Читать книгу Miss Masala - Mallika Basu - Страница 27

YET ANOTHER CLIENT CRISIS, the biggest new business pitch ever and two long meetings. Being part PR consultant and part domestic goddess can be hard going. Still sitting at my desk at eight in the evening, editing version 25 of what was once an interesting report on a riveting subject, I was considering professional suicide with one quick e-mail.

Dear client, I began, much as I would like to spend the rest of my life editing your insightful document, I no longer have the will to continue. And then, the cleaners arrived. It was a sign from above. My brain entered meltdown mode. I pressed delete and started wondering what to cook for dinner as I grabbed my coat, dashed outside and flagged down a taxi on the street.

All I needed now to unwind was an uneventful ride home and a hearty Indian meal. It’s at moments like this that I am tempted to call the local Spice-Tandoori-Balti-Taj-Mahal-Whatever. For anything with chilli and turmeric in it. That I don’t have to cook myself.

Time seems almost always to be in short supply in my life. Cooking Indian food has to jostle for pride of place in a topsy-turvy week of client deadlines, unexpected guests and last-minute plans with friends. Days are mostly spent planning evenings out with close friends at cocktail bars, restaurants or nightclubs. And then recovering from them.

There is a time and a place for elaborate cooking. Busy weekdays and social weekends most definitely aren’t it. But masala cravings can make me do terrible things. I have ghastly memories of midnight meals. Gammon steaks wrapped in ready-frozen parathas. Soda bread soaked in mango pickle. Cringe-worthy failed attempts to cook dal when drunk. I’ve even come this close to trying out an Australian colleague’s recipe for curry porridge.

The sensible thing to do, of course, is to cook oneself something when sober and wide awake. Something requiring minimum effort but with maximum result. A wholesome, healthy dish that uses fridge-ready ingredients and takes no more than half an hour from preparation to plate.

I’m talking protein-rich vegetable dal, a comforting pulao or some bhuna chicken with salad. All cooked in extra quantities to provide sustenance before and after a booze-fuelled evening, or simply frozen for busy days to come and other desperate moments.

I racked my brains for inspiration as I flopped on to the taxi seat.The back of a black cab is usually where I pause to think and take stock. Make calendar notes of birthdays. Return overdue phone calls. Painfully remind myself of the meagre contents of the fridge.

And then the friendly driver interrupted my reverie:

‘Are you Welsh?’

Here we go again …

‘Indian? You speak very good English?’

It might have been the years of the Raj that clinched it.

‘I love curry. Madras is my favourite.’

At which point, I flung away my CrackBerry and launched into an impassioned monologue about real Indian food. While I was at it, I handed out a 10-minute lesson in Indian history and chucked in some quick Indian cooking tips for good measure. The driver humoured me as we turned into my street.

The lecturing got me thinking. Madras and phal may be figments of the Western culinary imagination (refer to rant), but some truly authentic dishes have infiltrated British curry-house fare. And not all of them take hours of preparation and stirring. Just the way I like it.

Chicken Jhalfrezi

Pan-fried chicken with fresh green peppers

Chicken Jhalfrezi is a personal favourite. Literally meaning ‘chilli fried’, a jhalfrezi is an Indian stir-fry. Flummoxed? So was I when I saw the curry-house version – limp green peppers swimming in a watery marinade.

This recipe really is worth dragging the beastly Ken Hom wok from the dark underbelly of my kitchen cabinet. I set it on a high heat. Fry up lean chicken and strips of pepper and onion with the tiniest amount of oil. Rip open a bag of fresh watercress and rocket to serve it on. And say a quiet thanks for chatty cabbies.

Feeds 4

4 skinless chicken thigh fillets

4 tbsp low-fat natural yoghurt

1 tbsp tomato purée

1 tsp turmeric powder

¹/₂ tsp chilli powder

2 tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

2 medium onions

1 large tomato

2 green peppers

1 tbsp oil

¹/₂ tsp garlic paste

1 tsp ginger paste

1 tsp garam masala

25g (1oz) fresh coriander, roughly chopped

salt

1. Slice the chicken into strips and soak it in the yoghurt, tomato purée, turmeric and chilli, adding the lemon juice for extra zing. While it’s marinating, peel the onions and slice these plus the tomato and green peppers into 1cm (¹/₂ in) wide slices.

2. Warm the oil in a wok or large frying pan set over a high heat. When it sizzles, fry the onions and garlic and ginger pastes for 2–3 minutes until softened.

3. Now add the chicken, with its marinade, and stir vigorously for 5 minutes until the meat is sealed evenly. Throw in the tomato slices and keep cooking and stirring over a high heat for about 5 minutes.

4. Finally, toss in the green peppers and garam masala. Cover the wok/pan with a tight-fitting lid and cook for a further 2 minutes until the peppers soften and the chicken has absorbed its yoghurt marinade.

5. Stir in the coriander, add salt to taste and serve the chicken piled high on a bed of mixed green salad leaves tossed with fresh lemon juice, salt and chilli powder.