Just when life couldn’t get any more exciting, I got the mother of all phone calls. How would I like to be cooking alongside the one and only Madhur Jaffrey for her BIG British TV comeback later this year? Erm, how would I like to win the lottery, stop ageing and sleep uninterrupted for the rest of eternity?

Turns out they were looking for someone who works, has a busy family life and shamelessly reaches for shortcuts to get proper Indian food on the table, quick.

So the first thing I did was call our architect/design agony uncle, Christophe Spiers of Thomas and Spiers. A dab hand at chappati rolling too, he vetoed the keeping-the-spotty-oilcloth idea and gave me orange and yellow as key kitchen accent colours. Next step, an emergency Shellac manicure and hair rescue by the lovely people at Sanrizz.

Whatever was I going to do with the kitchen things still lying in nameless boxes? And where would I hide the children?

I plunged into action on the day. Dropped the kids off to nursery, borrowed serving dishes from our neighbours, got my shower cap on and fired up a big pot of Murgh Mattar Pulao, a one-pot chicken and pea rice, for the kids’ lunch. As Madhurji’s recipe master arrived half an hour before schedule, I made him in charge of the pulao and dashed upstairs to get ready/sedate myself. In the meantime, the crew arrived early followed closely with the legend herself.

She was absolutely lovely. I felt less sick. We shot the first sequence and fed the kids, who’d returned from nursery and were working the cameras. All good so far. Then we took a lunch break. And I quietly offered everyone a bit of chicken pulao. With not enough plates to go around, disposable paper bowls were the order of the day.

And she would love to try the chicken pulao. So I gave Madhur Jaffrey toddler food in a paper bowl. The shame. The horror.

In case I end up on the edit floor, I want it on record that she liked the pulao (particularly expressing suprise at the chilli powder in it). So did the kids and the crew. And I do not serve guests food in disposable tableware normally.

The recipe follows. Send magic dust for the TV debut later, will you? More details to follow.

Feeds 6-8:

• 2 cups raw basmati rice (450gm)
• 5 chicken thigh fillets (475gm)
• 4 medium tomatoes
• 1 tsp whole cumin
• 1 inch cinnamon
• 1 large bay leaf
• 2 black cardamoms
• Half teaspoon chilli powder
• 1 tsp turmeric
• 1 cup frozen peas
• Salt to taste
• 2 tbsp vegetable oil

Chop the chicken into small bite-sized pieces and roughly chop up the tomatoes. In a sieve, wash the rice with cold water until the water runs dry.

In a large pot, bring the oil to heat on high. When it’s hot, drop in the whole spices and as they sizzle up, toss in the chicken pieces. Brown the chicken for a couple of minutes, then mix in the tomatoes and the powdered spices.  Fry for two minutes until the tomatoes start disintegrating.

Next, stir in the rice and seal it in the chicken mixture for a minute. You will see the grains turning less translucent. Finally, mix in 3.5 cups of boiling water. Bring back to boil, then mix in the peas, cover and cook on a gentle simmer for 20 minutes until the water is absorbed and the rice is cooked. Resist the temptation to stir the rice while it’s cooking or you will get mushy rice.

This is lovely served with thick natural yoghurt. My kids almost always eat the chicken and peas first, then make a yoghurty rice mix to spoon messily into their mouths! I follow suit… with some chilli pickle of course.

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Which nicely bring me on to my pet hate of the moment. Sweeping statements with sexist undertones. As a marketing and PR consultant I am guilty of some strange things. But the “mom as mom” marketing strategy, as opposed to the “mom as woman” has me totally baffled. Whatever does it mean?

Apparently, as a “mom as mom”, we like babies, baking and books (parenting ones strictly). While in “mom in woman” mode, you are allowed to be a woman and think about, well, beauty, fashion, going out etc. Since when are we defined by the roles we play, rather than our range of interests?

Can we please relegate this garbage to the dustbin of history, along with these other beauties:

1. Mumpreneur: This is an entrepreneur. It shouldn’t matter that she has children and is trying to fit it around them. All entrepreneurs struggle
2. Political wife: Ever heard of a political husband? No? Me neither. 
3. Stay-at-home mom: As opposed to a going outside mom? Somewhat odd and a huge underestimation of the enormous task
4. Working mother: My personal favourite. Need I even explain why?

What bugs me the most is that none of these terms works when they are turned on their head. Try dadpreneur, stay-at-home dad or even a working dad. Why would any dad not work, we fundamentally assume. And if they don’t they must be one of the latest Scandi-inspired capuccinno dads. Lordie, let this madness not spread the other way…

It’s just as well I cooked recently for my blog guru, a thoroughly modern man. He is an entrepreneur creating downloadable children’s stories,  who looked after his toddler for years. Not quite the zesty, headline grabbing catch phrase we are accustomed to, but accurate nonetheless.

The fiery recipe is none other than Pork Vindaloo. I have cooked it before. But a Goan cookery website with step by step piccies caught my eye. All this recipe takes literally is the whizz of a collection of spices into a masala, a bit of marinating and it just stews away in a saucepan until the pork just falls apart in the mouth. A simple reminder that we can simplify even the most seemingly complicated things, without falling prey to bad habits.

 Feeds 4:

• 1kg pork shoulder (boneless)
• 2 large onions
• 15 dry red chillies
• 6 large garlic cloves
• 1 inch ginger
• 2 tsp whole cumin
• 1.5 tsp turmeric powder
• 1 inch cinnamon stick
• 8 black peppercorns
• 6 cloves
• 150ml white vinegar
• Salto to taste
• 2 tbsp oil

Chop the pork into bite-sized pieces. I tend to buy boneless pork shoulder and cut the fat off with a sharp knife for this. Cheap, but very tender meat.

Then grind together all the ingredients bar the salt, turmeric, oil and onions in a blender to make the vindaloo masala paste. I have two important tips here a) add the turmeric to the pork separately so your blender doesn’t turn bright yellow and b) don’t put anything that has touched the vindaloo paste into your dishwasher unless you want to stain its other inhabitants acid pink.

Next, mix the turmeric and the paste, into the pork. I tend to do this the night before, so the pork can absorb the flavours by the time you’re ready to cook. When you are, chop the onions into little pieces, get the oil to sizzling hot and saute them until golden. Then add the marinated pork, reduce the heat to medium high and cook covered for about an hour. Just make sure you keep stirring from time to time so the masala doesn’t get stuck to the bottom of the pan.

An hour later, lid off, add salt to your taste and serve with piping hot Basmati rice.

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I arrived dressed to the hilt to help the movers with the boxes. It’s all gone downhill since then.

The grey hairs slowly started overtaking the dark ones. My nails began representing tree stubs. And when I thought, it can’t get worse, I reacted to some new age Ayurvedic face wash and broke out into a patch of facial redness.

As the mature, intelligent mother of two I now am, I immediately sought to get rid of it. First by scratching the affliction and then coating it with a tub of concealer. The doctor sealed my fate with a verdict of medicated cream and no makeup for a week.

No make up for a week? This was a new glamour low point. That too just as I was getting ready to present the best-ever-PR-plan and welcome some most glamorous friends for an Indian brunch in the new home. Worryingly still, one part of the afrementioned dynamic duo was suffering the ill effects of a night out with her local mumsgroup. Little did she know I was going to frighten her with a home-grown rendition of the Rocky Horror Show.

Mercifully, the presentation took place in a private, mini cinema complete with dim lighting. For Indian brunch I wore a polka dot apron, a cheerful smile and let the cooking do the impressing.

The central feature was Poha, an airy, soft, lemony pulao made with flattened rice. This has a seriously moreish quality to it, and doubles up as a light lunch or afternoon snack. The trick is to moisten the poha with cold water in a colander first to fluff the grains up, without letting it get too soggy and fall apart when cooking later. I served this with bread pakora and a plate heaped with chocolate and blueberry muffins (cooked lovingly in the fine kitchen of a local supermarket).

The poha was an instant success. Hangovers cleared. Sprits soared. And four hours in a salon later, the glamour levels partly lifted too.
Feeds 4:

• 2 large cups of poha (about 225gm)
• 1 large carrot
• 100gm fresh or frozen peas
• 1 small onion
• 15 curry leaves
• Half tsp mustard seeds
• 1 tsp turmeric powder
• Half tsp chilli powder
• Juice of one and half lemon
• 2 tsp white sugar
• Pinch of asafoetida
• 2 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

Tip the poha flakes into a large colander, soak well with cold water and leave to rest in the kitchen sink. While it’s slowly swelling, peel and chop the carrot and onion into little pieces.

Next, bring the oil to heat in a large pot on high. When it starts bubbling if you touch it with a wooden spoon, tip a pinch of asafoetida into it, then the mustard seeds and curry leaves. As they sizzle up, throw in the turmeric and chilli powder along with the chopped carrot and onion.

Stir this for a minute to seal, then add half a cup of warm water and boil for 10 minutes until the carrots are soft. Mix in the peas at this point. While the vegetables are cooking, mix the sugar into the lemon juice.

Finally, give the poha in the colander a good rinse in the sink and tip into the vegetable mixture. Gently stir the whole lot together to coat the poha with the turmeric, add salt to taste and drizzle the lemon sugar mix on top. Serve piping hot, with a little pickle if you fancy it.

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Hooray! We have moved. I am now the proud part owner of a veritable mansion. So what if I have to survive on £1, plain rice and potatoes for the rest of my life? Of course, that’s if the heating works and I don’t die of hypothermia first.

It’s been a while since we last moved. And two kids in tow certainly upped the ante somewhat. I have learnt three important lessons through this terrifying and traumatic experience: builders are best avoided, trainers do have their uses and housewarming guests can get you dangerously drunk!

Two weeks of 25-cent tours later, the brother-in-law declared that I hadn’t cooked a proper curry yet. The Kheema Pulao I was religiously perfecting clearly didn’t count… so I planned a mini feast for us in my swanky kitchen. I was there, fabulous in the matt grey perfection, wall-to-wall appliances behind me, oversized cooker in front of me, shower cap on top of me, when I realised I had no salt and no sunflower oil.

Some things really don’t change.

I found some salt in a shaker somewhere. But oil? This was terrible! Can’t cook in ghee as it’s too fatty. Sesame seed oil would be plain wrong. And Argan oil just awful. The boys took swipes at the “published cookbook author”, while I reached shakily for the olive oil in the dastardly new pull out larder.

Those of you who know me will know that cooking Indian food with olive oil is one of my biggest no nos. Very hip in some parts. But frankly, too full of flavour, too expensive and too wrong.

Left without an option, I valiantly carried on. And the recipe title gave me hope – Chicken Pasanda, or literally, chicken how you like it. This is a rich and mild curry where the chicken is stewed in its own juices. Perfect for a cosy evening in.

Best of all? The olive oil was hardly noticeable. Like the Big house move, I’m not sure I’d do the Olive Oil thing again though!

Feeds 6:

• 1.5kg chicken (skinned thighs and drumsticks preferably)
• 4 medium tomatoes
• 1 large onion
• 1 inch ginger
• 8 cloves garlic
• 4 tsp whole coriander
• 2 tsp whole cumin
• 1 tsp garam masala
• 1 tsp turmeric powder
• 4 tbsp whole yoghurt
• 2 inches stick cinnamon
• 2 bay leaves
• 20 almonds, ground to a powder
• 2 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

Chop the onion, ginger and garlic into little pieces. Bring the oil to heat on high in a large pot. When it’s hot, add the cinnamon, bay leaves, coriander and cumin. As they sizzle up, throw in the onion, ginger, garlic. Fry for about 10 minutes until the masala is golden brown.

Next, add the turmeric powder, chop the tomatoes and add them in stirring furiously. Fry this mixture for about five minutes, adding half a cup of warm water if it the masala starts getting stuck to the bottom of the pot. Then spoon in the yoghurt, give it a good mix, lower the heat to a medium and wait two minutes or so until little oily holes start appearing on the surface of the masala.

When this happens, the quickest thing to do it to take a hand blender and go straight into the pot and puree the ingredients into a smooth paste. Don’t worry about the bits of cumin and coriander seeds – you will hardly clock them in the end result.

When you have a creamy orange curry base, add in the chicken pieces, whack the heat up again to high and stir viciously to brown the meat. The curry might splatter a bit, but it will all be worth it in the end. When the chicken pieces are white all over,mix in the ground almond, lower the heat to medium again and cook covered for half an hour, stirring every five minutes or so until the meat separates from the bones on the chicken legs.

Add salt to taste. Serve hot, with toasted pitta breads to scoop up the thick curry. Dal, optional.

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Now here I was thinking we would never be seduced by a patch of green and a few decent schools. What a change a few years makes.

A new house means a new kitchen everyone. And this alone calls for celebration! Quick Indian Cooking is about to get a new HQ. A space that is actually designed for Indian cooking. Shiny black floor tiles and glossy white units aren’t best matched with turmeric powder and lemon juice after all.

An architect is on the case, under my watchful gaze and a precariously-dangled wooden rolling pin. He has a tough job ahead. The brief: to create the most gorgeous, functional and special space for £2.75. Now there’s a challenge.

In the meantime, I am dreaming dreams about floral aprons, flour-dusted hands and perfectly-stacked rotis with two charming angels playing happily with plastic bricks. In reality, I’ll be in my heritage-look trousers and shoe boots, trying to feed them porridge and make the dash to work while they squeal “my don’t like it, my don’t want it”.

Still, they’ll have plenty of space to grow now. And eventually, they will listen to me and do as I say because I am the mother. Or so I think. On the threshold of our new home, I wanted to dedicate this post to all other deluded mothers and father out there, swapping their old lives for the uncharted.

This recipe for Dim Begun – a lightly spiced egg and aubergine saute – comes from no other than my little sister’s childhood friend and flatmate. It’s her mother’s recipe, which she sent to me in a series of bullet points starting with “ma said” and unsurprisingly ending with “but I didn’t listen to her”.

I loved it, all three times I made it. Even though I never did write the recipe down until the very last attempt. If change tastes this good, I’ll have a second helping, thanks.

Feeds 4:

• 2 medium aubergines
• 2 large eggs
• 1 medium onion
• 1 inch ginger
• Half tsp white sugar
• Half tsp cumin powder
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• 2 red chillies
• Salt to taste
• 2 tbsp oil

Chop the aubergine into small, bite-sized cubes and plunge into ice cold water. They tend to rise to the top, so I stick them in a pot and stick the lid on. This helps them cook later, without just soaking up all the oil in their pores.

In the meantime, chop the onion into small pieces and finely mince/grate the ginger. Next, bring the oil in a large, preferably non-stick pot to heat and when it’s hot, add the sugar. As it caramelises, stir in the onion and ginger and saute until golden.

Then mix in the turmeric and jeera powders, and drain and toss in the aubergine pieces. Stir the whole lot well together, cooking the aubergine. You could lower the heat to a medium and cover the pot, stirring regularly.

In about 10 minutes, the aubergine would have softened but retained it’s shape. Now push the whole lot to one side of the pot. Then crack the two eggs directly into the pot and gently scramble them and mix them into the aubergines.

To serve, stir in salt to your taste and chopped red chillies. This is simply divine rolled inside rotis or served as a side dish to rice and dal.

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Something unusual happened to me recently. A new friendship turned ugly. Nasty accusations got made. Yours truly got to play chief antagonist in a real-life Lindsay Lohan drama.

Normally, I’d take a whiff and move on. But my testosterone levels have sunk to record lows lately. I blame motherhood. So I cried copious tears, while cradling a bottle of vino and ranting down the phone to an unsuspecting close friend.

A whole hour later I realised the poor man had slid off to watch TV. Not wishing to bother him with my theatrics, I plonked myself on the sofa pleasantly enquiring about the sword-wielding blonde gracing the silver screen.

It’s Kill Bill, he said. A movie about a woman who is betrayed by everyone she loves and trusts. Cue: more floods of tears followed by a prompt end to the day.

Sometimes in life you need things that just work. Like unconditional love. Solid friendships. Trusted kitchen appliances. Failsafe recipes. The things that you care for dearly. That take anything you throw at them. Last forever. And can be relied upon come rain or shine.

This recipe is one that has survived through thick and thin with me. Quick dinner for sister. Check. Lunch for toddler playdate. Check. Centre piece for dinner party. Check check. I’ve left the peas out once, taken the tomatoes out another time and used yoghurt instead, mixed in some fresh coriander and each time the result is tremendous.

The trick is to cook the rice separately while the prawn masala bubbles away and then mix the two together. This is cheating, of course (this isn’t), but it speeds up the cooking time dramatically and the end result is almost foolproof in its fluffy perfection.

To be eaten with true friends and plain yoghurt. Naturally.

Feeds 4:

• 350gm uncooked Basmati rice
• 250gm raw prawns
• Half pint glass of shelled peas
• 1 large onion
• 2 tomatoes
• 1 inch ginger and 4 garlic cloves
• 1 tsp turmeric powder
• Half tsp chilli powder
• 1 tsp whole cumin
• 2 black cardamoms
• 1 inch stick cinnamon
• 1 large bay leaf
• 2 tbsp oil (go on use ghee if you fancy it…)
• Salt to taste

Wash the rice and cook it in a large pan or rice cooker. In the meantime, slice the onion finely, mince finely or puree the ginger and garlic together and wash and clean the prawns. Unless they are ready prepared like the ones I use!

In a large pan, bring the oil/ghee to heat over a high flame. When it’s hot, add the whole spices and as they sizzle up the onions, ginger and garlic. Saute the whole lot for about five minutes until it starts going golden, then roughly chop the tomato and throw it in along with the turmeric and chilli powders.

Fry this lot for about five minutes, then simmer for another five. Next, stir in the prawns with the peas and cook until the prawns go pink and firm. Add salt now and check to make sure it’s well salty. Then simply stir in the cooked rice and serve.

You can add other vegetables like peas, potatoes, cauliflower just make sure they are cooked when you mix the rice in. Also, if using yoghurt use a full fat version and add it instead of the tomatoes.

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There I was in my new 70s wooden platforms. Drinking Pimms on a boat. Dancing to Electronica. Smiling as I waited for a taxi in biting wind. Thrilled as I leapt into bed well past midnight.

And then the kids woke up at 5:30am.

The man and I valiantly took it in turns to nurse sore heads and play doting parents. As I lay starving stretched out on the once-pale cream rug being prodded with lego pieces, I remembered the glimmer of hope in the fridge.

Introducing my new secret weapon: K ji. Nanny extraordinaire. Superlative cook. This is the roti making, cumin seed/mustard seed loving soul I have been waiting for my whole life. (The kids love her too)

On Friday, I trialled her very own Capsicum Bhaji recipe – spicy bell peppers sauteed with gram flour, with just a hint of sweet and sour. It took 20 minutes to make. She expertly rolled the rotis and together we stashed the results into the fridge.

The keyword here being result! I slowly felt life return as I shoved warm rotis stuffed with K ji’s special into my parched mouth. A much needed lie-in or two and I’ll be ready for another big night. Maybe.

PS = Bheja means brain, and Bhaji means fry. Thank you Sandeepa, for inspiring this post’s title!

Feeds 4:

• 3 large capsicums (bell peppers)
• 2 medium onions
• 50gm gram flour
• Quarter tsp asafoetida
• Half tsp cumin seeds
• Half tsp mustard seeds
• 1 heaped tsp chilli powder
• 2 tsp sugar
• 3 tbsp freshly squuezed lemon juice
• Half cup oil
• Salt to taste

Slice the peppers and onions into cubes and set aside. In a non stick pan, dry roast the gram flour for about five minutes.

In another non stick pan, bring the oil to heat on high. When it’s hot, add the asafoetida and seeds. As they sizzle up, add the onions, peppers and chilli powder. Now stir the whole lot, mixing the spices and cookign the onions and peppers.

When they have softened, mix in the roasted gram flour, the lemon juice, sugar and salt. A teaspoon of salt should do the trick. Mix the whole lot together until the gram flour is golden throughout. The spoon onto a plate and eat with warm rotis or toasted pitta bread.

One last tip – this rocks even more the next day, so make extra and savour!

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I am back at work. Six months with Micro Mini Basu just flew. He is now ready for university. Well. One can hope.

Seriously though, I am really enjoying motherhood.

It’s just that two closely-timed pregnancies later, I was beginning to go funny. You know. Saying things like “Don’t lick the floor”. Swinging from side to side sans baby. Counting the hours until a large glass of ice cold wine…

So how does it feel to be back at work? Wonderful. Monday to Thursday is a long weekend compared to the chaos of home. Uninterrupted cups of tea. Trips to the loo. Adult conversation. Shame it’s so hard to say goodbye to the bundles in the morning!

On the quick Indian cooking front, I haven’t been great have been pathetic on the blogging front. Behind the scenes, however, I have been hard at work perfecting a “quick” version of a tangy chilli Kerala beef fry. My friend Boobie fell in love with this recipe at her last trip to India and we’ve been at it ever since!

The trick to this recipe is to either slice thin beef steaks very finely and stir fry everything in a wok. Or to cook cubes of boneless beef/lamb/goat in a pressure cooker until they are virtually falling apart.

With the coconut, I nabbed a fresh coconut in my local grocer, smashed it open and grated and froze the flesh. Two months ago… I really recommend saving a stash in your freezer if you don’t have access to the fresh stuff. Dessicated coconut is a very poor distant cousin of the real stuff.

So here it is. A fresh new start for a fiery classic. Let’s hope it works for you and me!!

Feeds 2:

• 350gm thin beef steaks
• 50gm fresh grated coconut
• 1 medium onion
• Half tsp fennel powder
• 1 tsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp cumin powder
• Half tsp chilli powder
• 4 whole red chillies
• 20 -30 fresh or freshly frozen curry leaves
• 1 inch ginger
• 4 medium cloves garlic
• 1 tsp tamarind paste
• 2 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

If using frozen coconut, take it out of the freezer first. Slice the beef steaks very thin and chop the onion into small pieces. If using boneless chunks of meat, cut them into small bite-sized pieces. Peel and finely chop the ginger and garlic.

In a medium sized wok, bring the oil to heat over a high heat. When it starts sizzling, add the onions, ginger and garlic, chillies and curry leaves and fry until the mixture turns golden in colour. This will take 5-10 minutes.

Next, toss in the beef with all the spice powders and fry on a high heat until the meat is cooked and turns a rich dark shade. Now stir in the coconut, tamarind and when it’s mixed through with the beef, add 2-3 tablespoons of warm water and simmer until it is absorbed. Add salt to taste and eat straightaway curled into hot rotis.

If using a pressure cooker, pressure cook on high for one whistle and at least 25 minutes on low. Don’t add the coconut or tamarind until after the meat is cooked.

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It was a big day last week. My husband turned a year older. Except he hates birthdays. Can’t handle the attention.

Sorry. I don’t understand. If I could attract any more attention to myself, I totally would. But a blog, a book, two darling sprogs and several superfriends and family later, I am running out of ideas…

So every year I devise devious ways to totally embarrass him to shreds. Sooner or later, he will begin to love the attention, right?

Errm, work in progress. Last year, we did candle in dessert plus Happy Birthday sung in pitch darkness. In Thai. At a swanky restaurant. This year, I emailed 20 of his closest friends. Disclosed his real age as opposed to the one he’s been pretending to be. And requested them to make the man feel really special on his big day.

This was not a surprise birthday party, my sis observed. This was war!!

Suffice to say, I had a wonderful time. The expression on his face to find 20 over-sized adults spring out of a corner of his favourite pub paled in comparison to the total horror when the white chocolate fondant cake appeared.

All tried and tested ways for ultimate success. Speaking of tried and tested, QIC is in the spotlight for this interesting event, hosted by Sudeshna of Cook like a Bong (Bong is slang for Bengali). This is particularly poignant for me given that I have been missing in blog action for months. So I decided to crash the party and try one of my own recipes, which is vastly searched.

The Saag Aloo. British curry house favourite of two utterly bland ingredients thrown together for no particularly great reason. Cooked well, however, it is lip-smackingly yummy. A host of recent negativity was beginning to make me doubt my own recipe. So I retried it, with the addition of one extra green chilli, lemon juice and a small onion.

The result, my man happily declared, was a pleasant surprise. Soft potatoes nestled in this healthy spiced spinach clearly deserve every bit of the attention they attract.

Feeds 3-4:

• 4 medium potatoes (400gm)
• 400gm spinach puree (I used a tin)
• 1 small onion (80gm)
• 2 garlic cloves
• 2 green finger chillies
• 1 tsp cumin powder
• 1 tsp coriander powder
• Half tsp garam masala
• 2 tbsp lemon juice
• 2 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

Finely chop the garlic and the green chillies. Stir the green chillies into the spinach puree along with the lemon juice, and leave to sit in a bowl. I used a tin of spinach puree because it was just so easy. Go fresh and puree yourself if you fancy it.

Next, dice the potatoes into small pieces no larger than one square inch each. You don’t need to pre-boil the potatoes as they will go all mushy and not get a chance to absorb the lovely spices. Chop the onion and finely mince the garlic.

Now bring the oil to heat on high in a medium-sized pan. When it’s hot, add the chopped onion and garlic and saute for five minutes until golden. Then add the potato pieces, cumin and coriander powders and stir on the high heat for five minutes or until the potato edges start going translucent. If the spices start getting stuck to the bottom of the bottom add a tablespoon of hot water and scrape it off.

Next add hot water to the pan until it comes half way up to the potatoes. Lower the heat to a medium and cook the potatoes until they are done. This will take between 5 and 10 minutes depending upon how fresh your potatoes are, and you have to stir regularly.

When you can easily insert a fork through the potatoes without breaking them, mix in the spinach. Add salt to taste, you will need a fair bit to lift the spinach, and simmer for 5 minutes. Finally stir in the garam masala and serve hot with rotis or just tucked into some toasted pitta bread.

Note= This recipe does not and should not use tomatoes, despite various recipes on the internet including it as an ingredient. Please trust me on this one, okay?

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Now, a lot has happened since September last year. Micro Mini Basu, a little boy, arrived on 29 October 2010. I thought motherhood the first time was difficult. But a quick look back reveals those were the good days – I was still doing my nails!

Manicures are the last thing on the mind right now. I’m the mom of two under two. That’s a lot of nappies, tears and youth rejuvenating serum.

Still, I’m happy to report Micro Mini me is divine and angelic. God knows where he gets that from! Mini Basu, on the other hand, is shaping into a fiesty princess with a penchant for flouncy frocks. (Now, where did she get that from?!) And that I am still sampling the delights of wintry London, with the aid of a lovely Gujarati lady, albeit a little bleary eyed.

As for quick Indian cooking. Did I even know that meaning of “quick” before I had two kids? During the day, quick means whatever I can rustle up while Mini Basu terrorises soft toys or hangs off my skinny jeans, and Micro Mini gets his beauty sleep. In the evenings, it’s a real toss up between cooking and sleeping. Sleeping usually wins.

Makes the 50-slide presentations I put together at work seem easy peasy!

There would be no better to restart this blog than with another version of Dhaniya Murgh, the perfect recipe for the exhausted on a quiet evening. This creamy yet low fat chicken curry is steeped in two of my favourite ingredients – coriander and yoghurt. This version has more curry and cooks quicker with the boneless chicken thighs.

Here’s to everything bigger, better and quicker in 2011. Happy New Year everyone!

Feeds 2:

• 4 boneless and skinless chicken thighs
• 1 small onion
• 4 garlic cloves
• 1 inch ginger
• 250gm natural Greek (thick) yoghurt
• Half tsp turmeric powder
• Half tsp chilli powder
• 1 tsp coriander powder
• Half tsp garam masala
• 15 gm fresh coriander
• 2 tbsp oil
• Salt to taste

Take the yoghurt out of the fridge. Roughly chop the onion and finely mince of puree the garlic ginger. Cube the chicken into bite-sized pieces.

In a medium-sized pan, bring the oil to heat on high. When it starts sizzling, add the onions, ginger and garlic and fry until the mixture is golden brown. The  stir in the all the powders apart from the garam masala.

Fry the masalas for five minutes, adding a serving spoon of hot water if they start getting stuck to the bottom of the pan. Then mix in the chicken and seal on the high heat for about two minutes.

Next, spoon in the yoghurt, lower the heat to medium low and cook, stirring regularly for about 10 minutes until the chicken is cooked and oil floats to the surface of the curry. Finally stir in the coriander, garam masala and salt to your taste. Serve piping hot with freshly-made Basmati rice.

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