Quick Indian Cooking

There’s always a first time. I bought my first ever five-inch heels to wear at a London Fashion Week last Saturday. Worked out what Twitter was. And announced with great gusto I was off to Shilpa Shetty’s party, which, in fact, was scheduled for the following day.

Our babysitter suggested I had finally lost it.

I also started using a great, big, proper grown up food processor.

Now you may think this is odd. Especially for someone who cooks and writes about food. The truth is I have been joined at the hip with my trusted hand held food processor for eons. It’s dinky, safe and and finger proof. What’s not to like?

Then my man bought me a monstrous Magimix for returning to work after maternity leave. I became desperate for one. If it’s good enough for the great and the good of the celebrity chef world, it’s good enough for me.

Except, it scared me witless for the first few months. The fittings looked like weapons of mass destruction. The base weighed a ton. The manual didn’t appeal in its cling film packaging. Then I decided to improvise, stuck the small blade into the large bowl, and wondered why the damn thing was more noise less action.

I have to say, three months of playing with the thing later, I can’t live without it. I’ve been slicing onions, shredding carrots, mixing stuffing/croquettes and cooking this addictive, fresh, green Dhaniya Palak Pulao (check out this Pudina Dhaniya Chicken too).

My nails are still intact! Now for that dishwasher, double oven, triple cooker, kitchen island and Global knife set…
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My annual Greenfinger’s Day came and went this year. Planting pots and pruning hedges hardly feature in my top ten things to get flustered about these days.

One sunny morning, I opened our balcony door to let the first seasonal rays of sunshine in. A breath of fresh air. A joy in my step. A view of dead leaves.

Lovely.

My father-in-law took pity on me and decided to lead the charge on the gardening project. I extracted my fluorescent gardening gloves and scissors in preparation.

“Those are kitchen scissors.”

Yes, I know dad.

“When did you last water these plants”

Two weeks ago.

“You know plants need water to survive?”

That’s only a small technical oversight!

We spent the evening clearing up, replanting courgette and tomato plants my sister-in-law had ambitiously donated to me. Dad did, that is. I made every excuse to leap back into the flat: dinner, baby, strange itch in my little finger.

One week of watering later, I have two courgette flowers and a thriving collection of flowers (identity unknown). I won’t swamp you with courgette curries yet, but here’s a winter to summer Gobi Mattar or cauliflower and pea stir fry to celebrate seasonal changes.
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Life has been overtaken by events recently. Work is finally over, 10 days before D-day.

I got a proper send off with Chanel skin goodies and a bang-on-trend silver cuff bracelet. These girls are after my own heart.

In the meantime, mother arrived.  Armed with new recipes, a suitcase of dubious home cures for indigestion and acne and a life time’s supply of dry roasted whole cumin.

I’ve delegated all manner of housework to her and seized my opportunity to accomplish a flurry of last minute activities. A vegan feature for the next issue of Cook Vegetarian magazine. A stream of beauty treatments, acupuncture massages and a promising performance involving gin-soaked puppets.

If I’m going down, I’m going down in style.

Sadly, this blog and blogging have had to take a back seat for a bit. I can’t promise how regular I’ll be in the next few weeks. But in the immortal words of The Terminator – “I’ll be back”.

Meanwhile, here’s a very simple Mixed Bean Palya, stir fried pulses with coconut, from the collection of recipes I contributed to the mag.
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I was having a fairly uneventful week. When this gem appeared on the evening news.

Turns out a passenger aboard a Virgin Mumbai to London flight wrote an impassioned complaint to Sir Richard Branson himself about the Indian food he was served.

The excruciatingly hilarious letter went global in no time. Prompting the maverick entrepreneur to personally apologise and invite the disgruntled one to test food at Virgin’s catering house.

Can I come along too?

For years, I have suffered partly-heated yellow gloop parading as curry on flights back to London from India. The desserts taste worryingly like their plastic packaging. Salads are either freezing cold or brown edged. The dry bread roll devoured with lime pickle would easily qualify as the highlight of the mile-high culinary experience.

No wonder families resort to clicking open tupperware tiffin boxes of parathas and dry palyas and sabzis. Give them cutlery and dinnerware while they’re at it, I say!

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Now we have a vocal champion for our cause. Who didn’t stomach the insult sitting down. May this be a lesson to other airlines. In an age of internet connectivity, food awareness and high consumerism, even the smallest gripes could become a stick to beat your brand with.

Digest this with my bitter sweet offering of Gajar Methi, a North Indian winter favourite of sauteed carrots and fresh fenugreek leaves.
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