Spring in Melbourne means many things: the green and gold lushness of wattle, the breath-taking beauty of blossom trees, the cheery daisies and daffodils and the sight of many a gardener mowing, sowing and weeding away on sunny afternoons.
Unless of course it is grey and drizzly. Or so windy it could blow the hair off your scalp. Or it might hail. That too is part 'n' parcel of Melbourne spring.
This time of the year is also when families and friends are seen across the city's parks and gardens, having barbeques, playing with their dogs and kids and sometimes just snoozing. It's also time for fresh, seasonal fruits and veggies and what you can cook with them.
Since coming to Melbourne, I've had a new appreciation for cooking (baking rather) with seasonal fruits and veggies. Perhaps it has to do with the many cooking shows or perhaps because now I am cooking full-time instead of just as a hobby. It also makes me appreciate anew my mother's cooking. I never really noticed how she cooked with seasonal vegetables when I was living in India. So many learning opportunities lost...
The first time I had an orange cake was last year. My in-laws were down for Diwali and Mum (Ma would be my mother) had baked this beautiful orange cake. It had finely grated orange zest (the peel) cooked in an absolutely divine orange syrup on it. The cake was soft, moist and so flavorsome, I had a hard time stopping at three slices. Stupid me though, I was so busy eating the cake and then finishing my Diwali-dinner preps -- kebab, Mughlai biryani, gulab jamun -- that I completely forgot asking her for the recipe.
I'd been searching for a good orange cake recipe since. Early this year I tried an orange cake recipe -- Whole Orange Syrup Cake - -from Tamarra Milstein's 'Bake Your Cake and Eat It Too'. The cake calls for both flour and almond-meal, a bit of a pain if you ask me and used buttermilk and marmalade, both of which I don't usually have in my pantry. The result was tasty but nowhere close to satisfying the craving I had for Mum's orange cake. Till about a month ago.
A dear friend and (then) almost full-term pregnant friend of mine came over to see Mia, my then-two-month-old daughter. As she walked in, I noticed she was carrying this delicate-looking, drippy cake... I nearly cried out when I bit into the cake. It was EXACTLY what I wanted. Moist, rich and absolutely singing with orangy flavours. She told me it was her mother-in-law's recipe, very easy to make and used only almond meal and no flour.
I've baked the cake twice now. Once for my mothers' group and once for myself (grin). It's a hit and I love it. Without making this story any longer, here's the recipe.
What better way to start 2010 than by completely feeding my face? In the year and half of my being in Melbourne, I've made no pretenses about missing Indian food. Especially when it comes down to chaat and sweets and the other goodies we take for granted back home.
It was a random chat with one of the dude's at the Indian store at Moonee Ponds that lead to my best discovery in Melbourne yet. Ironic though that it should be Partner asking about "Where to get authentic gulab jamuns?" instead of me. Perhaps because Partner has been quite sick of the disintegrating gulab jamuns I've tried making. They taste almost the same except they are not round or any other shape.
So we end up at this store that's hidden away behind a bigger store. And inside was the most amazing sight ever. Motichoor laddoos, gulab jamun in paper cups and syrup, rosogolla (spelled as such too), ras malai, kaju barfi, barfi, jalebi and to my utter, utter delight dhokla...with the steamed green chillies! In Melbourne!
The owner and his wife were very polite and extremely helpful in pointing out what I might like to eat! ;) Given that I was/am a greedy pig, I really appreciated their help.
Partner watched with honest amazement as I went through each item with absolute relish. I had doubts if the taste would be "authentic", I need not have worried. God they were SO tasty. Though I think I miscalculated my love for samosas and should have ordered more. I wonder if they do gol gappas, shall call and ask.
This evening after work I'm eating the ras malai -- both of them -- since Partner got to eat more of the gulab jamuns. I am so happy. I love food. I love sweets even more. I love Indian sweets the most.
Today's recipe if the very healthy and very tasty palak paneer, cottage cheese (can use ricotta or tofu as well) in a wholesome spinach gravy. The recipe uses only 1 TBS oil, no cream and with some garlic thrown in, it's good for just about anyone. Even if you hate spinach... Read story or Try the recipe
The first time I made this dish in Australia, many wondered if, "Poppy seeds! Oh my god, opium...does this make you high?" The answer...? There have been news reports on people getting addicted to poppy seed tea.... Read story Try recipe
Once upon a time in 2006, I needed the money -- and friends said they loved the food -- so I decided to cater for friends' parties. Except the first party I catered to, I ended up throwing this egg-sausage dish on the host's face.... Read thestory / Try the easyrecipe
The following picture might not be suitable for everyone; viewer discretion is advised. Since you've been warned, heart attacks and spewing cannot be blamed on this website.
Also, copyrights exist. If this photograph is found on your website -- without a link to my website -- you're gonna be in trouble. :)
Will you eat that? That's just one of the things I tried and nearly tried on our trip to Laos- Vietnam-Cambodia. Click on album link to see more.
For the record, those frogs ie. once alive frogs, were headless and skinless but were STILL JUMPING in the bowl. They were alive... Does it enhance their taste?
Also if any of you -- especially the meat-eaters -- go "Oh how cruel" when you see/saw the frog picture, please remember that goat, sheep, fish, cows, pigs etc ALL must feel the pain.
For those who eat lamb/goat/beef but frown at others who eat dogs, cats and horses, I have a question: Do you think it's hypocritical that we choose to pet some animals while we eat the others? Or look down upon those who might eat everything?
So today is Day 3 of no cigarettes. I think I am doing really well since I've gone without the nicotine patches as well. You are supposed to wear a fresh patch every 24 hours, but after the first patch on Thursday evening, I haven't worn any.
I will admit to fantasizing about cigarettes now and then, especially after meals. Last night for instance, after a really good meal of pork, baked potatoes, cabbage-with-bacon and baked pumpkin; all with a glass of beautiful red wine, I really wanted a cigarette.
But I didn't have any and started knitting instead. This is my first, proper knitting project. The last and only time I've knit was when I was 14... it was a scarf that was eventually completed by mom. This time it's a jumper for Partner. He has promised that even if it is yucky and cannot be worn out, he will wear it at home. I am happy. I've completed the back and will attack knit the front, arms and the neck.
I have no bloody clue how to knit the neck -- remember my mom using four knitting needles and it looking very technical -- but I'll figure out something. Partner's mom was very amused that I was not using a 'pattern' -- a book to tell me when I have to pick/drop stitches. I was very amused because I was doing it the old-fashioned Indian way: Make Partner stand with arms stretched out and measure it against him. :)
Have a nice Sunday (or whatever day it is, wherever you are) How nicotine patches help quit smoking: Here
Sorry for the sudden break in writing. It's that time of the year again. The time when uni assignments start piling and up 'to do' lists really don't make sense.
The more I seem to have on my to-do list, the lesser I seem to do anything. Priorities get confusing because something else on the list -- usually the least important task -- suddenly starts looking more appealing.
Pending deadlines are also the reason for some rather bizarre nightmares. Like last night. I kept dreaming of samosas in different situations.
In one where there was a samosa that I just could not bite into. It kept escaping my maw. The more I tried to bite it, the farther it went... Or the other one where each time a raw samosa was dropped in a cauldron of hot oil -- it's deep fried after all -- it would not resurface. I would keep waiting expectantly for a nice, deep fried, samosa-with-crispy-bits to bob up in the oil and it wouldn't. I love crispy bits in a samosa. (drool)
Then there was the dream where I am at a Melbourne book-signing -- not mine, I was the reporter -- and they had samosas for snacks. Only they were the fraud, frozen samosas they are selling these days. Y'know the ones that are all flat, have no taste and look uncooked? I really don't understand samosas that can be made in the microwave. If it ain't deep fried, it ain't no samosa. I refuse to have something so tasty being labelled health food. Anyway.
So in the dream they serve these samosas and I throw a fit and call them frauds... Only that the book signing was organised by a big-time publisher. The publishers, other authors and literary agents get really upset with and I am barred from all literary/book circles and I become a literary (literal?) pariah.
No, I am not pregnant and have no idea why I've had three dreams of samosas on the same night. If you have any clues, please let me know.
PS: Day one-and-a-half of nicotine patch and no cigarettes. Melbourne's getting really cold. But I am not in Melbourne. And I also saw my first, bona fide gold-rush 'town'. Very spooky.
Dear Gol gappas, You are by far my favourite ball sport. You are my comfort food, my sustenance when broke and the one experience that completes any shopping trip. I love the way the tamarind chutney mixes with the boiled potatoes and chickpeas in you. I love you despite the near-death-experiences of the times I have choked on you. You are the flavour of India to me: sweet, spicy, tangy and yet undefinable. You are also my biggest craving. I miss you.
Love to eat you.
It started with helping out a friend, and now thanks to the good samaritan in me, I am craving. This friend -- the same one who wrote to me from New York saying she loves ghooghni -- is doing a thesis on favourite foods. She has also started a VERY cool website called My Food Valentine. The idea being we all write a love letter to our favourite food.
My love letter was to gol gappas. May I please request you to log in to her site and write a love letter to your favourite food as well?
So now I am seriously craving for gol gappas. Some educated folks have been calling them 'water balls', but that's an insult. A literal translation of gol gappa would mean 'round cheeks' because that's what happens when you eat it. In some parts of India, it is called pani puri and Bengalis call it puchka.
For those who don't know, gol gappas are round, flour pastries, filled with a mixture of boiled potatoes, chickpeas, a sweet 'n' sour tamarind sauce and a very tasty concoction of cumin-fennel-pepper water. It is one of India's most popular street foods. It is meant for the brave. It is also a great equaliser and a test of humility. Why? Because everyone looks ridiculous eating it. There is no gentle, lady-like biting involved, you are supposed to shove the entire ball into your mouth and chomp. I've nearly choked on it and yet, I totally love it.Almost everyone I know has a gol gappa anecdote. It is stuff of legends.
There are love stories that evolved around gol gappas: Guy takes girl out for date and feeds her etc. Most such girls will think they look very cute while eating a gol gappa (while the juice trickles down the sides of their mouths). Almost every neighbourhood aunty will complain at least once that the pani does not taste as good as it used to. Every second person will complain about the rising price of a plate. Every foreigner I have met is scared of eating a gol gappa as they usually think cholera. Contrarily, no Indian has been known to fall ill due to eating one. Most gol gappa loving Indians in fact ask for a plate of pani.
There are also fastest gol gappa eating contests amongst friends. If you ever see how fast some fataunties can gulp them, you will realise it's a sport. Like slurping is a sport in Australia, chomping gol gappas is a sport in India. And no matter how many tandoori chicken and curry joints you have in a foreign country; there are never any gol gappa stands/stalls. Sigh. I miss it.
What is your favourite Indian food/ street food? Please do write a love letter to your favourite food on My Food Valentine.
PS: Since I've not written a word on the novel during the Easter break, am off to the city today. To sit at some cafe, people-watch and finish a chapter.
The Indian version of chow mein served in mobile vans means egg noodles cooked with soy sauce, hot green chilli sauce and Ajinomoto (brand name popularly used in India to mean monosodium glutamate aka MSG) along with shreds of chicken and beans. More often than not – and if you’re unfortunate – Indian chow mein will also have turmeric. On most occasions, chopsticks are unheard of and plastic cutlery is a must. That said, the chow mein served in these vans is quite unauthentic, quite tasty and quite cheap. For Rs 10, you can have a plateful and be satisfied.Read full postIRead beef stiry-fry recipe
Disclaimer: No babies were harmed while writing this post. This blog/blogger does not support cannibalism or hurting (human) babies in any way. Neither is the picture indicative of any type of 'baby food'. Capishce?
My mother’s favourite joke – the rare times she did joke – is that once I finish cooking, the kitchen looks like a bomb blast site. What she does not realise is that her joke is very close to the mark. Each time I cook, rather each moment I am at home, it is like surviving some or the other near-death experience.
Susan Miller on her website, Astrology Zone, does warn that Venus is retrograde till April 16th or something; Venus is the planet ruling relationships and not mortality. Had it been Jupiter or Uranus, I would have been more careful. While I am usually accident-prone – I don’t like the word ‘clumsy’ – it seems that for some time now, my stars are particularly badly aligned.
Like this morning. Back from Torquay – coastal town on the Great Ocean Road – I was doing a quick-clean-up-before-blogging when I banged my head against the cupboard door. One minute I was putting away tee shirts, the other moment I turned my head and rammed into the door. I did not slip, I knew the door was there and yet… Now I have a huge bump. Any harder and my skull would have cracked. (Pic: Of the Great Ocean Road, the view is spectacular)
A little later, I was cleaning the kitchen bench and wiping away breadcrumbs under the toaster when I noticed the toaster was dirty. So I wet the dishcloth and wiped the toaster. I was about to wipe the insides of the toaster with the wet cloth when I noticed the damn thing was on. Instant electrocution narrowly avoided.
So I went to call Partner to get some reassurance that I was still alive when in my distraught state, I misjudged the distance between my arse and the chair and fell on the floor. My back could have broken, y’ know. By now I was in shock and pulling the chair slowly, sat on it carefully and called Partner. His phone was out of reach when I decided to write down my harrowing experiences.
As I typed, I leaned back on the chair – balancing on its hind legs now – when again I misjudged (must be the earlier bump-on-head) and toppled backwards. Nearly broke my neck but for my wrist getting in the way and getting horrendously twisted. Rather the wrist than the neck.
Not to mention the other day when I nearly ironed my hand while trying to iron a shirt and take down a recipe on TV. Or when the potato flew from my hands, knocked off a glass tumbler that crashed to the floor and there were glass shards all around my bare feet… And while rushing to clean up the glass, the knife slipped and fell with the pointy end between my toes.
Or when I was pouring boiling hot water over snow peas – blanching them – and since I had forgotten to cover the kettle, the steam rose straight into my hands, scalding them. Of course I let go of the kettle and had boiling water all over my chest. Now I have burnt freckles on my boobs.
While indoors is where I usually escape death, I am more careful when outdoors. However, now I have suspicions that things are changing there as well….
Like this weekend in Torquay, when Partner and I decided to go swimming in the ocean. Now let me tell you that my stepping into any body of water – even a bathtub – is fraught with danger since I cannot swim. My swimming is like putting a one-winged, fledgling into water: Much drama, much splashing, hardly any movement. Since I trust Partner to watch out for me – and also because he will have to answer to my Dad if I drown or something – I am more than happy to step into rolling tides and crashing waves with him. (Pic: Not in Torquay, but me at the 12 Apostles, further along the Great Ocean Road, Oct '08)
So there we were, Partner swimming beautifully and me doing my splash-gulp-choke-splutter when Partner’s facial expressions changed and he asked me not to move. Now staying motionless is bloody darned difficult in the ocean. Given that I was standing chin-deep in water and even the gentlest of waves make me bob like a cork, I was not happy to be told to stay still. That’s when I looked down at where Partner was pointing. And died of fright…
There have been a series of shark attacks in Australia since the beginning of 2009. It does not matter that those were on Sydney beaches and we were in Torquay… Sharks can swim can they not? Given that I’ve also seen enough TV programmes that say sharks prefer still waters – and that the ocean was particularly still when we were inside – I was sure there was a great white swimming near me. It had not helped that Partner had helpfully pointed out earlier that sharks prefer darker skin since well, darker skin looks more like a seal.
Duly terrified, I looked down at where Partner was pointing… Thankfully, it was not a shark. It was a stingray. Since the thing swimming right next to my ankle was at least a metre wide, I was somewhat alarmed. However, I was glad to point out to Partner – and relieved! – that a stingray does not have shark-teeth. I was about to show how brave I was and swim splash towards Partner when he shouted out, “A sting ray killed Steve Irwin.” I froze.
Thankfully, the big, grey stingray soon got bored of my ankles and swam away elsewhere. I, however, refused to move an inch and insisted on being carried out. And it was while I was being carried out by Partner – quite a nice feeling I must say – that I had an epiphany…
I am not prone to accidental-suicide… Someone is doing voodoo on me.
PS: If I suddenly stop blogging, know what has happened. I wouldn’t mind a nice tribute, Facebook-page either. And if you have to use a picture to go with my online obituaries, please use the nice Goa-ones on my Facebook page. I am the slimmest in those.
PS2: This advertisement for the Toyota RAV4 is so meant for people like me…
Most people I know have at least two food items they hate with all their heart (or stomachs) and will only eat them intravenously, if they were unconscious. When friends tell me about their hate-foods, it’s usually goes back to their childhood and involves some form of force-feeding story. For some, it’s been a case of having mothers who were really adventurous in the kitchen… with disastrous results. Read full postRead daal recipe
PS: Have always had a weird, can't-name-it relationship with my the college I studied in. Yet, proud that some women do this.
I am fat. Checked my weight and I'm now 49.3 kgs. In November 2007, was 37 kgs. Not good. Sigh. Problem being the happier I am, the more I eat. I am happy and it's showing. Most of the weight rests between the neck and the belly button. Not bad but cannot afford anymore weight. The pic's from this weekend, we were at a wedding.
Friends over for dinner tonight. Menu for the evening: Kebabs (for snacks) might team them with salami and cheese Garden salad Daal Beans-carrots-potato subzi Butter chicken Rice Chocolate butter cake with icecream for dessert (off the shelves both)
Current status: 1. Cashews made into paste (already ate half of them and did the rest first before I have to make another trip to the supermarket) 2. Will marinate chicken and keep it in the fridge to sit for a while 3. Then will put up mince to steam 4. Along with the daal on another stove.
Might put the recipes up, one at a time. Don't know yet, it's quite bleak and cold today and the light outside is not good. Why does that matter? Because I shoot my pictures in my backyard in natural light. I have no job, I am poor and thereby cannot afford lights.
Very happy cooking, Partner not too happy since he insists that the time I spend cooking should be spent writing. Not blog, but the book. Also got to finish 1200 word uni assignment. Damn. Should not forget that.
What’s the worst that could happen to someone who loves food and has recently started a food blog? PORN. It distracts from cooking. And eating. How do I know this? Because I see porn. Wherever I go. Especially when there is food involved.
It all started when Partner came back from the buck’s weekend I had written about earlier. So he is back and is showing me pictures of what the blokes got up to. And right there on the laptop screen is a picture of the buck (groom), holding a sausage that is peeking out from under his shorts. I mean a real sausage. As in the sausage- sausage. Despite knowing that sausages are used as a euphemism, the picture of a bloke I know pulling out a sausage… I swore off sausages. ]
A day later, I am walking down the aisle in the supermarket; there are these two girls standing next to the fruit stalls and giggling away. One of them was holding two kiwi fruits in her hand and squeezing them and both were laughing like mad. Kiwi fruits as you’d know, are small, brown and have little hair on them… So I struck kiwis off my list of edible things as well.
Then I am researching recipes by celebrities and I come across Paris Hilton sexually molesting a burger. Thankfully, Hilton is too skank to put me off burgers. Then of course I came upon Nigela Lawson’s website. If cows see what Nigela does with/to cream, it will curdle the milk in their udders (cows’ I mean, not Nigella’s). Yet, I will admit, I am quite jealous of her website, it looks good.
If Nigela weren’t enough, now there’s Italian-American Giada De Laurentiis who squishes tomatoes in a way that even gives me hot flushes. And I am bloody straight. What was/is worrying though is that for a couple of wild minutes, I considered putting up a video of me on ‘So What’s Cooking?’ wearing high heels, a top with a plunging neckline and dipping my hands in creamy, rich mayonnaise… Or caressing a Bratwurst, or beating eggs into stiff peaks. I could not even look at chicken corn soup the same way because of its texture…
I thought sleeping over the issue would settle things. So the next morning I’m ironing clothes and watching The Today Show on Nine Network. And there’s hostess-with-widest-grin-on-earth, Lisa Wilkinson trying to be oh-so-cute and recounting what she did on the weekend. Wilkinson says, “…and I wondered where I could hide my sausage?” I nearly burnt my hand. For those who might not know, “to hide the sausage” means er, to hide the ‘sausage’. (Think sausage else see the first pic again!) And here was a hostess on national TV saying it. I refuse to believe that Wilkinson didn’t know what she was saying. A minute later she adds, “Oh I was so sweaty, so wet.” I quickly turned off the TV.
Two days later – after I have resolutely refused to look at sausages or kiwi fruits in the supermarket – Partner and I are watching some silly TV show that had three beefy blokes talking about women. One of the blokes says, “I like them Sheilas* who have a nice, juicy taco for me.” Partner bursts out laughing at which point I ask him to explain what’s so funny about juicy tacos. Partner gives me a she-is-weird look and says, “Taco baby, means vagina. Y’know pu…?” Till that day, I had thought of tacos as Mexican and something to be eaten. Now well, they are just to be eaten. (Gosh JB!)
(Sheila: Aussie term for girls/women/chicks)
In fact I cannot seem to escape tacos and see them everywhere. I am crossing the street and a tram passes by with an advertisement. Two women holding a, well, taco and saying, “I like her taco” or something. I blushed and walked with my head down. We went for a wedding this weekend. Six of us walk into this café for breakfast and right there on a huge blackboard are the words, “There is nothing as good as free tacos.”
As I had written in my earlier post – Love and the holi mess – Partner and I went for a dinner to this nice couple’s home last night. Partner had told me that the boys had decided it would be a curry-cook-off between the ladies.
Given that our host’s have a four-month old baby and being Aussies do not usually cook ‘Indian’ food, our hostess had made some really nice butter chicken. They had made some real effort to make the dinner ‘authentic’ and had ordered some naan – which they called ‘naan bread’, very cute – and raita from their local Indian restaurant.
I had made the JB special lamb curry and Arundati’s baked banana ice-cream. While I will be immodest enough to say the lamb curry was bloody good, the ice cream was a different story. And not because there's anything wrong with the recipe! I miscalculated the time needed for the ice cream to set properly and put more cinnamon than I intended to and so we ended up having suspicious banana pudding-with-some-frozen-bits that tasted more cinnamon than banana!
Moral of the story: It is a stupid idea to try a dish for the first time and make unsuspecting guests your guinea pigs. The guests however were gracious enough to finish the confused-pudding-masquerading-as-ice-cream that was served. I was gracious enough (ahem) to serve only two tablespoonfuls.
On our way to their house, Partner wanted to pick up some wine. Now liquor shops in Oz are called ‘bottle shops’ and are more sophisticated than the Indian ‘wine and beer’ shops. For one, you can drive-in and pick your liquor while sitting in your car and no one stares at you (if you’re a woman) when you’re buying booze. However, bottle shops in Australia are like grocery stores in India: You’ll find one at every street corner. And then they complain about rising alcoholism?!
Anyway, Partner walked in and asked for a wine that goes well with Indian food. The result was us discovering the UK-made Bangla beer and the Australian, proud-to-be-Punjabi, ‘Nazaaray’ wine. I don’t drink beer – very un-Aussie I’m told – so cannot give you feedback on the beer and will update on the wine once I have tasted it.
The highlight of the evening though – if you excuse the banana-disaster – was that I got to hold the baby. So tiny, so bloody cute and such a good baby. He did not cry at all and in fact I am quite proud to announce that I was the first 'Indian' the baby laid eyes on. And I daresay he quite liked what he saw. There's another Aussie conquered. Ha, ha.
Here’s the recipe for the lamb curry; it takes patience with this one, but the effort is bloody well worth it.
Personally, I find nothing more unrewarding as an unappreciative partner/family.
Sometimes it seems that the more you cook for others, the lesser they seem to recognise your efforts!
It has led to some fights where despite really tasty food being made, Partner will say something like, "But you did not need to spend four hours cooking this!" and me getting very upset and calling him ungrateful. Read full post here
The other day a college mate in New York – we were ‘speaking’ after nearly eight years! – mentioned reading my post on sandwiches in Australia. I had mentioned the ghoogni in passing in that post. “I wanted you to know this,” she said and proceeded to tell me that reading the post reminded her how much she loved ghoogni. Read full post
This is a dish that has been included in traditional Bengali birthday menus, when guests have been over, or as special Sunday lunches or any other occasion that demanded it. Once I started living away from my parents – since 2000 – this was also a MUST each time I visited home. Read the full story
I am desperately trying to get my daily schedule in some sort of order. The biggest problem is me since I get more easily distracted than a goldfish. I want to write my chapters, write a food blog, write here, keep the house clean, earn some money, do my gardening, paint my nails... I am doing something wrong, somewhere. How do you all manage your time, any tricks? Share?
Meanwhile, this recipe is the result of today's distraction. At least it means dinner is out of the way: "I was quite surprised to discover that eggplant is quite a staple in Australia. Folks even have grilled eggplant in their sandwiches, though I daresay am not exactly partial to begun in my sandwich. You can call it a mental block or cultural difference."Read full post...
I'd announced on Facebook that a food blog was in the offing. Well, here it is! Hope those of you who read here, will read the stories there. Those who like to cook are most welcome to use the recipes and share their own. Here's to pet-bharke-khana.
So, What's Cooking? "I guess offering to feed people by hand will startle most -- especially here in Australia, they'd insist on gloves -- so I stick to pouring my heart out in my food. Most people who've had my food have liked it. I am grateful to my friends who came home because "Jhoomur is cooking." In my single days, I fed bands of boys. (smiles) They kept me sane." Read full post
Spring in Melbourne means many things: the green and gold lushness of wattle, the breath-taking beauty of blossom trees, the cheery daisies and daffodils and the sight of many a gardener mowing, sowing and weeding away on sunny afternoons.
Disclaimer: No babies were harmed while writing this post. This blog/blogger does not support cannibalism or hurting (human) babies in any way. Neither is the picture indicative of any type of 'baby food'. Capishce?
