Quick Indian Cooking

My body has regained its size small splendour. Remarkable what a combination of forced sleep deprivation and skipped meals can achieve…

Then an invite arrived for the launch of Iron Maiden’s new boutique hotel in Soho. Champagne? Canapes? Paparazzi? Hallelujiah! Finally, a reason to resurrect the glamour stakes to their original high standards.

I slipped off to the hairdresser. A lovely Spanish gal, who can talk for England. Darling, I said, I have two hours; make me beautiful again.

She set to work with gusto. Clicked her tongue at the disgrace that used to be my lustrous locks. Sat me under an over-sized chrome dryer. Handed over the month’s latest fashion and gossip magazines and said: “You have 40 minutes”.

40 minutes? Forget getting my hair done. I could have slept!

I spent the time bringing myself up to date with the season’s latest fashion trends. Safari. 80s body con. Bright colours. Do they make playsuits for babies?

I came home fabulous, wore a shower cap and cooked Paneer Capsicum, a light and breezy Indian cheese and bell pepper sir fry.

Life is slowly returning back to normal. Or some version of it at least. Just in time for summer.
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I showed up at the exposed brick, loft-style bar looking like a green goblin in what was once a trendy balloon top. The day had been spent trialling a new chilli chocolate cake recipe. The result didn’t look like it would cause bodily harm.

I am improving every week.

As I handed it over to the manager with instructions about when to bring it out for the birthday girl, she dropped the bombshell. The bar has a cakeage charge of £1.50 per person.

Or I could buy their birthday cake at the bargain basement price of £45 for 6 portions.

I tried every trick imaginable:

• That’s more than what it cost me to bake the damn thing.
• But the cake isn’t worth the charge!

And finally, when my long face wouldn’t melt their cold hearts. I pulled the ace card: I spent all day baking that over eight months pregnant.

Cakeage cancelled. Job done.

Shame I have only three weeks more of this fantastic opportunity. Like me, my social life is now slowly grinding to a halt. London Fashion Week – decline. Award-winning theatre – pass. All replaced by cosy nights in with friends and wholesome one-pot meals.

Like this Lamb Pulao. The biggest difference between a pulao and biryani is complexity. So I cooked the dish quickly like a pulao but with a number of biryani-style spices for added oomph.  It was just what a friend and I needed with a glass of quality red vino on a Wednesday night.

PS= This took a good 1.5 hours to make. But I ate it for three meals so it was highly time-effective

PPS= You could use a pressure cooker to stew the lamb. One whistle and then 10 minutes. Then lid off to dry up the curry
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Another friend is getting married. We girls decided to send her off in style.

I booked a gorgeous Lebanese restaurant. Arabian Nights meets upmarket eaterie, this place promised superb food, glamorous environment and belly dancing in one weekday evening.

We slipped into high heels post work and wafted down the rose-scented, mosaic staircase. Took our low seats and went straight for the olives. Staring at the beautifully-laid table, there seemed only one place for the pips to go.

I emptied them into a little ceramic bowl filled with white and brown paper egging my friends on to follow suit. Chewing gum and tomato tips went in. Then the waiter arrived to inform us that we were using the salt and pepper bowl as an ashtray.

As I crawled home from overeating at the end of the evening, I wondered how I was going to balance the excesses of the night with a suitable Indian recipe.

I remembered mother’s mixed bean salad recipe – a delicious, spiced summery treat. Toss it up, eat it with the fish fillets and recover from your embarrassing moments.

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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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