goodbye

I needed a break from Fat.Free.Brainwaves.

I needed to start afresh. And I have.

I’m blogging over at The Subjectivist since August 2011.

Its time to say goodbye.

 

 

P.S.: – I will be updating the archives of the new blog to include old posts from this one so you can always visit the old recipes and stories. Make sure to update your subscription/feed to the new site.

A lifetime of wedded bliss

You know how I’ve been waiting for a dear friend’s wedding? Well, it happened!!

An Indian wedding, most of you will know, lasts for at least three days and is stuffed to the bursting point with colour, food and traditions. Arundhati’s wedding was a pure to the core Bengali wedding, complete with a traditional Benarasi bridal trousseau, Bengali traditions and of course…food!

But hold your thought right there. I’m not going to rave about the tenderest and smokiest grilled tiger prawns we had as appetizers, or the buttery-lemony fish entree, and I’m not even going to mention the ingenious dessert of frozen whole mangoes stuffed with kulfi. Because this about the wedding, the gorgeous bride and her happy-go-lucky groom. A whirlwind of a wedding that left a dreamy haze behind.

The last weekend was spent running and fussing around the bride, packing her belongings in suitcases, making sure she’s eating well, smiling at the guests, sorting out the gifts – the keepers and give-aways, keeping the groom entertained and well-fed. And its cumbersome to do it with a camera hanging round your neck. I was actually quite happy to give up the camera for a change and dive into all the daily rituals of a wedding. So I leave you with a shot of all the magnificence that surrounds a Bengali bride on her wedding day.

To Arundhati and her Anando, I wish you a lifetime of wedded bliss!

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.

My weekend

 

My semi-weekend was spent well, loitering about London visiting a few old favourites and a few new ones. On the upside, I loaded up on macarons and strawberry tarts from Laduree and Patisserie Valerie and on the downside, Harrods is still heaving with an unbelievably insane crowd due to the “Sale”.

I like to think that it was this crowd that pushed me brutally towards the Food Hall. And I blame them for forcing me to buy a couple of darling little poussins.

And of course you cannot really go about town in London without spending a few quids on clothes, shoes and accessories. And so I did. A gorgeous Jane Norman number in black and purple, a pair of leather wedges from Aldo and a yellow carry-all from River Island. Bounty? Oh yes.

The whole experience was obviously a break from my daily routine of curling up under the duvet and type away at the laptop and cooking poached egg curries (that invariably get slightly burnt on the underside). Three days, no worries. Ashwin and I lunched at China Town where he tried chicken’s feet for the first time and then keeled over when he realised there were more bones than flesh. But at least he spent two hours learning to use chopsticks at Busaba Eathai over a bowl of pad-thai and a crab soup. We spent Friday evening (after drenching ourselves to the bone in rain) sipping hot chocolates at Freggo, a teeny-weeny little cafe right behind Nat Geo at Piccadilly Circus, the almost dark alley gleaming in front of us. Another lunch included monstrous burgers at Byron, after dragging heavy shopping bags around Shepherd’s Bush. A stroll through the Tate and Burlington Arcade added the finishing touches to the weekend. And that was just what I needed to clear my head and refresh myself.

And now, the pictures.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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