Mallika Basu - Miss Masala

It hardly encouraged me to make my own coconut milk, garam masala, ghee or tomato purée. Ready-to-use ingredients form the basis of a multibillion-pound industry for good reason. I salute them. Particularly the ones that offer high quality and convenience. Sadly, some solutions – like ready-puréed ginger and garlic – don’t always make the cut. They can be more anaemic than the real thing. I keep a store-bought jar of each handy but if you have the time, these two ingredients are definitely worth fiddling over (see the box).

Freshly frozen spinach and peas.

Frozen grated coconut (from any Oriental supermarket) and coconut milk.

Tinned chickpeas, black-eyed beans and kidney beans.

Ready-to-cook frozen parathas – both plain and stuffed with onion.

Ready-made chappatis/rotis.

I would love to make ghee from scratch some day. But I couldn’t possibly recommend it. It takes 3 hours plus to make. My entire flat would then stink of grease for the rest of eternity. Far better just to stick to the bought stuff.

Back home in India, meals ranged from little snack platters to multi-course madness. The elaborate ones featured dal, a meat or fish curry, two vegetable side dishes served with papads, deep-fried shredded potatoes, salad and raita. These were served at weekends and extended family dinners.

Then there were the simple Indian meals, mainly for weekdays or weekend brunches. Like a lamb pulao with Kachumbar Raita. Or shallow-fried parathas stuffed with spiced carrots and served with a selection of pickles and thick natural yoghurt.

And finally, there were the intermittent snacks. The little nibbly things for when you came home famished from swimming lessons or drama classes. Like aloo tikkis and fish chops – little pan-fried croquettes served with coriander and mint chutney.

The same principles apply in my kitchen. Except that we like variety. So Indian curries are limited to two meals a week. My trick is to keep it simple when it’s just the two of us on a weekday. Choose one or two wholesome dishes and serve them up with something low fuss. For example:

Rice and lentil Khichdiand crispy papads (see below)

Keema, vegetable dal and piping hot basmatirice (for a fail-safe recipe)

Paneer Bhujiawith toasted pitta bread

Masala Fishand a green leaf salad

For the best results, cook for 1 minute on high in the microwave. No need for a plate. If you don’t have a microwave, pop directly on the hob (gas or electric) for 1 minute, turning until evenly crispy on both sides.

Cooking two or more dishes at the same time calls for some dedication. So this I reserve for weekends when I push the boat out with a few additional dishes like raita or sabzi. This works wonders for when a friend pops in too. I might make:

Methi Murgh, Baingan Bhartaand Fluffy BasmatiRice

Chicken Jhalfrezi, Anda Raitaand ready-made parathas

Bhuna Gosht, Spinach Dal and Jeera Pulao (see the box)

For dinner parties, it’s more of the same, with fancier recipes and a quick dessert. I cook a few dishes in advance in large quantities and either freeze them or keep them in the fridge. I then reheat them just before the meal, either in the oven or the microwave. The trick is to leave as little to do on the day as possible.

Larger crowds and wilder soirées call for clever thinking. The simplest thing to do, I’ve found, is to cook large batches of filling food. Little parcels, croquettes and other bits that need to be individually fashioned and then fried are definite no-nos. The ingredients of choice for me are chicken drumsticks, potatoes, vegetables and lentils that can be grilled or left to bake while I get pretty. Laid out with some homemade chutney and flatbread, they effortlessly make me the life and soul of the party.

Cooking for eight in order to feed two is a sub-continental cultural phenomenon. Where I come from, it is customary to feel overwhelmed by hospitality and the vast quantities of food served. Who am I to disregard years of ritual overfeeding?

In fact, this time-honoured tradition works rather well for me. If I’m going to forgo speed-dialling my local Japanese takeaway, I want to savour the results more than just once.

This means I have a special relationship with Tupperware. I buy a lot of it but deplete most of my supply by drunkenly distributing doggy bags to guests after dinner parties. Then I start stockpiling them again. My fridge contains more Tupperware than food. There are boxes filled with half-used vegetables, leftover chopped tomatoes and fresh puréed ginger and garlic paste.

We eat our fill of what was cooked the day before. The remainder gets stashed away in the freezer for another day’s feast. I’ve worked out that you can freeze just about anything: dal, chicken curry, lamb curry and so on. But not cooked potatoes or rice. I learnt the hard way that they get horribly soggy when you defrost them at room temperature or in a microwave.

How long the stuff lasts in a freezer clearly depends on the appliance. In the knock-off, creaking freezer supplied by a penny-pinching landlord, I could wait about a month before sensibly emptying the contents of rock-solid Tupperware. In my glossy, second-hand Smeg, I give each frozen box about two months.

And each time, the food tastes even better defrosted and reheated. Firstly, because it’s the flavoursome leftovers (as explained on page). Secondly, because I didn’t have to cook it from scratch on a day when I simply didn’t have the energy to do so.

When I gained enough confidence in the kitchen, I invited my colleagues for dinner. The drinks were flowing. Nerves (mine) were running high. I drank one glass of wine. Then another while they waited to be fed. Before I knew it, the room was spinning and the food looked as green as I felt.

Staying sober until the curry’s cooked is a difficult task. I tend to join the festivities prematurely. Which inevitably leads to last-minute, bleary-eyed panic.

The odd glass of alcoholic beverage while cooking curry is a must. It fills me with the confidence of a teenage Ferrari driver. But it’s hard to stop there. So when the pressure is on (i.e. my boss is waiting to be fed/colleagues are relying on my party snacks) I simply avoid drinking until the food’s on the table. And overcompensate for the abstinence later.