So when I get a wee award like this from one of those bloggers, whose work I enjoy, it’s nothing short of lovely – the kind that stitches the grin into your face. Now, if one weren’t enough, Heather was mad enough to give me another! Bless her, she has created a monster!

The Liebster Award is for blogs with 200 odd subscribers (I have tried to track it down to where it started but its like trying to find the needle in a haystack!). Both these awards are given by one blogger to another. Isn’t that a great idea? Pass it forward. It comes from the wittily wonderful Heather at Sugar Dish Me. This lass is sassy and a mean cook to boot. I’ve been following her excellent blog for a while now and always chuckle reading her posts and dream away reading her recipes. And this girl means it when she says that there are rules of etiquette for grocery shopping.

The best part of the award is that I get to bestow the same to another five blogs (foodie or otherwise). And I can’t wait to do that, so here they are

Big Sis, Little Dish – Two sisters, two very individual persons and palates, one fabulous, inspiring blog. I love this site!

La Bonne Bouche - Such elegant plates of food…I wish my Sole Meuniere looked like that! 

Better Late  - She is as witty as she is clever with her words. This woman can write and versatility must be attributed to her blog considering her range of topics as well as the writing form. It’s a very new blog, but I was hooked from the start! 

Jo Blogs, Jo Bakes – Title says it all, and Jo has the energetic appeal of Tigger! And some serious kitchen skills.

At Anna’s Kitchen Table - Honest to goodness, heartwarming, belly filling, real deal Cypriot food.

So ladies, these are the rules.

1. Copy and paste the award on our blog.
2. Link back to the blogger who gave you the award.
3. Pick your five favorite blogs with less than 200 followers, and leave a comment on their blog to let them know they have received the award.
4. Hope that the five blogs chosen will keep spreading the love and pass it on to five more blogs!

The rules for this award require that I:

1. Send a huge thankyou to Heather @ Sugar Dish Me for passing on the prize
2. Share 7 things about myself
3. Pass the award on to 7 bloggers that I enjoy
4. Contact the nominated bloggers and let them know I love their work!

The joyous part… 

A Sweeter Thing - I will never forget this blog as it was the source of the unforgettable Magic in the Middle Cookies. Is that enough of a recommendation?

Eat, Little Bird - I am fortunate enough to call Thanh a friend. Her photos are absolutely beautiful, her charm shines through the posts.

The Flourishing Foodie -  I came across this cracker of a site via Eat, Little Bird a few days ago and its filled with gorgeous photos and lovely recipes. And I am very covetous of her wooden cake stand.

The Little Loaf - The range of things you can do with yeast, flour and water is wonderfully explored in this blog. Puddings are thrown in for great measure.

Sweet Mabel - Now this lovely has a bit of everything; food, craft, home decor and everything in between. It is as she says, sweet.

Carol-Anne’s Kitchen - This Irish settler in the lovely city of Perth, Australia, writes with open honesty and has some utterly tempting recipes.

Brian Jones Photography -  Besides having some serious skills with a camera, this man made an extraordinary decision with his wife, to leave all behind in the UK and live the smallholder’s, self-sufficient life in rural Hungary. I admire them  immensely, in the full knowledge that I would never be able to do such a thing voluntarily! His experiences are hilarious and yet, you cheer him on. Or at least, I do.

The harder part…Seven things about me…eh…..

1. My middle name is Mitchelle. Yes, that’s the ‘correct’ spelling. I would like to hunt down the man that put this on my Indian birth certificate.

2. I bite my nails. Badly.

3. I love Paper-cutting.

4.  I have some weird, unnamed,  addiction to fabulously designed packaging. I, am the person, that media companies target and suck in by slick logos, fancy shaped bottles and clever taglines.

5. I love classic literature. And collect old books. I am thrilled if they have a little dedication inside. I don’t care that it devalues the book. I am sharing a forgotten moment in someone’s life.

6. I adore animated movies. Yes, Disney too. How can you not groooooove with Baloo??

7. And the last is a contribution from my ever defeated husband - I’m messy. Nuff said.

Pass it on ladies…….

And to all the subscribers, followers, readers, browsers and commenters on my blog, I thank you.

I, in the normal run of things, am not one for repeats of ‘needs a tweak’ sort of recipes. I want it to work the first time, since my enthusiasm can only sustain me that far. Or rather that’s how long my laziness can remain dormant. I broke the mould however, for the idea of a coconut mini doughnut. I suddenly had some sort of unquenchable craving for a coconut baked treat and it had to be made in my shiny new mini doughnut tin. I did various versions using Nigella’s Jam Doughnut muffins as the base and it had enough potential, to give me impetus to try again. And yet again, tweaking all the while. The reason is simple really, I’m stark raving nutts about coconut. Now, please…don’t start about saturated fats. I know, but I don’t care. There are few foods with which I am as stubborn as a bulldog about and coconut is definitely the first on the list.

With good reason. The evergreen state of Kerala is so named because of the shade and bounty lavished on it by the tall stately, shapely, curved coconut trees. Kera means coconut in Sanskrit. Alam means Land. My native home is the Land of the Coconuts. There are worse places on this good earth that you could say you were from.

Every single part of the tree is usable – for furniture (the trunk), kitchen fire stove fuel (the outer shell of the coconut as well as the immature part of the tree), natural biodegradable scotch brite (the thick, wiry bristles that hug the nut stubbornly), for making brooms (the vein/ribs of the leaves, which are stripped and bunched together), thatching roofs (using dried leaves), dyes (from the root), the actual shell serves as an odds and ends sort of spoon and of course, in the sweet and savoury uses of the fruit itself.  No wonder that the family trees in private plots of land, are guarded so jealously.

Grating a coconut in Kerala can be a dangerous business. You grate it, at the end of a metal circle with menacing spikes coming out of it, attached to a stool no higher than half a foot off the ground. A proper lady, would sit side saddle (unless no one else was there) and grate away, letting the tiny peels (it had to be fine or my grandmother would have a go at me) fall onto the plate placed under the threatening spikes. My work shy, soft hands took a week to harden against the grazing I would get while turning the scratchy, wiry carapace so as to get an even grating.

My treat for such cruel labour at the start of every morning, was to nick the first grating, all waxy and moist. I got into trouble for that too; my grandmother with narrowed eyes and a wagging finger, said it would rain on my wedding day. That’s why I got married in a desert!

I tried several methods of inserting a good degree of coconut flavour into my experiments. They were all wonderfully insipid or overbearingly greasy. I tried baking it with lite coconut milk (wonderful, fluffy texture, but not enough flavour), then with full fat coconut milk (too thick and the muffin was dense, but the taste was better), a mixture of coconut and veg oil (ditto on the dense front and the oil flavour was too strong) as well as topping with sweetened shredded coconut. They were fine, just…fine.

My next attempt (yes, I wasn’t thwarted yet) was going to involve coconut milk powder. And then I stumbled on this uber-simple recipe from King Arthur’s flour website. Brilliant! Someone has done the work for me. Mix wet and dry ingredients separately, bring together, and pour and bake. A couple of bowls and a spoon were all the equipment needed. It uses coconut milk powder, no butter, just healthier vegetable (I use canola oil) oil and coated in some sugar and coconut milk powder.

If you don’t have a mini doughnut tin, then a mini muffin one works splendidly. Just make sure in both cases that you grease and flour really well. The original recipe calls for making it in a regular sized doughnut tin. I am actually relieved I do not own one, as I have no restraint when it comes to these beautiful pale, cream coloured beauties.

This recipe is made using icing (confectioner’s) sugar and what happens is that you can a soft, unbelievably tender, close crumbed, cake like, fluffy bake. The balance of coconut was perfect, coming in firmly and sweet because of the drenching and finishing through the doughnut. One of the finest wee things to come out of my oven. Heavenly.

I am ashamed to admit to how many I have eaten. Between four of us in this house and out of 16 doughnuts and 12 mini muffins made out of one lot of batter, two are left, which will promptly disappear after I publish this post.

After the requisite baking, testing, photos and writing, I sought to reward myself for my uncharacteristic perseverance. I indulged in the pleasure of sitting by the sunny window, in my favourite chair, with a fabulous book, a cup of tea and these coconut mini doughnut morsels placed at a very convenient distance from my fingertips. It’s the small, sweet things that makes the day special.

And finding what you’ve been looking for.

To view and print recipe, click here.

I first tried it in Aberdeen, where they came in bottles of such minuscule proportions that I used the entire contents in one meal. The heat wasn’t enough. Abolish any thought of the beetroot clad cheaters either. Other than colour, they serve no purpose. Frustrated, I decided to give making Harissa a go and I haven’t looked back since. I have tried a fair few recipes; Ottelenghi’s, Nadia Sawalha’s and others online, but I always return, perhaps somewhat masochistically, to Nigella’s recipe in How to Eat. Here the heat was unapologetic, the spices unrestrained. Other recipes included peppers which was good, and others bizarrely had tomatoes and sugar which made it a chutney, trying awkwardly to pace out the very hot, fiery nature of the paste. What’s the point in that?

Much depends on the strength of your dried chillies. Here I have used the dried Kashmiri chillies which are considered to be milder in heat but bursting with colour. It still has bite, but won’t ignite the sweat glands. I am also leaning towards experimenting with the dried, smokey Mexican chillis.  Being a coriander fiend, fresh or seeds, the three tablespoons worth in here, is the clincher for me, as well as the scent of caraway seeds. You can adjust the spice quantities to suit your taste. A lot of recipes that I have seen, rely only on cumin.

The first thing I make after I have a full batch of freshly made Harissa is my Spicy Couscous. It is fitting, considering that this paste hails from Tunisia, where Couscous is a staple. Chuck in anything you want in here, but I generally go with canned chickpeas, spring onions, toasted pine seeds and a ridiculous amount of fresh coriander. Add the paste as per your limits. I quite like adding plumped up raisins, if I am in the mood for it. The paste is forked through all the ingredients and I increase the quantity according to taste. Know that feta too, all salty and sharp marries perfectly with the spices of harissa. Basically, it’s a thoroughly satisfying store cupboard meal for a chilli nutter.

If you are wondering what other uses you can put Harissa to, let me count the ways…

• Marinade lamb chunks with the paste and barbecue/grill/saute to sit on top on a bed of coucous (minus the harissa), perhaps with an extra dollop on top to serve.
• A different take on Roast Chicken; Cut your chook into large sections, marinade in a thinned version of the paste with Oil and lemon juice and roast till done.
• Fish, is fantastic with this. White, firm, thick fillets, coated and fried in butter, are sensational. Nigella’s Indian roast potatoes, make a wonderful carb companion with.
• Next time you make a fish stew, a dollop in or on, in the nature of a rouille, just brings it to a whole, new level.
• Oily fish such as mackeral and sardines are the perfect partner for Harissa, the two strong flavours complementing each other. Brush the paste (thinned with some oil and lemon juice) on while grilling or sautéing. Mix some of the paste with yoghurt to serve on the side. 
• Mixed with mayonnaise or creme fraiche, it makes a delicious dipping sauce for roasted potatoes, sweet or otherwise, as well as prawns.
• It pairs beautifully with the mighty aubergine. Slice thickly into rounds, brush with oil and grill. Once tender and golden, brush with the paste and serve with  a cooling buttermilk or creme fraiche/touch of garlic/olive oil/ salt and pepper dressing on the side. 

So, there you have it. My love knows no limits, but my patience at typing is always a touch short. If you have any cherished ways of using Harissa, I would love to know.

For Harissa recipe, click here.

Berate me if you must. In my world, a curry needs to be eaten with your hands. I am sore in heart, when I have to eat rice and curry off cold, stainless steel prongs. For the sake of company, I do dine in a ‘civilised’ fashion but when alone, quite alone, I dig in, fingers at the ready. Growing up, I ate in such a ‘primitive’ manner daily and the only cutlery on the table, were serving spoons. As foreign, peasant -like or, as some people have said, yucky as that sounds, there are rules of etiquette. This is no caveman’s banquet.

Your fingers are the only parts of your hand that make contact with the food, your palms must be spotless. You are to eat with only your right hand. Don’t ask what the left is meant to do, it’s reserved for more private, personal cleaning tasks. Licking of fingers is strictly prohibited. Except when no one’s watching. And by no means, are you allowed to put your dirty hands into a serving bowl and serve yourself. Use the left hand, with the serving spoon. But you knew that already.

I love eating with my hands, and The Scotsman has no issues with me reverting to my natural ways when I have made a curry. Lil Lassie too, of late, has attempted the same with an Indian meal, and since the novelty of the method means that she will eat more of the food on her plate, I am happy to encourage her. I tend to make a sort of ball on my plate; rice, curry, a bit of the meat, some vegetable and squish it together to make a neat morsel. Everyone has their own method and balance within that morsel. You really get a sense of the texture of foods; soft, hard or  yielding gently to a little pressure. Like this Pumpkin Thoran my mother used to make. It’s natural sweetness combined with such savoury spicing, ensures its excellent companionship to any main be it a dhal or a lamb/beef/fish curry.

It’s easy. Cook the pumpkin cubes with sliced onions and a little water in a pan on a gentle heat. Once cooked, you could add a small handful of freshly grated coconut. Heat some oil in another small pan and splutter your curry leaves, cumin and fry your garlic until golden. Pour this deeply flavoured oil and its contents onto the fuzzy edged pumpkin and toss gently. The pumpkin will act like a sponge, absorbing that terrific flavour. If you can use Extra Virgin or Virgin Coconut Oil, you will really ooomph up the flavour.

I have my mother (and my father as well, come to think of it!!) to thank for my good health. Her belief in good homemade food being the bearer of  health and happiness, has us standing today. She understood, then, the harm that E numbers, preservatives and additives could cause. Or perhaps, it was her natural mistrust of things she did not know of. Whatever the thinking, this is the kind of meal that we were brought up on day in and out – freshly bought, freshly made, lovingly served. On those occasions when we were ill, she would feed us, making balls of food in her hand, softly saying “aaa”, and plopping the morsel into our open mouths. The taste of food when made by a loving mother’s hand is wonderful, but it feeds more than just the body when her fingers put it into her child’s waiting mouth.

Thanks Ma.

To view and print recipe, click here.

I am surrounded by pink. Pink homemade bunting, balloons, favour bags, tablecloths, icing and feathers. I feel distinctly out of place. The birthday girl, who has just turned five, is skipping about, happy and relishing the attention that a birthday party brings. I will admit, I was dreading it. Not from a my-baby’s-growing-up perspective as much as organising-a-party-for-hyper-kids sort of angle. Having said that, as hectic as it was, the kids had a blast, were so happy with the arrangements, that I really got into the swing of it, making a fool of myself during musical statues (they still entertain at five years of age). Also I had a feeling of perfect, unadulterated happiness, when some of the children came to me and said that this was a lovely party and the cake was yummy!

Lil Lassie was lucky with two cakes this year. One on her real birth-day and the other for the party. Her cherished favourite is Nigella’s Chocolate Fudge Cake. Excellent choice. The damp, moist dense-ish cake, slathered in grainy textured, chocolate buttercream, is lavish without being heavy. Which means that you can plough through a substantial amount of it without clutching your belly in pain and regret all evening while suffering from sugar driven palpatations. Ok, you might get the latter, but really, you won’t care. This is a fabulous cake. 

The other, more elaborate celebration cake is a culmination of the talents of two fantastic bakers, who I am happy to call my pals. The cake itself comes via culinary temptress, Cucina. You would have heard of her before. And doubtless, you will again. She is a cake maker, of the professional variety and she suggested I give her Extremely Naughty Chocolate Fudge Cake a go. You see the theme here. This cake is so easy to make, bakes beautifully and because it’s oil rather than butter based, means that it will keep really well, getting better in texture and flavour. Since it has a wider crumb, it’s flexible and springy, holding up to less than delicate handling as well as the weight of fondant. The taste is sensationally good, deep with chocolatey hit, without being too rich. I had baked two batches of this, and made a cake with three of the sponges. We ate the fourth, for testing purposes of course.

I have no imagination when it comes to decorating cakes. Maybe my innate terror of fondant and delicate sugarpaste work freezes the flow of any creative ideas. So when Lil Lassie pointed out to a picture of a stunning, multi-tiered wedding cake baked by my friend Mhairi (a mean cook and wonderful baker) and said she wanted that, well, I was happy to poach off someone else’s design. With her permission of course. So after a lot of kneading, rolling, cutting and plunging, I had a white fondant covered cake with pretty, shimmery, raspberry pink blossoms all around it. Though a bit of a departure from Mhairi’s more elegant, restrained design, I got a wobblier result of what I was after – something simple, girlie, fitting for a five year old.  For my first celebration birthday cake attempt, I am happy. More importantly, so was Lil Lassie. Her wide eyes and open mouth curving into a huge smile, made all the doubts and difficulties along the way worthwhile!

My moment of triumph came when all the mothers raised their hands to the question of, ” Cake, anyone?” and after eating it, came to say that it was as delicious on the inside as it was pretty on the outside! All round a success I would think.

At the end of the night,  I collapsed into a pink bed, snuggling a party weary child, with glitter from the cake dotting her eyelashes and the corner of her mouth. Her eyelids are fighting sleep but finally sink towards her cheeks. As I am about to leave the room, she softly says, ” Mama, that was the bestest party ever. I love you. Thank you for my beautiful cake.”

And now when all is quiet and everything’s done, I sit and think, of how quickly time passes and that my first born baby girl is growing up.

For Cucina’s cake recipe, click here.

It might be food blog suicide to admit, that while I immensely enjoy cooking, I am not always a great eater. Anyone who has met me might snigger reading that, considering my generous proportions. Let’s ignore the fact. The truth is, that being deeply entrenched in the sounds, smells, scents and tastes of the food as I cook, I reach the dinner table with saturated senses. And then, anything consumed is purely for fuel purposes. A bit sad really, but there you have it.

Tofu wouldn’t be something you’d associate with whetting the appetite. And you would be right. It doesn’t quite taste of anything, has a texture that can feel questionable (erasers, sponges and the like), and disintegrates easily in the pan. Not for the heavy handed, slap dash cook. I liked it in a miso soup and that was the introduction and extent of my acquaintance with this odd block . Friends however, can influence more than your clothes shopping and best pal Jouels was the first to educate me on tofu. Contrary to my food attitudes and habits, Jouels is a bit of a health nut (not to mention a marathon addict…my lungs constrict at the thought) and so tofu, for her, is a staple.

I had Jouels voice ringing in my head as I peered into the cold stock aisle at Tesco looking at a packet of fresh tofu blinking at me. I didn’t have anything to lose; I mean, it’s not like she asked me to buy chicken feet (as good as that may be, but slightly out of the norm for your average British shopping list). Browsing recipes online, I spied Yotam Ottelenghi’s Guardian Column and there he had a recipe for Black Pepper Tofu.

Black peppercorns and I, are involved. Deeply.  Rasams of my childhood, that black pepper and tomato boiled curry broths, remain special and I carry a yearning for it daily. My grandmother had a peppercorn plant which clung seductively to the mango tree, the tresses of berries tumbling down where it willed. I was fascinated by the fact that such a small, dainty looking thing could be so powerful. It’s hard for me to refrain from giving anything I cook, a good grinding of this pungent aromatic. So when I saw this recipe heavily dusted with pepper, I knew it was the one.

Now I have changed a few things from the original, mainly because I would prefer to keep my intestinal tract intact. The original calls for eight red chillies and five tablespoons of ground pepper. I love hot food, I do. But even I know, that this is beyond the capacity of the occasional hot chilli indulger. Excessive amounts like these are nothing if you have built up a tolerance by  consuming it day in and out, as is the norm for most of the South East Asian Countries and even parts of India, particularly the state of Andra Pradesh. I have not quite reached that level. So, I have reduced it to a mere two chillies (the longer, red, milder ones) and a heaped tablespoon of  black peppercorns.

I have also reduced the amount of butter specified by half. It really doesn’t need more. The shallots, though a wonderfully sweet addition to the recipe but not always easy to find here, I have subbed it with your bog standard onions. I also, maybe more controversially, have scrapped the initial cornflour dusting of the tofu and browned them, naked, in the hot oil. On another note, I can understand that tofu might not be your thang. If so, prawns or chicken, indeed tender strips of beef would not be wrong. It really isn’t a big deal. In other words, do as you see fit. It’s your kitchen, your dinner, your tastes.

What happens is that you basically make a masala out of the shallots and other aromatics like ginger, garlic and chillis. Then add your condiments, primarily the sweet soy sauce. I implore you to seek out this ingredient. It goes by the name Indonesian soy too, is thick, syrupy and completely delicious. You will not reserve its use to just this recipe. Stir fries are sensational with it. It’s a vital, non negotiable part of this recipe, though the dark and light soys in here are interchangeable. Add your previously browned tofu and chuck in spring onions at the very end for some fresh crunch. The deep savouriness of the ‘masala’ is so well matched by the salty, sweet of caramel tinged soy sauce, all bearing upon the soft tofu.  To balance the heat, I make the simplest of simple salads. Ribboned cooling cucumber and crunchy carrot, dressed in rice vinegar, sugar and salt added to taste. It all works wonderfully.

No matter what the day has been like, I am ready to eat this meal. I don’t have too many repeat recipes, but this dish has earned a permanent place in the monthly, if not weekly, repertoire. I come to the table with greed motivated speed. It is gratifyingly filling, full throttle on the taste front and, with rice, the crisp covered, heat loaded, soft hearted tofu becomes oddly comforting. I may be sniffling with the heat of the pepper hitting the back of my throat but after I finish two rounds of this, I am saturated only with satisfaction.

To view and print recipe, click here.

On this blurry, blustery day, the skyline in Doha is fuzzed around the edges as miniscule sand particles take to the wind. Now, with the school reopening its doors to grateful parents, I’ve got fat chunks of that elusive thing that all parents seek. Time. So, nestling a hot cup of tea while leaning on the kitchen table, I allow myself to settle into a mood that’s been brewing. A mood for flakey, golden pastry, barely holding a cheese drenched vegetable filling. Oh yes, I want that much loved and loathed, 70′s-80′s, buffet party classic. La Quiche.

My mother’s quiche was anything but, a quiche. You have to understand; she is otherwise, an excellent cook, flitting between Indian and ‘Western’ food with ease, a natural. However every ‘Super’ has an Achilles heel and mum’s was pastry. Her shortcrust was more shortbread and she tended to lattice the top of it with pastry offcuts. The filling was a mix of ham, loads of bacon, eggs and something else, something green but I cannot be sure it was spinach. Be that as it may, it was absolutely delicious and us kids were stood at the oven, drooling like pups, waiting for a slice. However… robust, buttery and smokily porky as it was, it was no quiche. Sorry Ma. It was the beginning of a love affair, so I have to thank you for that.

Surfing the web while watching the pampas grass prostrate to the wind, I started noseying around Smitten Kitchen’s blog. And lo and behold, there was a Spinach Quiche.  One she has been making for years. And so good, that she blogged about it for the second time. You have to be daft, not to take the hint.

I had a bundle of large, evergreen coloured leaves in my kitchen. I wanted to put them to good use, since; they are not yet quite in season and I have fought hard to secure their space in my vegetable drawer. Apparently, there is much love for this iron flavoured leaf locally. You have to apply a touch of elbowing and shimmying, to wiggle your way within reach of the spinach crate dominated by the presence of the generously sized abaya-clad granny. You don’t mess around with them. Ever. It’s a technique I am trying to master. I got lucky this time.

The recipe is simple itself. Make a shortcrust pastry/pie dough/pâte brisée. Cook and drain the spinach, add it to the cream cheese and eggs, pour into lined tart tin and bake. I used the pâte brisée, as per SK’s instructions and its a doddle to make. It is however, a wee bit unyielding. The best way to deal with it, is between two sheets of cling film. It allows you to maintain the flour/fat ration, stops the pastry breaking and most importantly, is practically no-mess. Roll it out the the desired size, between the sheets, lifting the plastic lined pastry and adjusting it in the tin as you go along. I always do this right after I make the dough. After rolling and lining, I place the tin into the fridge until I need it. Or just whichever shortcrust recipe you like. Puff pastry would work here too.

Debbie says she often doesn’t blind bake the pastry. I wish I did. My oven has the manner of a tempermental soul, turning cold and dipping alarmingly in temperature when something is forced upon it. It might account for the difference between a perfect flakey tart base and an almost flakey one. Placing the filled tart on a pre-heated baking tray might circumvent the soft-bottomed issue, without blind baking. Your call.

After that, I did things a little differently. The original recipe calls for frozen spinach. Which I never have. I will from now on, just so I can make this quiche at a whim. I used double the amount of fresh. This recipe is very forgiving, so a little more or less of the greens will not render your efforts futile. I also added a healthy, generous grating of heady, fresh nutmeg. Spinach can’t do without it.

Can I tell you my quest is over? The pastry was golden, buttery, flaky and delicious. I would say this was the tastiest shortcrust I ever made (should be, with all that butter). That against the soft, iron toned, nutmeg infused, cheesy soft filling was pleasure itself. I intended it as a light supper for us all, but ended up eating a quarter of a 10″ quiche while waiting for dinner time to come round. I couldn’t pass it without cutting yet another, thin sliver. Which when added together, makes a couple of rather fat ones. If my mum were still here in Doha, she’d be my accomplice.

I have been charitable though, putting it out of sight until the family managed to get excellent portions. I did glare a bit, when The Scotsman went in for another helping. Not that he cared to notice. He was courting the quiche.

A wrinkled, foil covered rectangular block was sitting, alone on the vast expanse of my mother-in-law’s black granite kitchen worktop. A sliver of winter light escaped through the wooden window slats, resting on that silver carapace: it shone like a beacon. There was no alternative direction my mind could have taken when I entered the kitchen. The food obsessed areas of my brain (that’s most of it) involuntarily zoomed in on the promise of a baked good. I think perhaps the reason I was drawn to it is, that one, it was obviously homemade and two, my mother-in-law never bakes. So this stranger in a familiar land peaked my curiosity.

Cue the hustle and bustle of stripping kids out of winter coats, hats, scarves and other items of insulation, while piling into the cosy back room of the house. As usual, we were talking over each other’s heads; voices calling out, ” YES!!!” to the question of, ” Tea?”. After settling the kids and smoothing the ruffles in my hair, my thoughts went back to that silver covered block. My mother-in-law brought in the tea tray. On it, was a plate holding thick slabs of raisin studded cake. Well, now. This might be interesting, especially as there were no signs of vile candy peels or worse, those horrid, lurid cherries, the colour of clowns noses. I dislike clowns. Actually, I am rather scared of them. But that’s not the point, I digress.

I like an ordinary fruit cake. Simple, unaffected and unpretentious. It does not mean, that stale spiced , dry cardboard will do, just because it’s there. It must have substance. I waited politely for the tea to go around, before napkins and wee plates were passed for the cake. If it were in my house, I’d have slapped the brown slab into a napkin ( if I remembered) and onto your outstretched palms. My in-laws, however, do things right. So, a steaming cup of tea sat at the ready, I proceeded to eat this cake that occupied so much of my mind for the last quarter of an hour. And it did not disappoint.

I caught the scent of mixed spice as soon as I picked it up, good start. This was a firm textured cake, very much a tea fruit cake but  sweeter than usual. The fruit was plump and moist and the spices came through, warm and cosy. It was rather satisfying and I found myself eyeing another slice, which my mother-in-law spotted. She lifted the plate to me and I didn’t bother protesting. The cake is a standard bake of one of their friends, who regularly makes this for my father-in-law, knowing his penchant for something ‘fine’ with his ‘fly’ cup in the afternoon. Or around nine pm even, when his tea (dinner) has settled. On my request, my  mother-in-law asked her pal for the recipe and she very kindly gave it to me. And I have since, baked this cake every few months and usually have some mini loaves stashed in the freezer for those inevitable, desperate days.

It’s an everyday cake and by saying that I am probably doing it a disservice. See, the world of baking is occupied with the indulgent. I suppose, by its very nature, baking is a luxury and one could argue, an unnecessary one at that. My point is this – I sometimes feel that if a cake is not toweringly three-storied , billowing in buttercream or piped to perfection, it isn’t worth the consideration or the post space. Now before I get pelted with piping bags, understand that I am in awe and admiration of all those cake artists, who truly express the breadth and creativity of the medium, going beyond anything my limited abilities (or patience) can produce. I just don’t see a simple, everyday, plain ol’ fruitcake often.

Every time I get the scent of this warm, spiced cake meandering its way through the house, I remember that day and so many others, I had with my in-laws. I have shared many an engaging conversation with my MIL while we both munched at a slice each. I think of the pleasure on my FIL’s face when I made a stash of these for their cupboards or a happy email received, when I had this baked and sent for Mother’s Day, after I moved to Qatar.

I do not wish to glorify its simplicity; it does not require such noble service. For me, it’s homely and that’s the charm it possesses. It’s more than enough.

To view and print recipe, click here.

I am perfectly aware that my last post announced my need to consume anything other than sugar. Do not trouble yourself with pointing it out for me. Like any relationship that comes to some sort of end, there is always a rebound. I have no excuses or apologies; sugar was always waiting in the wings, barging into my kitchen with it irresistible presence. I flutter and find it hard to say no. These Blackberry, Passionfruit and Ginger Pastilles are worth saying yes to. Long name, for such a sweet little thing.

In my defence, I made these for my sister Mel who, in much more innocent times, was rather fond of candy. Especially boiled sweeties wrapped in transparent, crackly wrappers. Or bubble gum pink candy floss sold by the sun-baked Indian man at the school gates; bags and bags of pop-candy coloured clouds overwhelming his ancient, rusty bicycle. Those were the days when sugar and spice were all things nice. And less deadly on the waistline.

We were partners, Mel and I, all-in; sparring, playing, arguing or eating. Both of us occupied this hidden world, only accessible to the imaginations of children and we spent every afternoon in some fantastical, nonsensical adventure. One day, we were gymnasts at the World Championships, springing  off a pommel horse (back of the sofa), the next; Victorian ladies, complete with long skirts (made puffy by wearing all our skirts together) and bonnets (fashioned out of sun hats); and in the evening we inevitably underwent a metamorphosis, transforming into mermaids (in the bubble bath…and Mel will kill me for publicising this!). I cringe while chuckling at the memory of it. Mel always finds the regaling of such tales rather toe curling-ly embarrassing. Which makes me talk of it more!

Returning to the present; these types of confectionary have diverse interpretations based on where you ask. Pastilles are rather easy to make and you will find various methods using citric acid, liquid glucose or gelatin. Annie Rigg‘s excellent book, Gifts from the Kitchen, has a simple Raspberry Pastille recipe which uses just fruit and preserving sugar. So that’s the one I adapted.

The base recipe unfortunately, does not have a temperature reading for the setting point. I did a bit of digging online and found rather conflicting instructions. A common method for making pastilles was to add liquid pectin after the bubbling mix registered a soft ball temperature of 116 deg C. Those recipes which used preserving sugar (which has pectin added to it already) called for a temperature of 103 deg C. I went with preserving sugar as that is what I had. My thermometer read 101 deg C when I decided that it was ready. Listen, a degree this way or that, is not a reason to doubt or panic. It will turn out fine. Mine did.

So these are the pointers that I look out for. The ‘jam’ (basically, pastilles are overcooked jams) should come away from the sides of the pan in one continuous mass, like it desperately wants to clump around your spoon. Have a wee bowl of ice cold water at the ready, to drop a blob of the mix into, when you think setting point has been reached. The blob or ball, should be at a soft ball stage. It should be firm enough to hold its shape well; soft without being squishy and it should have a bit of resistance. The sugar thermometer read around a 101 deg C for me. After a cooling time of 6 hours at least, cut your pastilles out with oiled knives or pizza cutters. Roll it in caster sugar.

Here the perfume of the berries, along with the fruitiness of the tart passionfruit, is balanced by the spiced heat of ground ginger. It has no bite, coming in as a subtle background layer; a warming finish to the tart beginning. Everything is better with a little soothing. So, drape yourself over a comfortable seat, in a satin dressing gown with silk slippers, and indulge in one jewel coloured square at a time. At least that’s what I would have done with Mel.

I sent these away to Mel when my mother was returning back to Abu Dhabi. I hope she likes them. I love the idea of indulging my baby sis by making home made candy, just for her. I know,I know… she is married with a wee girlie of her own now and possesses more sense than I ever could.

And yet, once a big sis…

To view and print recipe, click here.

Here’s a good start to 2012…I think I have run the gamut of greed with seasonal indulgence.

Somehow, the sticky shine is off high-sugar content food when it is abundant and within such easy reach. Not to mention, when I partake of it in such an unreserved fashion (you know, the “It’s Christmas” line). Like the Christmas cake,  voraciously reduced to a meagre sliver over the last week. That skinny slice though, has been calling out in vain for days, from its solitary confinement. No doubt, my mother will sneak a bite or three by the time the day is out. My point is that, I am done with the sweet stuff. For now, at least.

I am looking for a savoury hit, full flavoured, vegetarian and yes, healthy as well. Looking for inspiration I opened an over burdened cupboard and a tin of chickpeas came rolling out. Lifting it to put it back on the shelf, my eye was arrested by the sight of a bright red packet of Chaat masala. DING!

Chaat (a word used for foods that are considered nibbles or snacks) masala is a miracle worker. Sweet and sour at the same time, it lends such an unusual but delicious savoury, tongue clicking element to whatever it is sprinkled on. At its core, it’s a combination of certain spices but the star ingredients are Amchoor powder (mango powder) and black salt (kala namak). Which is a misleading. It’s kind of pink. These ingredients are primarily used in the street foods of Northern India and Pakistan and is essential in some of those delectable savoury snacks.

I have found Chaat or Chat Masala in most of the supermarkets in the U.K. I have found the Shan brand to be the best and least (black) peppery. If not, then online shops should be able to provide you with the same. If all fails, I have included the recipe for making your own. I never have, but these are the quantities my mother gave me for her homemade masala and well, that should be good enough!

Other uses for this pungent, aromatic ‘garnish’; sprinkle over yoghurt to serve with a curry. Add a touch to lemonade (oh yes!). Barbecued meats, fresh from the fire, with a smattering of lemon and chaat masala, is irresistible. I love it over dhals too. A particular treat, was a just-ripened mango, judiciously dipped into a a bowl of the powder. Don’t knock it till you try it!

Word of warning – Black salt contains small amounts of sulphites which contribute to a mild, well, err, bad egg smell. Don’t let that put you off, it’s not something you can taste. If you smell the packet of Chaat Masala you won’t get a whiff of it. The charming aroma seems to waft upwards, only on mixing with the slightly wetter salad ingredients and disappears soon after,  entirely. Get over it…it tastes grand.

This recipe couldn’t be simpler. No, really, it couldn’t. Rinse your chickpeas, chop up a small onion (or spring onions), roughly chop coriander, tomatoes and if you like, a deseeded green chilli too. Mint wouldn’t hurt. Add chat masala to taste and mix. Eat. Feel good and virtuous. It’s the New Year.

My mother and I didn’t even wait to decant the salad into individuals bowls. We stood at the kitchen table, eating in a most uncivilised manner with two spoons, scooping the beige speckled peas from one, large bowl. Looks like she’s craving lighter food too!

And yet, there she goes, passing by me with a cup of tea in one hand and the last sliver of Christmas cake in the other…