House arrest and peaches

Since the last time I was here talking about Chinese food, I have been taking a stretch of a vacation in Kolkata to appease myself and the folks. Not to mention the upcoming wedding of a dear friend.

I have eaten at a new discovery called Spaghetti Kitchen for a lovely dose of sophisticated Italian fare.

I have worked on three whole paintings for family friends. I have had friends and relatives make me the most awesome biriyani, a silky smooth shahi paneer, a spicy dal makhni, a tart lemon cake and a sausage bake since.

I have had the cheapest and strongest port wine of my life during the course of an ongoing girls-only slumber party.

I have cooked up two new versions of chicken curry, one with a heady taste of fennel.

I have had my photograph taken at random for a very noble cause, the experience of which I will discuss pretty soon.

I have cuddled my nephew till he was gasping for breath…although he did a good job of hiding it behind his continuous smile.

I have had my Holga rolls developed…and the results are better than I expected! Most of them from Central London and a few odd bits around my house.

I have had a tryst with monsoon and ever since I have been under house arrest as the rain bangs its heart out against my windows. The arrest was also spurred on by a bout of flu.

I am (secretly) starting to miss London. Its a good thing I love monsoon though. And an even better thing that it comes with a side of khichdi, aloo-postor jhuri, ilish maachh bhaja and aamer chutney.

I have also, successfully finished off a whole jar of Nutella in one sitting. No kidding.

Its July 15th, a fortnight before I head back to London, and at 9 o’clock in the morning, I’m sitting with a bowl of chili-honey poached pears wishing it would stop raining long enough for me to go out and catch the last Harry-Potter-end-of-an-era movie.

Chili-honey poached pears

Ingredients
(per person)

2 peaches

1 red chili

3 tbsp honey (can be substituted with golden syrup)

2 cups water

3/4 cup white sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

How-to

Cut the peaches in halves. Leave the skins on and pits in. It becomes easier to remove then after the peaches have been poached. Mix the water with sugar an honey and put to boil. Slice the chili in half and throw it in the boiling mixture along with the vanilla extract. Drop in the peaches cut side down into the boiling mixture. Each side needs about 3 minutes. After 6 minutes, remove the peaches and boil the mixture till it thickens into a thin-ish syrup. Remove from heat and cool. The syrup thickens on cooling. Remove the skins and pits of the peaches and arrange on a serving plate. Chill in the refrigerator for an hour or so. Pour the cooled syrup on the peaches and serve with vanilla ice-cream, if preferred.

 

 

 

 

 

Moments gone by

Its all silent in here. I just recently got all my Holga rolls developed and I must admit I was overcome with excitement when the shopkeeper handed the developed prints to me in an envelope. Excitement was very quickly replaced with a twang of disappointment when i realized most of the shots were blurry or grossly under-exposed.

But, I haven’t come empty-handed. The shots above were the best ones taken in and around London. Enjoy!

Chinese rants

What spoils the beginning of a promising 4-day weekend?

The sound of a neighbour singing off-key along to his karaoke machine.

I don’t mean to sound mean. I know he and his friends must be enjoying to their hearts’ fullest, considering how the weather today was near perfect. To top it, a 4-day weekend is one of those rare bits in life that make you feel like everything in its place.

Even though work has kept my nose to the grinder, stuff has been upbeat. I’m making a trip to India soon.

I know! I’m wiggling my shoulders in pure joy as I’m typing this!

My mum’s chicken sandwiches, my grandmother’s mutton curry, phuchkas, unending plates of pav bhaji, and of course sweet sweet masala chai. I will also be hob-nobbing with fierce skin-burning sunshine and relatives who will no doubt pore over my stories of London. Both which I enjoy a lot, and will never admit to anyone.

However, I haven’t booked my tickets yet and am in the danger of worrying myself to a frenzy. This almost-vacation is coming in a good time. I’ve already loaded one of my camera and re-charged the other, laid out my sleeveless blouses, flip-flops and packed my larger-than-life shopper with sunscreen. I’m going on a photo-spree for three whole days. The only thing marring this joy would be the fact that my laptop needs repair and is being taken away from me…..correction, being wrenched away from me tomorrow but that’s not what this post is about.

Since I haven’t been spending much time in the kitchen, I have been spending money…on eating out. I won’t even bother mentioning anything about weight. I mean if I am getting fat by eating out, I might as well write and post pictures about it.

I have no shame when it comes to China Town. I can honestly say that I’d be happy to run naked through London’s Chine Town wearing nothing but a Chinese paper hat, waving a lantern in the air and gnawing on soy-braised chicken feet.

Uh, you can replace the image with half-eaten Taro cakes or rolls of sticky rice with minced beef stuffing or better yet, steamed buns with that darkly sweet barbecued pork center. My lunch yesterday included Taro cakes, the addictive buns, chicken feet and pork dumplings swimming in their own heavenly juices. The meal ended with a delicious steamed mango pudding, not too tart not too sweet, and which was accompanied with an eccentric puddle of salty milk custard.

I won’t lie…I have had more than my fair share of Chinese food but I’ve almost never ventured into Chinese sweet/pastry territory. The salty custard was startling at first and I somehow kept expecting it to get better. But it didn’t get better by itself. However, it perfectly complemented the gelatinous mango custard. A lovely end to a lovely meal.

I’ll try not to mention the braised tripe dish (charmingly named ‘Honeycomb’), which although I was open-minded enough to chew through, had too strong a smell for my belly to bear. I’m reminded of Fuchsia Dunlop’s rant about the insides of little piggies and the working Chinese man’s obsession with it all. Yes, I am getting through the book at the moment. Utterly fascinating and engrossing to say the least. Most of all, it makes me want to eat Chinese food all day long, much to my colleagues’ irritation as I keep suggesting Chinese fast food outlets for lunch rather than their preferred English pub. A dry steak over sweet-n-sour chicken?? NEVER.

Happy Easter, you jolly folks! And for those of you in the UK, happy long 4-day weekend!!

Pausing to update

Unforgivable.

Unfathomable.

Hopeless.

You can also call me names if you want. I also have a bunch of excuses lined up. But I don’t think there is any chance any of you would forgive me considering how I haven’t been cooking at all (except for a batch of cream puffs that I had made for a friend’s birthday) and to top it I’ve come empty-handed today. No recipe. No anecdote.

I am embarrassed to say the least.

Although you might be interested to know how I’ve settled in London, in an adorable neighbourhood lined with skateboarding teenagers, blossom trees and mothers who carry bake-trays of simnel cake to each other’s house. I’ve also settled into my job, hectic and busy as they come and Addison Lee has officially become my transportation-provider from office to home practically every night. My suitcases and trolley-bags still sit near the door looking like misfits who’re not really happy to be anywhere outside India. My room, although big and airy with enormous bay-windows, somehow has the feel of a polite but chilly butler. The only comfort is the Ikea lamp which glows at night re-assuringly. Its been with me for quite some time now and knows more than I want it to.

However, you might be more interested in how my morning ham and cheese croissant and skinny latte does a lot to cheer me up everyday. Our company chef, Paul has recently discovered my depths of  ‘foodie’ness and has made it a habit of plunging into food-oriented conversations with me every time our paths cross in the cafeteria. I grin and complement him on his spag-bol.

I have also gone Holga and have bought myself a Holga 120GN along with a carton-load of medium-format films which are currently sitting pretty in my refrigerator. So you can, from now, expect Holga and lomo pictures of my food. That is, if I somehow manage to find the time to grab my spatula and whip up something. I know, I’m in danger of sounding like a snobby Londoner who goes on about how busy she is and how you have to make an appointment to have a phone conversation with her because she’s more concerned with her new high-heels that help her clack away to glory on the concrete platform of the underground stations.

But believe me that is not the case. I solemnly swear to find time to cook, to eat, to collect stories and to write.

And…

 

New Job. New people. New city. And one dream coming true already. I’m moving to London. Will send you all my love from there. Take care.

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