Finally, a rain-spattered Sunday. The perfect kind of day for hot chicken wings. Clouds like floating African elephants hang low over my windows, threatening to crash down any moment. Think of a water filled plastic bag, ready to burst. Love it. All summer, burning eyes peeled on the dry blue skies, we waited for the faintest sign of moisture. Exhausted by bright, hot sunshine, spirits withering, we endured the blistering…
On a beach somewhere, sand between my toes, salt on my lips and the sea breeze teasing my hair, I’m lulled into a gentle somnolence by the blue rhythm of the waves. A tall, cold glass, a meaty slider and a book keep me company and I don’t know what time it is. Truth is, I’m in the middle of a heatwave, bored by chores, plotting an imaginary escape plan.…
Contemplating Dorie Greenspan’s very French Chicken in a Pot among other chicken dishes for dinner, I had a flashback of my trusty clay kadai, which in turn openened a floodgate of memories. I still remember, it was her feet that caught my eye. Coated with talc-like dust, they seemed part of the dark earth with solid silver rings curling around her toes and thick, silver hoops dancing around her ankles. Like some ebony…
“The happy sing their songs whilst the rest of us seek poetry” Read this somewhere recently and it gave me pause. And like the sun spilling its light at dawn, which, like flood waters in slow motion fills every dark corner of the world, realisation rushed over me that it rings so true. At least with me.…
I wanted a bowl of calm. A spoonful of a Zen garden with limpid, darkly-soothing pools of elegantly standing lily pads and gracefully gliding, vermilion-flashing koi. If only I could partake of that invisible yet fluid harmony between the visual, the smell and the taste that I had experienced in many Asian meals. I felt I had been unable to achieve that beautiful balance in similar home-cooked dishes. This time I was determined…
Who am I in terms of food? What do I cook and what do I like to eat? These questions bothered me plenty when I first started blogging and still do from time to time. The truth is that I cook all kinds of food from all over the world if I can get my hands on the ingredients. And I certainly like to eat my way through life. To…
You can be a breast person or a leg-lover. A few may even be wingmen or women. But you can be sure nobody wants to be a friend to chopped liver. This delicious, nutrient-packed and inexpensive part of a chicken has always been treated like the ugly step sister. I think chicken livers deserve a second chance. It’s time to push aside the pates and bring on the pepper. Spices…
I have a memory. A cold winter evening in a small town in Bihar, North India in the early 1980s, Mom, Dad and me sitting around our sunmica-topped dining table eating shepherd’s pie. This old English favourite was new to us but we loved it. A rustic dish, it was my mother’s attempt at ‘Continental’ cuisine. Meat and potatoes, yes, but with dollops of butter, a hint of Worcestershire, lashings…
Summer is early and the rains are reluctant. Chameleon-like, green plantains change colour in less than twelve hours as I think of ways to cook with them before they go to mush. Although, ripe plantains and bananas make great milkshakes, banana bread and cupcakes, my palate craves something savoury. In Kerala, in South India, they have countless ways of cooking both green and ripe plantains – from crunchy, completely addictive…
Rain on the phone in another continent, leaks into my ear, a hypnotizing drip-drip slowly flooding my brain. Drowned memories float up. Striped paper boats born from ripped pages of school notebooks, plastic raincoats smelling like a wrestler’s underarms, wrinkly toes squeaking in brimming school shoes and earthworms sneaking in through bathroom drains. In a different time, cups of coffee, seaside strolls, hormones and anticipation in the theatre of the…