Quick Indian Cooking

Bother.

I can’t write about aloo gobi and chicken curry while the global financial system implodes around me! I feel like those musicians who played while the Titanic sank.

The US Treasury rescue plan has been a particular bee in my bonnet. Free capitalism crumbles. Then the ordinary people have to pay the price.

Meanwhile, Hank Paulson makes the insightful comment of “We need a plan that works” (Financial Times, 30th September). No surprise there, from a fat cat former global bank CEO.

Not that we ordinary mortals would be better off either way. The rot in this system is only just beginning to bare it’s ugly teeth. The greedy scumbags who got us into this mess will sun their pot bellies in far flung destinations. While we pay for in the cost of aubergines and potatoes tomorrow, what we’re reading about in the papers today.

I’m making hay while the sun shines. Buying exotic, expensive vegetables from supermarket shelves before I’m forced to grow my own in my balcony pots. And then turning them into rich and warming feasts for wintry evenings. Like this Dhansak, a vegetarian pumpkin and aubergine filled version of the truly authentic Parsi sweet and spicy Lamb Dhansak.

If everything falls apart, I’ll trade my despair in for a bowl of Dhansak.
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It’s been two months since I had my last holiday. That’s 1.5 months too long for me.

We’re off to Tuscany. To a villa with a pool. With seven friends. The plans sounded pretty relaxing until the words “professional” and “cook” got mentioned in an email trail. About me.

I went into panic mode. The expectations were high. What would I do without a cupboard bursting with spices? No kitchen gadgets? Or easy telephone access to mother?

I sat in my friend’s bed. Contemplating my social fate over a glass of Bourgogne and her Saag Chicken, Aloo Gobi and fried Bhindi.

Then I tried her sublime Dal – soft and smooth, buttery red lentils. Amazingly, she’d cooked it using only asafoetida, chilli and turmeric powder in it. The simplest and most delicious Dal yet!

I am feeling inspired about creating a Indian feast with the most minimal of ingredients in Tuscany. I’ll take a few spices to be on the safe side but try and source as many ingredients locally as possible.

Wish me luck. I’ll need it to keep hold of those friends.
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Summer arrived. So did my Greenfingers Day when I take an annual stab at gardening.

Dressed in my grungiest outfit, I made it to a plant nursery with hubby in tow.

I wasn’t fooling anyone. Three cries of “look honey, basil/coriander/jasmine” later, a kindly salesperson walked over with a thinly-veiled smiled and asked how he could help.

We wanted a creeper. Preferably something that grew bushy and tall. Without regular watering, sunlight or attention.

Or soil for that matter. We were talking about a three square feet, moss-ridden balcony here.

Finally we settled for a medium hedge. I brought it back and shoved it into a planter aided by a cheese slicer, kitchen scissors and amused neighbours.

Greenfingers Day, thankfully, is an annual event in my home. But I hope summer is here to stay.

With the first warm days, raw mangoes have made it to my Indian grocer cum spice shop. I made a light, sweet and sour dal made with them called Tauk Dal. The dal-making technique here involves boiling the lentils in lots of water in one go to get a watery, light texture.

Enjoy this with Basmati rice and a cool glass of Rose Blush. Preferably while gazing out of the kitchen at your new, bushy hedge.

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The weekend finally arrived. As if by magic, so did a cold. Mother suggested honey and lemon, a good book and Bryonia 30.

I popped paracetamol, drank red wine and danced furiously to electro Tango. It was Friday night.

The limp home was just the beginning. By next morning, my nostrils flared to the size of accordians. The only sensation I had left was the buzzing in my ears from oversized speakers.

I needed a rescue operation that would charge through me, bringing a sense of purpose back to where the five senses one used to be.

I chose Rasam. This potent, spicy and sour soup is of South Indian origin but drunk widely across the country. People swear by its ability to cure even the most dastardly colds, by setting the taste buds alight.

The most basic Rasam is the one that uses just tamarind water. I opted for a more wholesome Tomato Rasam, the kind I drank in “South Indian” restaurants back home.

I felt better the minute the 10 dry whole red chillies started roasting expelling a sharp, pungent kick into the kitchen. By the time I got to the Rasam, I could actually taste and smell it! Thankfully, there’s enough powder left over for tonight’s hit.

If things go to plan, I’ll be fully recovered for this Friday’s festivities.
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