box type but I wish I’d brought along kala channa, little black chick peas with an spicy masala coating. Low fat, high in protein and fibre, these are the just the thing for snacking, alongside a full Indian meal or when hopes are fading fast.

A handful of this stuff on a bed of simple salad would have considerably lifted my spirits last week. Thankfully, I soon found a cafe that sold green tea and home made cake.

Not quite the masala hit I was hoping for but this I could live with…

This recipe serves 4:

250 gm little black chick peas

1 tsp minced ginger

1 tsp cumin

Half tsp ajwain seeds

Half tsp chilli powder

1 tbsp sunflower oil

Salt to taste

Soak the chick peas overnight or at least four hours in a large pan of cold water until they double up in size. Drain, refill with cold water and then boil on a high heat for 20 minutes until you can squish them really easily with your thumb and index finger. When it’s ready, drain and set aside.

In another large pan, bring the oil to heat over a high flame. When it is hot, add in order the ginger, cumin seeds, ajwain seeds, chilli powder. Stir for a minute so that the ginger starts turning golden yellow.

Now add the drained chickpeas, the salt and fry stirring vigorously on the high heat for about five minutes until the masala evenly coats them.

Eat hot with your meal, or cold straight out the fridge as a healthy snack. Or take in a tiffin box where food may not meet your exacting standards.

PS = This is quick Indian cooking on the basis that you can eat it for days in many guises. But if you know where I can buy ready soaked, cooked little chick peas, please please let me know. You know how much I LOVE soaking and boiling…

In a bold move likely to transform her life altogether, she has decided to ditch her favoured cabbage soup and salad diet in favour of quick Indian cooking.

When she asked if I might teach her some easy recipes, I nearly choked and passed out. I managed a weak “of course” masking my excitement and unbelievable luck.

(A real-life, live-in case study - there is a GOD)

Sadly, it’s not going to be as easy as I first thought. She has already sliced her thumb, hurt her shoulder and virtually died at the sight of one tablespoon of oil. And I’m only just getting started!!

I’ve decided to “slowly, slowly catchy monkey”. I cooked the masala fish and jeera aloo in front of her and then a very simple spinach bhaji.

Wish me luck! And here’s the spinach bhaji for the beginning of your own kitchen adventure.

This recipe serves 2:

150gm frozen spinach

1 tsp mustard seeds

10 curry leaves

1 tsp lemon juice

1 dry whole red chilli

1 tbsp sunflower oil

Salt to taste

In a small frying pan, bring the oil to heat on a high flame.

When it’s hot, throw in the mustard seeds, red chilli and curry leaves to make a tarka. When they start sizzling and releasing their heady aromas, take the frying pan off the fire.

Put the spinach and the tarka in a microwaveable bowl. Add some salt to taste, cover and microwave on high for four minutes until the spinach is drefosted.

Take the bowl out of the microwave carefully and mix the spinach into the tarka. Then put it back in the microwave and heat for another minute until piping hot.

To finish, stir in the lemon juice and enjoy as a side dish to your meal.

Like nicking her neighbour’s fresh herbs and passing them off as her own. And giving her 28-year-old nephew a rather risque playboy bunny costume for his birthday.

A befitting senior member of a family of nutters.

Madge was furious with us for showing up seven hours late to her country home on Saturday.

Quickly realising we were not going to join her for lunch she abandoned her attempts to cook it midway, waiting in the garden with a bottle of wine, her man and the cat for company.

By the time we arrived, Maggie was ready to skin her beloved cat (and any of us if we got in the way). And one quick glass of wine later, we were marched off to the local jazz performance at Arundel festival.

On our return, it became quickly evident that Madge’s half made lunch was now going to be dinner. Luckily for me, it was a soft and flavoursome cumin cauliflower potato.

Unluckily for the others, it was just that. The remaining £145-worth of food shopping had been stashed away for a colossal barbeque the following day.

As I ate the cumin cauliflower potato with mango pickle for dinner, I was inspired to cook it at home. Only this time, as a side dish to something equally simple for a weekday meal.

So here is a simple jeera aloo or cumin potato - the cat’s whiskers for lovely Madge.

This recipe serves 4:

750 gm raw new potatoes, sliced into 1cm thick discs

2 tsp whole cumin

1 tsp cumin powder

1 tsp coriander powder

Half tsp chilli powder

Quarter tsp asafoetida (hing)

1 whole red chilli

2 tbsp sunflower oil

Salt to taste

Hot water

In a large frying pan, heat the oil over a high flame. When it is hot, add the hing and almost immediately the whole cumin and red chilli.

As they sizzle up add the cumin, coriander and chilli powders. The aroma of the raw spices will fill the air and, as it does, chuck in the raw potatoes.

Stir the potatoes vigorously to mix it well into the masalas. Add salt now to taste, making a lovely rounded masala for the potatoes.

Now add a quarter cup of hot water, cover the pan and let the potatoes cook. Lift the lid off every two to three minutes and give them a good stir ensuring they don’t stick to the bottom of the pan. If the water dries up, add a bit more, repeating this process until you can insert a fork through the bone dry potatoes easily.

Enjoy this as a side dish with just about anything or crack open a box of toothpicks to serve it as a party snack.