Bengal in Bandra. A food walk

I grew up in Hyderabad but all my meals came out of a Punjabi kitchen. The few exceptions were Sunday morning breakfasts of dosa at Hotel Harsha, sweet corn chicken soup at Hi-King, post-swim sandwiches at Hotel Banjara, and Maggi Noodles. I had such a Punjabi palate that meals at Mamma’s Bombay Sindhi kitchen were just painful. (You still can’t get me to eat sai bhaaji or sindhi curry.)

Kaali daal, sarson da saag and mountains of paneer aside, I was raised with a timid palate. It wasn’t until several years later when I had my first Hyderabadi biryani in Bombay that I realised what a food wonderland I had left behind. And it wasn’t until I left India that I really appreciated what a fantastic food heritage I came from. Now when I go back home I would rather eat Maggi Noodles than at the latest “Continental” restaurant.

Last week I hit the jackpot. One of India’s favourite food bloggers (and an excellent chef), Kalyan Karmakar was hosting a Bengal in Bandra food walk and I managed to bag a last minute spot.

The sweltering evening began with Kalyan introducing the spirit of the walk. He was going to guide us through some of his favourite Bengali dishes available in Bombay, and share stories about where they came from, how he would eat them back in Bengal, and the compromises he makes in his new home. (No there were no puchkas in our luck as Kalyan assured us we would not find even remotely authentic ones outside Calcutta.) He couldn’t have had a more ravenous dozen hanging on to his every word.

We began at Hangla’s (which is Bong slang for “greedy for food”); a street stall on Bandra’s throbbing Turner Road with chefs from Calcutta handpicked by the owner. We ate egg and mutton rolls (my favourite), fish chops (delicious with kasundi (mustard chutney)), veg cutlets, and Calcutta biryani. Our group had a healthy mix of Frankie-loving Bombayites and kathi roll enthusiasts and Kalyan played a (very) biased referee while explaining the differences between the two.

As we made our way through a bustling Bandra to the next stop, Kalyan regaled us with Bong food stories and tips – about not using ketchup except in egg rolls; about how the Brits caused the biryani to travel from Awadh to Calcutta (losing some meat and gaining eggs and potatoes on the way); and how dessert isn’t strictly a post-meal indulgence.

In true Bengali style, we next marched into Sweet Bengal between our appetisers and mains. Until today I had never ventured beyond Bengali classics sondesh, rossogolla and mishti doi. Kalyan’s picks were a revelation! My favourite was kheer kodom – a juicy rossogulla enveloped by delicious khoya. I paid little attention to the pantua vs. gulab jamun debate as was completely distracted by the kalo jaam, dorbesh, gurer sandesh and excellent kachoris.

Not being trained to eat sweets whenever it suits our fancy, the non Bengalis in the group struggled to keep up with the rest. We moved on to the third stop, hoping that the walk will help make room for the final dot on our food map tonight.

Bong Bong is bijou. We were greeted by the owner Surjopriya who explained that her restaurant served food the way she cooks Bengali food today. Read: not traditional.

Kalyan’s chose a menu that included panch phoran potatoes (their version has yoghurt. I was told Bombay is mad for these but they weren’t to my taste at all), fried fish, prawn malai curry (excellent), mustard fish (strictly OK), Calcutta version of Anglo Indian pork vindaloo (I prefer the Goan version), lachha parathas and mango pudding. The vegetarian on my table was less than happy with her veggie alternatives.

Kalyan’s food walk is so much greater than the sum of its parts, and totally worth the Rs. 2,000 (£24) I paid. His stories infused so much local flavour into the menus, I met fantastic people I would have never come across otherwise, and I now know that the Malai Sandwich is as Bengali as Chicken Tikka Masala is Indian! Kalyan sent us off with bursting tummies, and a goody bag full of Calcutta snacks mukhorochok dalmut and jhalmuri.

Bong Bong was my least favourite stop of the day. Not because their food doesn’t taste good to most, but because I am old fashioned about Indian food. I have been on either side of the immigrant debate and I understand why people feel the need to modernise tradition. This is more than my memories being frozen in time – it’s about preventing a day when I won’t discover a kheer kodom because nobody remembers how to make it; about not wanting my children to grow up thinking tofu-almond butter-masala is traditional Indian food; about wanting to preserve my heritage before it disappears completely.

It’s about genuinely being worried that I can’t know where I will end up, if I don’t protect where I came from.
-p

Read Kalyan’s blog on the walk here.

Bone Daddies. Food for thought

Except for a trip to the hospital and a short hobble across the street, a sprained ankle ensured I did not leave my apartment for over two weeks. This was the longest period of time I have spent in a small space, mostly on my own. And in this quiet, silent place I realised that there are many things I don’t say even to myself because I’m afraid of what they would say about me.

I am envious of her success.
I don’t have a single original idea.
I cheated on my first boyfriend.

The noise in my head was deafening and I had to leave for somewhere so loud that I would not be able to hear myself think. London’s Soho is exactly that. An area I would never venture into by choice on a Saturday night, today this tourist hell provided just the comfort I needed. After several hours wandering streets where frozen yoghurt parlours and cupcake shops fight for the same footfall as sex shops and The Pleasure Lounge, I finally got hungry.

Bones Daddies isn’t exactly new but London has been noodle-mad for over half a year and this ramen star by ex-Nobu & Zuma chef Ross Shonhan was still rammed. The best part about being a table for one is that even when a restaurant has queues around the block, they will always find a seat to squeeze me into.

Thanks to almost every London restaurant reviewer and food blogger having already waxed eloquent about Bone Daddies, I knew exactly what I was goin to eat even before I was seated. I skipped the starters (soft shell crab and fried chicken have most votes) and went straight for the Tantanmen ramen (£11) and Pickles (£3) (It says homemade pickles on the menu, but that term looks ridiculous on restaurant menus. Urr… whose home exactly?)

I started with the pickles (eight different kinds and all yum) and a Maiken-Me cocktail (£7.80) of shochu, umeshu and watermelon. It was more mandarin-y than watermelon-y and a bit too sweet for me. In anticipation of my ramen I reached for the bottle of rubber bands to pull my hair back (a genius idea apparently imported from Japanese izakayas). The table also has other cute extras like a garlic crusher and a sesame grinder.

You can choose from seven different broths and I recommend you begin with the chicken-stock based Tantanmen. When the bowl arrived, it looked too glorious to disturb with a spoon and chopsticks, A few seconds of that, and it was too glorious for me not to attack with a spoon and chopsticks. The broth is fragrant with sesame and so delicious that I could not slurp/chew fast enough. The pork was juicy and while it could have done with a little more chilli one wasn’t complaining. I really do prefer this to the more common Tonkotsu broth. The purists say the ramen is better elsewhere, but I’m no noodle expert and in this instance, taste trumped truth.

My excellent waiter suggested a black sesame soft serve to end, and even though it was exactly what my heart needed… I had to listen to the tummy this once.

There is nothing subtle about Bone Daddies. But even the luscious meal and pounding rock and roll soundtrack couldn’t drown out my thoughts forever. So as I reluctantly leave, I wonder…

Am I curious enough?
Will I ever be good enough? (For what?)
Sometimes, can just love be enough?

-p

Circle of friends. A Birthday Month celebration

I turned thirty in London. It was a potentially horrid day – not only had I seen enough girlfriends turn thirty, depressed and surly, it was going to be the first birthday I would spend with absolutely no family or best friends with me. Until this year I never really gave birthdays much thought beyond presents, guest lists and a dress budget.

There wasn’t much I could do about turning thirty but I was determined not to get depressed or surly. So I came up with Birthday Month – why wait an entire year for just one day when I could celebrate an entire month filled with my favourite things? This year Birthday Month featured a day on London Underground’s Circle Line. The original version of this concept included youngsters getting out at every stop on this tube line for a pint. Instead, I picked favourite restaurants, cool bars and added a few boozers (as homage to the original concept). I also made up a few rules:

• Eat or drink only one thing at each stop.
• Everyone must have one alcoholic drink at least every third stop.
• We won’t stop at every stop…
• …and may walk for some of the journey.

Emails sent, announcements tweeted, phone calls made… this Table for One was looking forward to sharing her table with a new circle of friends.

Stop 1: Liverpool Street: Dishoom Shoreditch

I was seven minutes late for our 11.30am start, and boy was I glad not to be punctual. Arrive on time and I would have missed out on this debonair welcome party!

Stop 1 had us eating Bacon Naan Rolls (Nayan, Martin, John and Thomas), Vada Pav (Naman), Nankhatai and Jeera Biscuits (Serena) and Akuri (me), There were also many cups of chai, a bloody mary and a few Kingfisher beers on the table.

I may have said this before but I’ll say it again. Dishoom’s Bacon Naan Roll is one of the most delicious pieces of genius I have ever tasted. A fluffy naan, crispy bacon, chilli jam and cream cheese. What’s not to love?!

Stop 2: Farringdon: Vinoteca

My original choice for this stop was Burger & Lobster but they didn’t open until 4pm and we had to improvise. Many thanks to our resident winemaker Nayan, for suggesting Vinoteca. It was only right that he chose our drink for this stop – a beautiful prosecco that went down (too) well.

A common Twitter acquaintance introduced me to Nayan Gowda and my first meeting with him was spent in a (different) wine bar. I have to admit, that if you had asked me then whether Nayan and I would become friends, my honest answer would have been no. He was charming beyond words and I spent the entire afternoon wondering if I may be a tad boring for him. Our worlds seemed so different… until I decided to take us both out of these tiny boxes I had trapped us in. Today I am thrilled to be able to call Nayan a friend. A great one.

Stop 3: King’s Cross St. Pancras: Wine Pantry

The Wine Pantry is the cutest new wine and spirit bar and serves purely British products. It is also where I came up with my version of the Circle Line day. We lost Serena to a working Saturday, and were now the Joy of Six who drank Sheep Dip Whisky (John), Old Salt Rum (Naman), Kernel IPA (Nayan), sparkling wine (Martin) and Rhubarb Chase Vodka (me). Thomas cheated and brought in a coffee from next door. Thomas Mielke is my most grown up young friend. From our first holiday together (Budapest in 2007) to our forthcoming trip to NYC (next week) he has been an unwavering pillar in my life. I have not felt so close to someone I am so dissimilar from. Six years later we sometimes resemble a crotchety old couple, and have agreed to disagree on many things (except perhaps my drawing skills).

Just as we were ready to leave we were joined by newlyweds Giulia and Sandy. We were now the Hard Eight!

Stop 4: Euston Square: Mestizo

We had every intention of walking to Euston Square. London rain had other plans for us and the Hard Eight took a rather long tube journey for a rather short distance. Mestizo, one of my favourite Mexican restaurants in town, was chaired by my favourite bartender John Leese. I first met John when he was making cocktails at the Match bar across from my office. Short version of our story: I flirted, he asked for my number, I gave it to him, he took two years to call me!

We may have never been on a date but (now that I have forgiven him for taking his time to call me) I know I can count on John. And I don’t just mean for good cocktails.

John ordered the group (except Thomas who chose beer, and Martin who wussed it out with water) shots of Olmeca Altos tequila. But this beautiful tequila deserved sipping, and we all had strict instructions not to touch the salt or lime. John seemed to need a personal moment with this drink – as a result of which we got a mini master class (and iPhone-aided slideshow) on agave, mezcal and tequila. We ordered the customary guacamole (photo above by star photographer Giulia) and all agreed that today it was infinitely inferior to the free salsa and chips at the bar.

Stop 5: Great Portland Street: Queen’s Head & Artichoke

Grey clouds gave way to a burst of sunshine and we walked to Stop 5. Giulia and Sandy left us for furniture shopping and we were joined by a frozen Laxmi. It was a round of Timothy Taylor’s ale for everyone at Queen’s Head & Artichoke – a beautifully restored Victorian pub with the friendliest staff I have seen at any pub in the city, and a much needed fireplace.

Stop 6: Bayswater: Mandarin Kitchen

We lost Thomas to a phone call and John to his job. What you have now, ladies and gentlemen, is the final group that will from hereon be known as the New Famous Five.

It was 4pm and I was craving MSG. The original plan for an Egyptian meal at Edgware Road was abandoned for greasy Chinese at Bayswater. Naman took care of the veggies (aubergine and tofu fried in garlic), Nayan ordered the minced pork with red chillies and Martin made an executive decision about an oyster omelette. All shockingly delicious, considering our location.

What was shockingly un-delicious was Naman’s choice of rice wine. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and so….

This momentary lapse in judgement aside, Naman Ramachandran’s expertise in food and drink cannot be faulted. I first met Naman nearly ten years ago when my mother published his first book Lights Camera Masala. I have only recently reconnected with him and his fantastic better half Laxmi Hariharan. Many weekends are now spent cooking in each other’s kitchens and I am especially looking forward to my birthday lunch of real Bengali food, personally guided by half-Bong, Naman.

Stop 7: Notting Hill: Kensington Wine Rooms

After the ghastliness our palates were subjected to at the last stop, we demanded proper wine. Good thing Notting Hill Gate and Kensington Wine Rooms’ extensive wine by the glass menu were only one tube stop away. Nayan took charge again and ordered us a delicious bottle of red. I wish I could remember which one it was… It’s the seventh stop and the rules have been well and truly abandoned. Nayan spotted a South African wine made by his friend and ordered a second drink!  We’re definitely not yet drunk but the New Famous Five were now reduced to giggles for pretty much the rest of the day.

Stop 8: South Kensington: Comptoir Libanais

We were hungry again – the Chinese meal had not made a dent in anyone’s appetite. Thankfully Laxmi’s hummus cravings began exactly when we were whizzing past South Kensington and its Comptoir Libanais branch. I have nothing against chains except that unfortunately most abandon any hint of taste or flavour in favour of mass-produced mediocrity. Comptoir Libanais is thankfully different. The hummus and falafel were excellent, Martin, Nayan and Naman were happy with their arak and I loved my Mona cocktail with rose and prosecco.

I announced a new rule at this stop – no phones. So we had no photos, tweets, or people disappearing from the table. For the first time all day I had the chance of a proper chat with Martin. I don’t know if my words can do justice to our relationship. In the six months I have known him, Martin has seen me experience great joy, hit rock bottom, reach out to him, and shun his help. All through this he has been a rock and the best mirror I could have asked for. What more can a girl want? (p.s. Martin Lumsden outblogged me with his artistic view on our Circle Line day; read here.)

Stop 9: Victoria: The Shakespeare

You don’t get more touristy than The Shakespeare at Victoria station. The pub was filled with St. Patrick’s Day revelers and we got our very own four leaf clover.

Stop 10: Embankment: Wahaca Pop Up

I have a soft spot for Mexican food (it’s the only cuisine to have featured twice on this Circle Line day) and all month long have been looking forward to Wahaca’s pop up on South Bank, and more specifically its fried grasshoppers.

Wahaca is the only restaurant in London to serve this Mexican delicacy. The grasshoppers have an earthy taste flavoured with garlic, smoky chipotle chillies and lime, and served as a baby lasagne smothered with cheese. The insect eaters in the group were not too impressed. There was just not enough grasshopper (or maybe way too much cheese) to have a real notion of what grasshopper must really taste like. Even the other dishes we ordered – guacamole, mushroom quesadilla and pork pibil tacos were strictly average today. We are all Wahaca fans and can only write this off to limitations in their pop kitchen.
The tamarind margaritas on the other hand were ace as usual and Nayan and Martin approved of their mojitos.

One of my favourite views of London is on the walk between South Bank and the Embankment tube station on the Hungerford Bridge. I’m glad this Circle Line day ended here, with my circle of friends, exactly 12 hours since it began.

I have now had six Birthday Months and wonder why I was so worried about not being with family and best friends. Life always does come to a full circle. It doesn’t happen the way you planned it. But, always better.
-p

You can view more photos from the day here.

Sammy the Billingsgate seal, Geoffrey the pigeon & fish we didn’t call Wanda

Fish is my least favourite food (closely followed by okra and cauliflower). The only difference between fish and the two vegetables I was force fed as a child is that I want to like fish. You see, I do like some fish – shorshebata ilish, Hyderabadi pomfret tikka, Goan fish curry. But ask me to grill/fry/bake/steam/poach/curry my own and the meal has always ended in (my) tears (and pizza out of a box).

It’s my Birthday Month and I have decided to gift myself – among other things – the love of fish. It’s a bit ridiculous to ban fish just because I haven’t learnt how to cook it properly. Turns out that all I needed was to spend a fish day with someone who loved fish, cooked fish, ate fish, and was quite a dish himself.

A chance meeting last year with lawyer-turned-chef Edward Smith (aka Rocket & Squash),  somehow led to us spending a day together as teacher and student. In addition to writing a fantastic food journal, Ed also caters events and conducts private cooking tutorials in your own kitchen. Once I made him promise not to even try and make me like mackerel, the world was my oyster… urr, fish market. Careful consultations later we had the perfect Saturday planned. I had just given myself the first birthday present of the year – my first ever private cooking class.

Ed was going to pick me up at 6.20 am (he said he wasn’t a masochist and we didn’t have to get there for the usual 4 am start. I beg to differ.) He had warned me to wrap up, wear sensible shoes and be prepared for freezing smelliness of the Billingsgate Market, UK’s largest “inland” fish market. A few iPhone alarm mishaps, caffeine-deprived map reading, and road works related detours later – we were there!

You definitely smell it before you see it! I saw octopus, squid, lobster, and more varieties of fish than I knew existed.

Ed walked me through the stalls explaining the various seafood, teaching me what to look for, and even regaled me with stories about the market’s pet seal – Sammy. Once done with our shopping we popped into their café (so local; so fab) and stopped for a quick chat with one of the fishmongers.

We then drove to a less malodorous shop – the Chelsea Fishmongers. (I have a feeling I may visit Rex Goldsmith’s labour of love more often than the sprawling Billingsgate for my weekly fish supply.)

A few hours later we were in my kitchen. I even got my very own Rocket & Squash apron and a detailed fish prep manual and recipe booklet. The next two hours were not pretty – I learnt how to skin a fish, clean its guts out, fillet it and cut it in a few ways, always careful not to eat the eyes (they’re bitter you see). Ed was so patient with me – gently helping my knife skills along and filling the class with enough juicy cooking tips and tricks to keep me wide awake despite the ungodly start.

To add to the drama of our day my class was interrupted by pigeon coos. My heart nearly stopped as Ed suggested that the pigeon may be inside my spice cupboard. A hesitant search of my kitchen confirmed that the poor baby – now named Geoffrey by the chef – was stuck inside the chimney!

We had together cleaned and prepped salmon, lemon sole, sea bream and squid. We were finally at the part I was looking forward to most ! The next few hours were magical – Ed taught me how to create delicious meals from the simplest ingredients. He gave me a peek into his world of clever twists to standard recipes. We grilled, stewed, fried and poached our way through six mouth-watering dishes.

Braised squid with chorizo and butter beans

Grilled salmon with courgette and broad bean salad

Pan-fried sea bream with fennel and blood orange salad – my favourite!

He also taught me how to make the classic sole à la meunière with a brown butter and caper sauce; proper wilted spinach;  and the most moreish side -  creamed leeks, peas and pancetta.

The best thing about the man – he cleaned up after himself (and me)!

I loved this day so much! Ed let me take my time, answered every question, and gave me the confidence to go out the next day and buy more fish. I can now safely say, that fish is no longer my least favourite food.

-p

 

To brunch, with love

“He left me…” I cry.

“Bastard.” said the well meaning friend/parent/sibling.

The first and last time I received a Valentine’s Day anything was when I was 17. Since then I have been in several relationships and as they broke, Hallmark’s most nauseating “holiday” lost its romance for me. The annual appearance of red lingerie in shop windows and Menus for Two at restaurants fills me with irritation – for the stores, the chefs, but mostly for the men who broke my heart.

Each time a relationship ended I was in self-pity heaven and hating them just helped me continue feeling sorry for myself. J Krishnamurti said it best: “So what you are really saying is, ‘As long as you belong to me I love you but the moment you don’t I begin to hate you. As long as I can rely on you to satisfy my demands, sexual and otherwise, I love you, but the moment you cease to supply what I want I don’t like you.’”

Today I am giving up making them wrong. And what better way to bring them back into my happy memories than with a luscious brunch?

Read my blog for One Minute London where, in preparation for Valentine’s Day I revisit three restaurants (Providores, Dishoom & Workshop Coffee Co.) and three romances: http://www.oneminutelondon.com/blog-valentines-day/

Happy Valentine’s Day.

-p

 

In search of magic. Newman Street Tavern

Contentment kills curiosity that kills creativity. I was trying to draw parallels with the Indian school syllabus… but my friend Sam was talking about my writing. It’s not that I didn’t get what he was saying – of course I did. But I did not like the implications of the argument : I would either be happy, or be inspired to write. That day I was happy.

But I travel around life in circles and it wasn’t too long before scenes of London replaced the lover’s photo on my desktop and sad songs from Grease  ruled my iPod. And my diary is full of scribbles like: So much of Me is locked into You & I still love you unconditionally, but why is it that I cannot love myself?

And so on and so forth.

It’s like I had a nasty gremlin on my shoulder who would not shut up. I tried crying, meditating, chick flicks and reality TV, cooking, then running… When nothing worked I knew what I had to do.

An easy 35 minute walk from my flat is a gastro pub that someone mentioned a few weeks ago. As I stepped into The Newman Street Tavern I felt its plush yellow curtains brush my gremlin away. I immediately loved the dark wood floors and banquette seating (my Achilles’ heel).

The wait staff is beautifully pleasant but not much help with the wine selection. The Mâcon-Loché, Domaine Clos des Rocs (a Burgundy white at £6.50 a glass) that I guessed at was thankfully perfect.

I also imagine that the two looking after me that day had not served too many single diners. They fumbled between too much attention and ages without anyone coming near me.  But that day, I didn’t mind. Depending on whom you want to be on the day, there is enough to distract and entertain you in The Newman Street Tavern. A wall of beautiful photographs that is an appetizer to what you will see on the menu. A gay couple talking love and Kenzo trousers (or was it a love for Kenzo trousers?). A small bar, well stocked. A gossipy family out to Sunday lunch. It’s cosy, approachable, old and new all in one breath.

Their Raw Bar menu looked fantastic: West Mersea oysters, mussels and clams by the pint, and Russian caviar. But I didn’t want to linger too long on my own today and so ordered a main immediately. Red mullet and shellfish bisque (£19) or Woodcock and fried bread (£24). I was hungry enough to eat both, but I didn’t want to linger. Sorry, did I already say that?

I ordered a jig caught squid with seafood broth (£18) and a side of carrot and fennel (£4). The squid arrived looking like a beautiful pearl from the ocean. It was so delicate… I think I mmmed out loud. The vegetables were butterly delicious and I wanted to lick my plate clean.

Newman Street Tavern may not be the most affordable pub in the neighbourhood, but it has magic powers against nasty gremlins. And their Blood Orange and Campari granita (£5) is especially perfect for a day when you let someone break your heart.
-p

2012. Cheers

For my last blog of 2012 I am attempting a list. Not New Year resolutions, Top 5s nor Best Ofs; instead here are three themes that have recurred throughout the year for me. And to each of these themes, I dedicate a favoured cocktail from 2012.

We are a drama generating phenomenon.

Can anything be other than what it is in this moment? More than ever before, this year has shown me that the longer I resist how it is, the more I live in how it isn’t. And so to all this drama, I dedicate Spuntino’s Negroni.

I first visited Spuntino on a day that I was obsessing about a one-sided romance, in May 2011. My already muddled brain was being attacked by advice about learning from the past and moving into the future. Spuntino and its Negroni took me in and since that day I always return to this diner where time stands still. Where it isn’t about blame or guilt, looking back or moving forward, but about staying right where I am.

The first time I heard of a Negroni was in one of the later seasons of The Sopranos. After that it popped up everywhere – an Orson Welles quote, a Tennessee Williams play, a James Bond short story, and now my own bar. For the days I generate more drama than even my overactive imagination can handle (and can’t escape to Spuntino), I make myself this classic cocktail. One that proves that life is simple after all.

Make it at home: 30ml gin, 30ml Campari, 20ml sweet red vermouth. Stir with ice, pour into a short glass with ice. Sip. Drama gone.

Unhappily married people talk about their children. A lot.

It has been a joy to see children of close friends and family grow from squealing babes into real people. This joy aside it is nothing short of Chinese torture to listen to couples gloss over their dead relationships with the sheen of parenthood. So to every parent who thinks their friends are as interested in the child’s nanny problems, baby yoga classes, and teething trauma I dedicate Indigo’s Fresh Kiwi Margarita. (You can even share the slice of kiwi with your child.)

Indigo changed the way Bombay made restaurants. My first meal there was with a friend who thought we were on a date. I remember needing several of Indigo’s delicious Kiwi Margaritas to get through the awkwardness of the night. Fortunately I drank them on real dates too and for years the Kiwi Margarita stood for a perfect night out in Bombay. Then everyone I knew got married, made babies, and forgot to pay attention to anything outside of feeding schedules, school admissions and maid salaries. Now I go to Indigo with these friends because nothing less than a Kiwi Margarita will distract them.

A gentle shift to a right brain way of life.

For too long I have led a left-brain life of right/wrong, deadlines and timelines. And to quote My Stroke of Insight author Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, “it does that thing with my brow”. In 2012 I came face to face with my desperate need to lead life sequentially; with the travesty of comparing my journey to another’s; with the futility of arguing with myself. I also came upon relationships that debunk the “rules”. So here is to being ever present and lost in time. And nothing less than Dishoom’s Bombay Martini will do.

Dishoom Covent Garden’s glamorous older sister has finally decided to come out and play in Shoredicth, and she’s found a dashing playmate in the restaurant’s Daruwalla Carl Brown. On a rainy night not so long ago I had the absolute pleasure of having Carl fizz, smash, sour and julep me through his spanking new Permit Room menu. Given Carl’s obvious talent and my Dishoom crush, it wasn’t difficult for many cocktails to impress. From Edwina’s Affair to Paan Sour, a Bollybellini to Absinthe Menaka… I was in heaven. But we hadn’t got there yet.

And then Carl brought out a bottle of Tanqueray Rangpur and stirred me one of the best martinis I have ever had – the Bombay Martini is timeless. (Tanqueray Rangpur gin, Antica Formula, Noilly Prat , and Dishoom bitters of vanilla, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, ginger, sandalwood, cassia wood and wormwood which take a month to infuse).

2012 is Year of the Dragon. The Chinese consider the dragon an unpredictable animal… exactly as my year has been. This has also been my Year of Relationships (2006 – Year of Change; 2010 – Year of Online Dating; 2011 – Year of BA Miles). I’ve had an old lover reappear and a platonic friend propose less than platonic feelings. I saw my parents as human beings and our relationship changed. My best friend saw me with all my faults and nothing changed. I forged a new relationship with acceptance – with work, with family, but most importantly with myself.

In 2013 – here’s to living fearlessly. Happy New Year.

-p