Ink on my Apron: Stocktaking during the pandemic
In a strange reversal of fate, this looming threat of cutting off from the world at large is rearing its unfriendly head at us and telling us to help “flatten the curve”. Our days and nights are being consumed by what sounds like slightly hipsterish jargon. The sort that should be downed with a flat white - which promises you absolute farm-to-cup sourcing transparency – while furiously journaling in your Moleskine at a coffee shop in Dalston.
Ink on my Apron: Put your money where your mouth is
My foray into the realm of food isn’t one I’d dub purely incidental. It was sparked by marathon sessions of Nigella Bites; I took notes as Nigella purred into the camera telling us that when she invited friends over for supper, “I don’t want to impress them with my cooking. I want to give them, and myself, pleasure.” I wanted desperately to be her when I grew up, but, ironically, had not ventured into the kitchen up to that point.
Ink on my Apron: Cumin cue
Take your cumin cue from some of these world cuisines and introduce this acquired note to your cooking with some of these dishes.
Ink on my Apron: A layered past
It is befitting that the much-loved falooda’s history is as layered as its appearance.
Ink on my Apron: Charting food territory
Here’s a glimpse at some of the unique ways in which food is served in different countries.
Ink on my Apron: More is more
In the spirit of all things moreish, here’s a roundup of some of the most-loved stuffed vegetable dishes in avatars you wouldn’t initially think were conceivable.
Ink on my Apron: Winter vignettes
My days are divided between two households with wildly differing temperaments – one militant where juice and milk time are designated hours and the other where routines are abandoned and children whirl around like spirited dervishes while fresh buckets of mussels are procured at unearthly hours only to be marinated in intimidating amounts of mollekke masala and devoured shortly after.
Ink on my Apron: No two ways
My grandmother played god in the kitchen and the message was clear. You either had a sweet breakfast or savoury - there was no blurring of lines and it was she who got to decide what sort of a start our days would be off to.
Ink on my Apron: Turning tables
Nothing in life will prepare you for the uninhibited joy of running your own kitchen. Demarcating and designating drawer real estate becomes a task that is dictated to by nobody’s whims other than your own and not a soul is around to judge your condiment and baking tin hoarding ways.
Ink on my Apron: Coming of age in the kitchen
When you take the time to pause, slow down and really admire every stroke, nuance and motion that goes into creating a meal, you are filled with a newfound wonder for the many meals that have been churned out with an almost effortless industrial-like precision by our mothers and their mothers before them.