"The lady who writes the food thing"

I never thought it would ever come to this.

I am now officially "the lady who writes the food thing"

Ha!

See, this morning I wasn't officially anything.

Except freezing that is.

I was (and still am) officially freezing. And if you never hear from me again, just know that I've frozen. And try to think of me fondly. Please?

But other than officially freezing, I wasn't officially anything.

But now?

Now is a whole new ball game. (I love Americanisms). (They're so quaint.)

Now, I'm officially "the lady who writes the food thing."

See, it was a normal grey, gloomy, cold, wet, snowy English day.

And I was just on my way home after dropping my toddling toddler to school, humming merrily along (twinkle twinkle little star, if you must know) (or as the toddling toddler puts it, "freeto leetto taar"), when a random lady on her way home after dropping her toddling toddler to (the same) school, stopped dead in her tracks outside the school gates and asked me if I was - "the lady who writes the food thing."

"Well, yes..." I said surprised and not a little un-flattered, "...I think so...?"

"Oh it's so nice to finally meet you!" she said giving my frozen hand a hearty shake with her frozen hand. All the mothers in Owls (name of room in school) are talking about you. We laaaaaaaave your writing," she concluded with a great big smile.

"Oh" I managed. With difficulty.

Then....

"Thanks..." I said with uncharacteristic shyness.

(for I am not the shy type)

(as you know)

(but I didn't know what else to say)

"Well," she continued - "this is great timing because we're going to be doing muffins at school next week and well, since you cook so well, can you do the courgette ones?"

Now I am of a fairly hardy disposition and not much leaves me stunned and at a loss for words.

But I was stunned and at a loss for words.

For the 3 below-mentioned reasons:


1) My toddling toddler is not in Owls. He's in Planets. As a matter of fact, he wanted to be Pluto, until I had to explain to him that Pluto has been stripped - rather cruelly, I might add - of it's erstwhile planet status. 

(So now he's Jupiter)

(No no, he's not U...well, the one with U)

(Hmph, you dirty people)


2) A muffin to my best and greatest knowledge is a mushroom shaped cake one eats for breakfast. And a courgette to my best and greatest knowledge is a vegetable that one eats at every meal but breakfast. How the 'twain meet was something I couldn't quite get my head around. All the same, I could have sworn she said courgette. 


3) (and most important) Had she got the wrong person? See, I don't bake. I don't. There's not a single (alright, alright, maybe a single) post on any dessert/bread/cake/muffin/doughnut/croissant/etc, on my blog. Surely, she's got the wrong person. There's got to be someone in Owls who writes a baked-goods food blog. There's got to be. There's no other logical explanation.


Anyway, so while I was pondering all of the above, I basically stood gawking at her for a good many minutes, stunned, and as I said, at a loss for words.


Which the lovely lady mistook for reluctance.


Because then she said with an anxious look clouding her face..."only if it's not a terrible imposition, of course"


So I did what had to be done by anyone who happens to find themselves in the situation I happened to find myself in. And I did it at once.

I shook my head rapidly back and forth. 

And said "No, of course not." "In fact I'd be delighted to"

"Brill" she said laughing jollily. "So 30 for the 2 rooms and some to spare?"

"Certainly" I managed, my voice reduced to a squeak.

"Wednesday then?"

I nodded.

"You did say courgette, right?" I called out hastily as she reached in her pockets for her gloves - a sign that the meeting was over, of course.

"Yes please!" came the happy reply.

(point number 2 answered)

"Baaaaaye yummyami," she yelled cheerily, waving as she turned right onto Priory Road.

Well, I think to myself, at least she isn't talking about someone else. How embarrassing that would have been.

Point number 3 answered then. A glimmer of hope.

Or is it?

Because, really. I cook. And I write. But I don't bake. I can't bake. 

See, when I cook, I cook by instinct. I chuck stuff in and somehow it ends up tasting ok. I don't remember what I do and I never make the exact same dish twice. Never. (I never follow my own recipes by the way, those are meant only for you).

Writing?

I just write. I sit down and I write. I don't make drafts. And I don't make outlines. I don't write in word and transfer to blogspot. I just open blogspot and I write. I just write.

Baking?

Now baking is a different story.

Baking requires measurements and precision and stuff.

I've never measured anything in my life.

Baking actually requires that elusive little thing called Talent.

Baking is the domain of the expert. It confounds me.

And so, basically, I am doomed. Or another word two letters down. Whatever you prefer, it's all the same to me.

Because when they taste my muffins (courgette at that. courgette muffins? Really??) they're going to know the truth. That I can't bake to save my life. And then they're going to stop meeting me outside the school gates and saying all these nice things. In fact, they're going to ignore me and snigger behind my back.

Boo.

But I can't let that happen.

Oh no.

I have a reputation in these parts.

Apparently

Which means of course that I need to practice. With the finesse of Wilhelm Kempff. Except in the kitchen, not on the piano. 

So I call my friend H who (unlike me) does know how to bake (that saviour, that golden angel) and ask her what to do. I learn from her that apparently, courgette muffins are actually very popular and (her words) "addictive."

So much for my ignorance.

(I'm still not convinced)

(I mean, I've written a piece on flavour combinations so I'm not that much of a prude when it comes to being experimental with food, but courgette muffins? I mean, really?)

Anyway, I'll stop banging on about how bizarre I think courgette muffins sound and get around to telling you how to actually make the creatures.

(we're making 12 for practice, folks)

(Oh and given I'm cooking for 2.5 year olds, I've simplified H's recipe bit - the original was better suited to a slightly more sophisticated palette...)

Here's what you need:

- 200g courgettes, trimmed and grated



- 50g mixed seeds such as pumkin, sesame, and sunflower



- 50g toasted almond flakes

\

- 4 tbsp clear (manuka anyone?) honey. (There goes the £25.99 by the way. All of it.)



- 175ml vegetable oil 



- 2 large free-range eggs



- 225g self-raising flour



- ½ tsp baking powder



- ½ tsp bicarbonate of soda



- 2 tsp ground cinnamon



- 1 tsp salt



- 200ml milk



- Grated zest of 2 limes


Here's how you do it:

Preheat the oven to 180°C and line a muffin tray with paper liners/muffin cases.

Grate the courgettes and squeeze to drain excess moisture, leave on a kitchen towel to dry.

Meanwhile, combine the milk, eggs, vegetable oil, and honey in a large bowl and whisk with an electric whisk for a few minutes until the texture is smooth and creamy. Sift over the flour, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda, cinnamon and salt. Now add in the almonds, grated courgette and lemon zest. 

Spoon the mixture into the muffin cases, leaving space for the muffins to rise, and cover with the mixed seeds. Bake for half an hour until a skewer comes out clean

Leave the muffins to cook in the tin, then transfer over to a wire rack until completely cool. Cool for 5 minutes in the tray then turn out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

I am writing this as the muffins cool so I have no idea if they are any good or a complete and utter disaster, but I guess we'll all soon be finding out...

Not to jinx anything, but frankly they smell D-vine

(Even if I say so myself)

Courgette Muffins, huh? Who'd have thunk it? It's true what they say - one learns something new every day.

And on that note, can the Mummy Owl who's been reading my blog come out of the dark to say Whooo Whooo?? I'd love to meet you!!

Your body (that temple)

There's Good News and Bad News.

First, the Bad News.
(This is always how it is, by the way. First, the Bad News. Then, the Good News. It's the natural order of things. And anyone who tells you otherwise is a fool, a damn fool).

Right.
So, first, the Bad News:

- The sun is NOT out.

- Winter is NOT over.

- We are still ALL going to die of Rickets.

Sorry.

Now (that you've earned it), the Good News:
Which is...that March is meant for daffodils and fruit smoothies

At least I think so…

Whether the weatherman agrees or not…

So that’s what we’re doing. We’re making Blueberry Smoothies. That my friends is the Good News. In fact, it's Great News. Three cheers for that. And (while you're at it) two fingers up to the weatherman and his "yellow warnings of snow"

Go get a life, dude!

Right, now that we’ve got all that sorted...

Listen to me. Please. Make this today.

Like right now.

Your body (that temple) will salute you.

I swear.

My body (that temple) is saluting me. Like right now. In the present-continuous tense. Really, I mean it: as I write out these words while slurping my blueberry smoothie, I am being saluted by my body, non-stop.

And let me tell you, there's nothing on earth quite like when you are being saluted by your body. Non-stop at that.
Well, maybe there is.
But we won't go there.
My mother-in-law reads this blog.

So, without further ado:

Here’s what you need:

- 1 cup organic natural yogurt

- 180g blueberries

- ¼ cup milk

- 1tbsp Manuka Honey

Here’s how you do it:

Throw together yogurt, blueberries, milk, and honey into a blender. Blend until smooth. Taste it for-sweetness and add more honey if needed. That's it. Easy-Peesy.

Now, if you'll be so kind as to read on: a bit about the mighty ingredients.

Right, as some of you know (and now, all of you know) I've become slightly obsessed with James Duigan and his “clean body” stuff. I mean, the man's a veritable genius. He's not one of those crazy nutritionists who wants you to eat 14 times a day (I don't have time to eat 14 times a day) or else the other kind who expects you to survive on 500 calories a day (really?? Has anyone told these people that 500 calories is two skinny lattes??) See, James's advice is not hard at all – no alcohol, no sugar, nothing out of a packet, sensible stuff really, all common sense. And it's not hard core, he leaves much of it to you to figure out. All I'll say is that I’ve really never felt fitter or better or cleaner or more full of energy. Really. 

Now, where I'm going with all this is that James is a big fan of natural yogurt and so as a result, I've become obsessed with the stuff. So please excuse me if I go putting yogurt in the next 100 recipes on this blog. Because I've been going through pots and pots of it at a rather alarming rate, but it’s all good.

(I think)

(Can one die of a yogurt overdose?)

(I don’t know)

(but who cares)

(I'm going to die of Rickets first, anyway)

Swiftly moving on.

So as you can see, I prefer to “thin” my smoothies with milk, rather than fruit juice – it’s just a purer, more unadulterated flavour, plus you skip the junk-sugar content from store bought juices.  For sweetness, I use honey, which brings a richer, more earthy, natural sweetness to the smoothie - honey tastes oodles better than sugar anyway. And while we're on the topic of honey, I should tell you that I've started using Manuka honey, which I reluctantly have to admit is worth every penny of its monstrous price tag…

I mean it.

See, here’s why. All honeys have – in varying quantities– hydrogen peroxide, produced from an enzyme that bees add to the nectar, and considered one of the greatest healing miracles of all time. This is why honey in general has always been classified as a health food. In manuka honey, however, there's something besides the hydrogen peroxide that contributes to it's extraordinary medicinal properties – except - and that's the great mystery of it all - no one really know what the "something" is!

But whatever it is, it's nothing short of a magic ingredient in its astonishing ability to combat infectious organisms. And so: Manuka honey is a much-hyped superfood.

You can read about all it’s proclaimed health benefits here.

You can choose to believe them or not.

Me? I’ve always been a sucker for “superfoods” so I’m a believer.

A True Manuka Fan.

ATMF, that’s me.

I had to research the hell out of it, you see. Because the hubby who is usually impervious to the various whimsical entries that comprise  our monthly grocery bill, suddenly saw this one and went apeshit.

He then demanded to know why I had  bought 10 years worth of honey for £25.99.

First I gulped.

Then I declared that I hadn't, in fact, bought 10 years of honey; I'd simply bought a small 340g jar of honey. Umm...which happened to cost £25.99.

Which in retrospect I have to admit was a decidedly bad move. Because £25.99 for 10 years worth of honey is most definitely the lesser evil when the alternative happens to be £25.99 for 2 weeks worth.

He thought so too.
Because at this point he opened his mouth, but found - to my great fortune - no words that quite suited the occasion adequately. So he closed it again. He looked rather like a goldfish, but I thought perhaps it wouldn't be so wise to tell him that.

Instead, I feigned illness, clutched my heart and pretended to collapse.

Which ALWAYS works like a charm.

Now (duly recovered) lets conclude with my final ingredient - blueberries.

Ahh, blueberries.

I genuinely don’t want to bore you with any more health facts than I already have, but I’d be doing this little deep bluish purple bite of goodness a huge disservice if I didn’t at least mention how amazing these little berries are for your health.
If you aren’t bored yet – read all about it here

But if you are, suffice it to say that blueberries deserve every last ounce of their superstar status.
I promise.
And they only cost £3.99 for 180g...

Soooo…ladies and gents, boys and girls,  I must impore you to stop reading right now (addictive as my writing might be) (ha!) and  wander over to your blenders….

Because I promise you, as simple as it might seem just to chuck together a few ingredients and whiz them, the result will be one of the most delicious things to have ever touched your lips.

Not to mention of course that your body (that temple) will salute you…

Harissa...A Prequel

Wow, that was quick.
I mean, barely 12 hours post facto, and I have all sorts of messages in my inbox - some asking me if I am ok (yeah, yeah, I'm just peachy, thanks) - but mostly asking me how one finds Harissa!!!

Bloody demanding lot aren't you?
Hmph.

Just kidding :)

I'm awfully flattered of course. You know that hearing from you lot ALWAYS makes my day!
And I'm not very bright, but I think if you're asking me how one finds Harissa, you're reading my post on Harissa Chicken and Rocket. Which pleasures, thrills and delights me beyond all known vocabulary.

Right. Well.
So, "how do you make Harissa...?"you ask...
Well, the truth is, I don't. I just do the lazy thing and buy Harissa from the store, but as I've just learned, not everyone has Harissa at their store?
Which is absolutely fair enough.
You don't have Harissa at your store?
I don't have alphonso mangoes at my store.
And Gees-Louise folks, much as I love Harissa, you know which side of that trade I'd rather be on...

Anyway, now, I don't not make my own Harissa because it's too hard. Because it's not. It's actually quite easy. And it's well worth making one's own Harissa frankly. For that matter, it's well worth making one's own anything. But then, I would say that, wouldn't I? Well, the truth of the matter is that I don't (make my own Harissa, that is) simply because I love my store bought one too much!! It's Belazu's Rose Harissa, and if you can get your grubby little paws on some, please do, you won't be disappointed.

But if you can't, then well read on, brave warriors!

Right, so before we start - a word of caution: I made this ages and ages ago, when I was like, five. So I really don't remember how it turned out. Well, not five (I do love to exaggerate), but nineteen, perhaps? Honestly, I am retyping a recipe off of a tatterred old notebook that looks like it was chewed by dinosaurs, from my university days. That's about when I went through a can't-live-without-middle-eastern-food phase. Which I think, was due in no small part, to an unnamed dashingly handsome middle-eastern boy that I was fluttering my (not so long) lids at...

(If you're curious, that didn't amount to anything. But hopefully, that's not a reflection of my Harissa...)

So here goes nothing!

Here's what you need:

- 5 dried red chillies

- 1 tsp caraway seeds
- 2 cloves garlic
- Bunch fresh coriander, chopped
- 1 tsp paprika
- 1/2 tsp cumin powder
- 50ml extra-virgin olive oil
- Salt, to taste

Here's how you do it:

First discard the seeds from the red chillies, then soak in water to soften - this should take about an hour. Drain and set aside.  

Heat a pan red hot till it smokes, then throw in the caraway seeds. Remove the pan from the heat immediately, give it a shake and set aside. When cool, grind them roughly with a mortar and pestle and keep aside. 

Place the garlic and chillies on a chopping board,  sprinkle with the salt, and chop together until you come to a paste - I just use my hands. have a rough-looking paste. Now, put the paste into a bowl and 

stir in the coriander, paprika, cumin and crushed caraway seeds. Fold in the oil and mix well.

And...that's all there is to it. I think.

Hmmm.

By the way, this is a pretty versatile recipe. You can make it with red capsicum instead of chillies, add in tomatoes, a bit of both. Or all three. Actually the lovely folk at Arabica Food & Spice sell a fresh Harissa with whole walnuts that is making me dribble onto my bib right now. (What? You didn't know I wear a bib??). 

No, really, its amazing. It's not a marinade, but more mezze, meant to eat as is, right out of the pot, with a hot, fresh off the oven pitta. They sell at Borough Market every Thursday, Friday and Saturday and at Selfridges food court every day. Go if you're local - you can do a quick lunch of 3 mezzes + flatbread for 5 or 6 quid...absolutely delicious stuff!

But if you can't justify the plane ride all the way here just for an Arabica & co Harissa lunch (no matter no delicious), don't worry.

At least you've got mine. 

So smile.

Please.

You look pretty when you smile :)

Harissa Chicken & Rocket

I'm back.
And delighted to be so.
Let's just leave it at that :)

The other thing that's back, I am even more delighted to report, is the sun.

I now get why English people moan continually about the weather.
They don't really know what the golden orb is, poor old things.
Rather they just go through life, white and pale and vitamin-D deficient, moaning continually about the weather.

I - by the way - am no exception.
I look just bloody awful.  And would give my left arm for a nice, brown tan. (Not really, but you know what I mean). Seriously though, look at me now, and you wouldn't guess I was brown. Which is quite as well, because Sid thinks I was born the wrong colour in the wrong country. Which is probably true, all true. I'd always dreamed of a wedding in a flowing white dress with swans all around, that's for sure.
I've told him this, by the way, on several ocassions. Which always makes him have a good ol laugh.

Anyway, anyhow...wasted words because the sun is out.
Yes.
And so I shall stop moaning and get on with it.

Here's a fantastic recipe from the fantastic James Duigan, personal trainer for many famous people including the beautiful Elle Macpherson. I'm not famous, and I can't afford James, but I can afford his book (thank god for small mercies), and because of that, and because you know me, and because you read my blog and because I like to share: here it is, adapted accordingly.

Harissa Chicken & Rocket

(yeah, I always like a bit of colour...)

Here's what you need:
- 4 boneless chicken breasts
- 1/2 head of garlic, peeled and chopped finely
- 2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
- 2 tbsp harissa
- 1 generous bunch coriander, chopped finely
- Rocket leaves
- Dollop natural yogurt

Here's how you do it:
Marinate the chicky-chick in harissa, garlic, olive oil and half the coriander for an hour
Preheat the grill to high. Grill the marinated chicken breasts for 7 minutes of each side. Remove from grill, sprinkle over the remaining coriander, lay over a bed of Rocket and pour on as much yogurt as you like.

Guys & gals - try this, I beg you.
It takes no time to prepare, sits in the grill for 14 minutes precisely and it leaves you feeling absolutely fantastic. It's not diet food, there's nothing artificial in it, the portions are extremely generous, and I'll leave you to report back on taste.

Ciao for now (while I stuff my face).
More tomorrow!
x

Of Childhood and Chocolate

I sit, writing in solitude

My feet under a blanket

A cup of perfect hot chocolate on my lips

The fire sizzles and crackles before me

Little sparks dancing in the dark

Outside the snowflakes fall thick and fast

Silently enveloping the world in white

My boys – my two loves – are fast asleep

And I sit

Writing in solitude

With a smile on my face

Last night I read something that touched me more than anything has in a very long time. It’s a piece by Bethany Meyer called “Up and Away He Grows” where she talks about her oldest boy informing her that she doesn’t need to sing “his” bedtime song anymore, how he’s too old for it now. And how – for her – this little declaration of adulthood is so much more than just that. It’s a rite of passage, the end of an 11-year ritual.

“Up and Away He Grows.”

And this is why I love this piece.

It’s simple and it’s straightforward and it’s from her heart.

And it tugged at mine.

Not only because her words are so lovely.

But also because there are very, very real.

I share her piece on Facebook – “for everyone with boys,” I write, "please read." Many write back, relating, agreeing, sharing their own experiences. And so, I think about her words. And those of my friends. And I try to peel away the layers to get to the core of just why this is so difficult for us – for all of us – as mothers.

And I think – but I’m still not sure – that it’s partly because they grow while we don’t.

Yes, of course we grow older – there’s more grey in our hair, those pesky lines under the eyes – but our real growing up – the definitive step changes that turn us from baby to child, and from child to adult – is all done. And this – I think – is what is so difficult. This incongruity. How we’re done growing up, and they’re only just beginning.

And so we continue to do what we’ve always done since the day they came into our lives. We sing the bedtime songs and hold our babies close and give them a billion wet kisses and speak to them in that special language that only the two of us share.

This is not learnt behaviour. It’s from the gut. Primal. instinctive.

This is what we know.

This is what we think it means to be a mother

And then – all too soon and much before we’re ready – we realise we can’t do this anymore. Any of this.

We need to change.

We need to change what we know.

We need to change what we think it means to be a mother.

And that’s huge.

And hard.

And real.

And so it hits me, this. It's what I've known all along, but it hits me now, after reading someone's story. Because it could be my story. So it hits me. How time flies. How it’s so important to make every little moment count before it’s all too late. How I need to be a child with my child, because soon – too soon – he’s going to stop being one. And with that, I’m going to need to stop too.

So I do something today that I’d never have dreamed of doing a few years ago.

Sid and I make a snowman.
We do it all wrong, making a funny pyramid-mountain for the base, instead of a round ball, so he looks more like a snowdog than a snowman but who cares!

And honestly, this might seem like no big deal to you, but to me it is. Because I hate the cold. Positively do. There is absolutely nothing appealing about being outdoors in the cold and the wet, shovelling piles of snow and making them into little balls (or mountains as it turns out). I’d rather be doing almost anything else. 

Until today.

Today, I get out into my snow-covered garden.

And I make a snowman.

Just for my baby.

Just to see his eyes light up

Just to hear him clap his hands and say “Wow! Snowman!” “Hello Snowman”

And just by doing this small, silly little thing, I surprise myself.

Because I have SO MUCH FUN.

We roll about in the snow, making snowballs and throwing them at each other, laughing and giggling like little kids.  Our little snowman (snowdog) stares back at us with his beady eyes and carrot nose. I think he wants to smile but we haven’t given him a mouth! My fingers and toes are numb from the cold, but it feels amazing.

I would do it again.

Not just for my baby, but also for me!

And as the evening light fades to dusk, we traipse back in, exhausted but happy, taking off our wellies, shaking off the snow from our gloves and coats. “Bye Snowman, Later” little Ranbir says, cheeks flushed, waving hard.  Sid picks him up and swings him around and I am amazed – yet again – at how similar they look. Those same almond-shaped eyes.

My two loves.

Before I put Ranbir to bed, I think of Ms. Meyer’s words again.

So I smell him. He stares at me with sleep-filled eyes curiously, wordlessly. I inhale long and deep, searching for that baby smell, suddenly fearful it’s gone.

But it’s not.

It’s still there.

That unbearably delightful mixture of milk and honey and applesauce.

My baby is still my baby,

I lay down on the nursery floor legs stretched out

And pick him up, out of his cot, and into my arms

I place him on my stomach.

His head fits perfectly in the nape of my neck

I can hear his quick rapid breathing

Mamma? He whispers in my ear.

“You’re my baby,” I whisper back.

“Yes.” he agrees, nodding into my neck.

He kisses me then, on the side of my neck, just below my ear where I have a little black beauty spot. The exact place that he’s got his.

They come quickly one after another – fierce, protective little kisses.

He’s feisty, this one. Just like his mamma.

I reach under his t-shirt, place my hands on his back.

His skin is soft and smooth.

I hold him like that for a long time.

I am filled with an unspeakable pleasure.

Warm and gooey.

Like perfect hot chocolate.

Here’s what you need:

- 250 ml whole milk

- 250 mil semi-skimmed milk

- 1 cup Good Semi Sweet Chocolate Chips

- 1 handful marshmallows

Here's how you do it:

Combine the whole and semi-skimmed milks in a small saucepan. Warm over medium heat, then stir in chocolate chips. Stir until melted, then plonk in a few marshmallows. Remove the pan from the heat and pour it into a large lidded flask so it’s about half-full. Screw on the lid tightly and shake well to give it froth. Pour into a mug and have a long, delicious taste.  

And hold on to the feeling!

Lots of love xx

Delicious Dinner Lite

Right.

First things first.

And that, my friends, is that I have new found admiration for the delicate balance between time and inspiration (vis a vis writing, of course).

You see, one without the other, and the story’s ended without even having begun.  Gonzo, kaput, babye and so on.

Which is really what’s happened to me over the last couple of months. To put it in the lingo of my erstwhile life (no love lost by the way) I’ve been somewhat in the black on inspiration but hopelessly in the red, on time. Which, after deep introspection, I have come to accept, is really the lesser of the two evils. Because the other way round (aka writer’s block) (shudder) is the worst possible thing that can happen to anyone who writes. It’s a nightmare. It’s sitting in front of the computer for hours with a blank MS word doc blinking in front of you. Or worse, it's spouting a bunch of utter nonsense in your head, and then transferring it to print, all the while convincing yourself that it’s not, indeed, utter nonsense, and then realising - once having wasted many hours of your life that you will never get back -  that it isn't, in fact, anything but.  Then of course it’s race between the delete and the backspace buttons (not sure why they both exist by the way) and you’re back to the blinking MS word doc. Square 1. Etc.

So, long story short – I’ve been horribly busy. Doing horribly dull stuff I might add. Such as trying to change airline tickets et al. Which I’m sure you all know is like offering a sandwich to a brick wall. Has anyone succeeded in changing airline tickets? I mean, ever? In the history of man? If so, I certainly need a lesson or two. I’ll even pay you. I’d really rather pay you than pay them you know…

Anyway, anyway.

So this post is two months too late (and do you see how it had to be exactly two months for the above sentence to carry any meaning at all?) (I'm sure you do.) Anyway, it's all about something I ate in November, which does in fact, make it two months too late and I'd have forgotten what the blooming thing tasted like if it hadn't taste so good. But, it did. And I haven't. And so, here you go.

But before that...3 reasons why you need to try this dish, despite my inexcusable tardiness.

Reason number one: the title of this post. 

Namely: Delicious Dinner Lite.

Now, isn't that becoming?

Because, I think for the lot of us who have spent most of December in a frenzied food coma, the mere mention of the word “lite” makes the heart skip a beat.

No?

Let's ponder upon it for just a wee second, why don't we? Tell me, my friends - how much turkey, stuffing, gravy, cranberries, sweet potato, green beans, brussel sprouts, christmas pudding, pumpkin pie (God, I love pumpkin pie) and brandy butter did YOU single handedly, consume in the month of December?

Yup. That’s what I mean.

Not to mention the leftover turkey sandwiches (because we cooked too much food) (like we do every year) most of us ate till we were blue in the face?

Aha!

(not, by the way, that I have anything against the Big Bird. God Bless the Big Bird. And God Bless America.)

Moving swiftly on.

Reason number two: (this gets better by the way) 

See, the word “lite” is not a good word. In fact, it's a bad word. It's even worse, actually. It's pure evil. You see, the word "lite" usually conjures up images of  insipid looking sugar free pots of yogurt, each of which is actually 1 kilo of sweetener mixed with pink coloured goo. Or packets of crunchy-ish items, which taste like nothing on earth, but are in fact meant to be a sorry excuse for real crisps. Or – this is my favourite yet – “lite” cheese. Ever tasted “lite” cheese? Don’t. You’re better off eating your mother’s rubber galoshes.

So, I hope when you read the words “delicious” and “lite” in the same sentence, you are basically, bum off your chair, poised in mid-air, in a state of electrified wonder?

Because, this, you realise, is monumental.

And now (drumroll please), my trump card.

Aha! Save the best for last.

Always.

Reason number three: Delicious Dinner Lite was invented, devised and created by none other than The Closet Gourmand.

Which pretty much guarantees that this is already likely to be one of the best meals you will eat this year. And being January and all, that's a fat prize, I know. But you know and I've said this before - TCG is, hands down and without contest, the single best cook I know. And I know a lot of good cooks.

So, without further ado, I present to you:

Delicious Dinner Lite

These are kathi rolls, my friends – the good old paratha wrapped kebabs, rolled up in wax paper, filled with nostalgia and the taste of the dusty streets of Calcutta.

For those of you new to the kathi roll – it's basically an Indian wrap. Typically, dough is kneaded long and flat, folded several times to get the famed paratha layers. (For some amateur tips on technique, please read my post, Tani's very green parathas)

That done, for the kathi roll, the paratha is cooked through on a tawa or griddle with a bit of oil. If an egg is to be added (unda paratha) it is usually cracked into the tawa and the paratha put on top of the egg; they both cook together and the paratha gets coated on one side with the egg.

Kathi Kababs - the filling inside - is usually chicken, mutton or beef chunks or - for a vegetarian version, potato or paneer - marinated in spices and cooked on skewers, traditionally over coals. When the roll is being prepared, these are taken off the skewers and tossed with onions, chillies and sauces in the tawa, before being put in a thin strip in the centre of the paratha (egg side up you are using an egg).

Embellish it how you will – a dollop of ketchup, a dash of tamarind sauce, a squeeze of lime, sometimes a shake of chaat masala, some spicy coriander/mint sauce...

...and that's the famous Kathi Roll, a delicious snack on the go, one of my all-time favourite treats and one of my most endearing memories of India, reminding me of all that is good and decent about it. A reminder I've needed much of recently.

And so, our delicious dinner lite consists of not one, but three kinds of kababs (well, well, aren’t you in for a treat?): Chicken Hariyali, Seekh and Chicken Badami, and here’s how you do the marinades:

Hariyali

-       Half kilo chicken thighs

-     Mint, coriander and spinach

-       Lemon

-       Salt

-       GG paste

-       The very finest of red chilli powder

-       All ground up

Seekh

-       Aberdeen lean steak

-       Red onion

-       Coriander

-       GG paste

-       Green chilli

-       Garam Masala

-       Salt

-       Some “secret spices” that he wont let me in on. I tried everything, believe me. If I were a gambling person, I’d bet there was alcohol involved, but the truth is, I don’t quite know. Sorry!!

-       All ground up

Badami

-       Half kilo chicken thighs

-       Half cup ground almonds

-       0.5 cup double cream

-       0.5 cup besan (ground chickpea flour)

-       0.5 cup white onions

-       Salt and pepper

-       All ground up

Now I get that the quantities here range from vague (best case) to non-existent (base case). But as I said, this is coming from one of the finest cooks of our times. So. Um. Tough.

We take what we get.

Such is the essence of life.

Anyway.

Marinate for a few hours or overnight.

Oven it

Wrap it

Eat it