Cranachan Cheesecake for Monday

It is midday on Monday and I have decided to go all decadent on this miserably gloomy day with a cheesecake and tea. Did she say cheesecake for lunch? ‘What an odd thing she is,’ you might exclaim. I cannot refute it now, can I? Once in a while, when it is your birthday month which will go away all too soon, you need to give into hedonism.

I baked the cheesecake on a Friday night when Adi had stepped out for drinks with friends and I could spend my time watching an old Spencer Tracy/Katherine Hepburn movie, whisking ricotta and milk, sugar, eggs and butter, inhaling the wonderful smells of that buttery concoction of custard consistency that I could pour into a chilled base of crushed oatmeal biscuits. Now I had looked high and low for digestives. I am addicted to their moreish taste. But the people at the store cast me a blank look. I got a nonchalant ‘never had those’. I gave up and bought a packet of oatmeal biscuits to which I added salt to make it less sweet.

This heavenly cheesecake is a Paul Hollywood recipe and I have tinkled around with the base because I like me a buttery & crumbly oatmeal base. The man calls for oatcakes but I like the texture of digestive bases in cheesecakes more. Customisation is queen baby.

The result is a cheesecake which makes the heart sing as I let it melt into my mouth, the buttery biscuit base adding the perfect crunch. The taste of the raspberry coulis drizzled on top of it adds a fruity, tangy deliciousness that makes me say like, it is dope man.

2017-11-12 12.08.59 1.jpg

2017-11-12 12.09.02 1.jpg

2017-11-12 12.09.01 1.jpg

2017-11-13 12.04.09 1.jpg

Who Wants Curry When There’s Indian Accent…

The night air’s soft and balmy. People lurk near squat fountains, bathing in the mist as if to dissipate the heat of the summer evening, people watch other people and a sudden bit of quiet descends upon us in the midst of the surrounding skyscrapers. Are you with me? Then here is the conundrum. Can an oasis of green and tranquility sit within the chaos of Manhattan? Here lies Bryant Park, a heartbeat away from Times Square.

Then, Magnolia Bakery in Rockefeller Center, a vintage dream woven with cupcakes, puff pastries, brownies and blondies, cookies and macarons. All American-style. Slobbering and giving into temptation with four measly cupcakes when a whole world of goodies wink at you. Oh heart, clad in an iron armour, to not melt in the face of such luscious beauty.

But maybe you have had your fill for the day because why you have just tripped out of Indian Accent, that fine-dining modern Indian restaurant sitting on 56th Street.

Food memories. The dishes you have had growing up have been put on the menu by a renowned chef. His modern take on them is calculated to baffle the senses. Works.

The concept is degustation. Tasting menu. You eat a bit of everything. My usual grievance of not possessing four stomachs is taken care of. One stomach will do just fine.

Every dish, in the four-course menu I opt for, tastes different. Indian dishes do often run the danger of tasting somewhat the same. Adi goes for a three-course menu, so between the two of us, we have a plethora of tastes to sample.

The well-felt pinch on the pocket is redeemed by two dishes on the house. Miniature discs of naan that you pop into the mouth. Chew and a warm molten centre of Danish blue cheese is released into the mouth, piquant and sharp. And before you can crave more, pumpkin soup in a mini mug. Moreish.

It is difficult to choose from the line-up of dishes. Everything’s familiar yet there are unfamiliar pairings which stoke the taste buds and the imagination. The soya keema – that was often a constant on the table at home when I would throw a fit at the daily diet of fish – arrives in a small, deep pan topped with quail eggs. Oh, the taste of childhood all over again, but teamed with a mouthful of butter-slathered fresh mini paos (buns) that are redolent of lime leaves.

Nuggets of cauliflower? Did we order cauliflower?! Ahem. The dismay of the non-vegetarian. But then the realisation as you dig into them that they are crab claws slathered in the time-tested winning combination of butter, pepper and garlic.

Oh let’s not think any more.

After a long drawn affair involving smacking sounds and sighs of pleasure, the final stroke of goodness. A magical affair with a candle sticking on top to celebrate Adi’s birthday.

It looks like cake, but it is not cake, my darlings. Oh no. This is a token of a closely-guarded secret from the narrow alleys of Chandni Chowk in Old Delhi, where the narrow lanes are upholstered with shops selling silver, spices, antiques, sweets and fried food diverse enough to leave the food lover in a tizzy. This is where you want more than four stomachs, my friend. But to return to the frothy matter at hand, it is called Daulat ki Chaat. An ethereal concoction of milk, saffron, sugar and nuts that disappears into the mouth, offering you a glimpse of paradise. Light and airy.

This is how we sail out of Indian Accent – floating on a cloud of heavenly saffron and potent Belgian ale – you could go with wine. Know this that we had already been drinking beer the entire evening and a few glasses of wine would have sent us into the arms of deep sleep. Plus who wants to have just arrived in NYC and already kickstart the process of getting thrown out of restaurants, you know. All in good time.


Processed with VSCO with hb1 preset
Blue cheese naans, the signature dish of Indian Accent.
2017-07-03 12.00.22 1.jpg
Pumpkin soup. You can see that I had drained off a fair bit of it before I took a shot. Patience is not often a strong suit of mine.
2017-07-03 12.00.21 1.jpg
A trio of traditional dishes – smoked aubergine, duck khurchan and chicken khurchan – stuffed into flaky biscuits. Khurchan is basically scrapings off the bottom of a dish. In this case, well-cooked, crisp lashes of meat.
2017-07-03 12.00.20 1.jpg
Crab claws in butter, garlic and pepper. Not cauliflower. 
2017-07-03 12.00.18 2.jpg
Chicken kofta (meatball) with pakora in the shape of an onion ring and greens.
2017-07-03 12.00.19 1.jpg
Pathar beef kebab and bone-marrow nihari. Pathar kebabs are a speciality of the southern state of Hyderabad in India. Marinated meat is cooked over pathar or stone while nihari is slow-cooked meat (usually beef or lamb) presented along with the bone marrow.
2017-07-03 12.00.18 1.jpg
Soya keema (minced) topped with quail eggs and lime-leaf flavoured pao.
2017-07-03 12.00.17 1.jpg
Butter chicken-stuffed naan. Guaranteed streak of delight.
2017-07-03 12.00.15 1.jpg
Ghee roast lamb and roomali roti pancakes. Roomal is Hindi for handkerchief, so these breads or rotis are as thin as handkerchiefs.
2017-07-03 12.00.14 1.jpg
Dal makhni (creamy black lentils) chaperoned by garlic & butter naan. 
2017-07-03 12.00.12 1.jpg
Adi and his unusual birthday non-cake. A dewy cloud of milk flavoured with saffron, rose petal jaggery brittle and almonds.
2017-07-03 12.00.09 2.jpg
Neon-lit streets of Manhattan.
2017-07-02 11.23.42 1.jpg
Scandalous graffiti
2017-07-02 11.23.49 1.jpg
Bryant Park
2017-07-02 11.23.43 1.jpg
Steel-and-glass glory of 7 Bryant Park, in rainbow hues.
2017-07-02 11.23.56 1.jpg
There’s always space for more dessert. Magnolia Bakery.
2017-07-02 11.23.55 1.jpg
American vintage bakeries and cupcakes


2017-07-02 11.23.40 1.jpg
The top right-hand side cupcake got a bit squished, but hey, what is beauty without a flaw? They were good, bordering on the sweeter side of it, but the lemon blueberry cupcake on the top left-hand side stole the show (whispers: Hummingbird Bakery might still win the cupcake war, but I am not taking on a New Yorker yet).
Processed with VSCO with b5 preset
Ending the night on a ‘Sex and the City’ note. Carrie and Miranda. Love lives and cupcakes. Shut your eyes and take both.

Biryani and Postcards

What a strange combination. I am not asking you to chop postcards into biryani. Though I quite appreciate paper in my mouth. As a child I used to tear paper, make little balls and pop them into my mouth. Then chew, chew, chew. Did you too? I cannot judge as you can well figure out.

Wednesday has rolled in with the promise of a long Easter weekend. Yippee. We have extended it by a few more days and the mission is to soak up the sun in Cornwall. That is our favourite haunt in the country. Cornflower blue seas, full-fat ice creams, fish & chips, amphitheatres overlooking the sea, caves and cliffs, how can you not fall in love with that kind of a holiday? What are your plans for Easter?

Before I start with the (slightly lengthy) process of biryani making and listing out the ingredients, I want to thank you all, dear readers, because you make this journey of living full of fun and frolic. I look forward to it every day and enjoy my random conversations with you. When I am 80 (if I get there), all this will count in making a toothless me grin. This biryani is my way of saying thank you. If you put yourself through the process of making your own biryani spice mix, cook it and dish it out to your family, you might just get shut eyes and mmm sounds.

I also wanted to send out extra love and thanks to KristynAngelaV and Michaela who nominated me for blog awards which I had already participated in. Nonetheless it makes my day to be thought of by any one of you. These girls have lovely blogs, so please take a look at them?

Now, to get down to biryani brass tacks. It is a slow-cooked aromatic rice dish from India. As you know India is not exactly small, plus its various regions have diverse styles of cooking, which makes it like a treasure house of delicious recipes. The biryani itself has some 20 avataars. My favourite one is the style that belongs to my city of Calcutta.

In an area called Metiabruz there, the 10th (and also last) nawab of the former princely state of Oudh/Awadh arrived in 1865, freshly stripped off his royal privileges by the British. With him travelled his retinue. But of course. This nawab, Wajid Ali Shah, was conscious of his image and he wanted to feed them well. Yet it was difficult on the stipend he received from the British. His Awadhi style of biryani was cooked using potatoes to add volume to the rice dish – which would also supplement the absence of enough meat.

Potatoes at the time were a delicacy because the British were growing the crop in Dehradun. For Bengalis, potatoes (or alu as we lovingly refer to them) are a staple that will not be left out from most dishes, no sir. You will possibly not have biryani anywhere else with potatoes in it.

This particular biryani reminds of the wonderful Arsalan, an eatery in Calcutta that dishes out the best biryanis and Mughlai dishes you will ever sink your teeth into. If you are in Calcutta next time, or for the first time, you know where to head.

Calcutta Chicken Biryani

Serves: 4

Chicken thighs              700-800gm

Basmati rice                   400gm

Large potatoes               2

Hard-boiled egg             4

Beresta (fried sliced red onions, using 3 medium ones)

Plain yogurt (beaten)     3-4 tbsp

Ginger-garlic paste        1 tbsp

Lime juice 1 tbsp

Red chilli powder           1 tsp

White pepper powder   1/2 tsp

Biryani masala                1 1/2 tbsp (Dry roast each of these spices separately on a medium flame and grind them into a fine powder – 10 pods of cardamom, 10-12 pieces of clove, 3″ cinnamon stick, 2 bay leaves, 2 nutmeg, 5 mace, 1 1/2 tbsp of caraway seeds)

Cloves                               5-6

Green cardamom          5-6 pods

Alubukhara/dried plum 2-3

Milk powder                   2 tbsp

Kewra water                  1 tbsp

Rose water                     1/2 tbsp

Few strands of saffron (soaked in 2 tbsp warm milk)

Milk                                  1 cup

Salt, to taste

Ghee                                  3 tbsp

Cooking oil (mustard/ rapeseed) 3-4 tbsp

Initial Preps

  • Marinate chicken with salt, ginger-garlic paste, yogurt, chilli powder, white pepper powder, 1 tbsp biryani masala, 1/2 tbsp kewra water and 1 tbsp cooking oil for about 2 hours. For even better flavours, marinate overnight.
  • Peel potatoes and cut them into halves. Coat with salt and turmeric. Boil them till they are half-cooked.
  • Smear boiled eggs with salt and turmeric powder. Shallow fry them in 1-2 tbsp of oil.
  • Heat 1 tbsp oil in a big pan over medium flame and cook the marinated chicken in it with half the beresta. Cook till oil separates from the mixture. Add approximately 1 1/2 cups of hot water, cover with a lid and let the chicken cook. As the chicken becomes tender, remove it from the pan and keep it aside. In the meanwhile, reduce the gravy to about 3/4 cup measure.
  • Wash and soak the rice in cold water for at least 10 mins. Boil it with 2 1/2 tsp salt, green cardamom and cloves. Cook the rice till it is half done and then drain the water and discard the spices.

The Final and Easy Instalment

  • Grease a heavy bottomed pan (with a narrow-ish mouth and a lid that fits well) with 1/2 tbsp ghee. Pour the chicken gravy into it, add lime juice, dried plums, remaining biryani masala, 1 tbsp ghee, 1/2 cup milk, chicken pieces and mix well. Then place potatoes over the chicken and sprinkle the remaining beresta.
  • Now spread half of the rice over it. At this point you can add 1/2 tsp turmeric powder blended into 2 tbsp milk (if you want to add colour to you rice). Pour in saffron milk, rose water, kewra water, milk powder and remaining ghee over the rice.
  • Finally, top up with the leftover rice and milk. Bung in the eggs. Cover the pan and put it on medium flame for 6-8 minutes. Lower the flame and let it be for 30-35 minutes till the rice is properly cooked. Check for liquid at the bottom. If that extra liquid has almost dried up, your biryani is ready.

Ta daa. Now all you gotta do is gobble it up.

Below are the postcards from my big box of them.

Scan 3.jpeg
Was he the strongest man on earth? He would never say no to biryani surely.
Pretenders of the Future French 1893 Art Nouveau poster.jpeg
French Advertising Poster for the grand fete of Paris in 1893.
Paris le Pantheon.jpeg
Le Pantheon, Paris.
La Belle Epoque.jpeg
La Belle Epoque. The French brand of nostalgia.
Giovanni Boldini (Le Comte Robert de Montesquiou) 1897.jpeg
An 1897 portrait of Le Comte Robert de Montesquiou, a French dandy and poet, by Italian portrait painter Giovanni Boldini. An author described him: “Tall, black-haired, rouged, Kaiser-moustached, he cackled and screamed in weird attitudes, giggling in high soprano, hiding his little black teeth behind an exquisitely gloved hand—the poseur absolute. Montesquiou’s homosexual tendencies were patently obvious, but he may in fact have lived a chaste life. He had no affairs with women, although in 1876 he reportedly once slept with the great actress Sarah Bernhardt, after which he vomited for twenty-four hours. (She remained a great friend.)”
Jean Beraud Parisienne place de la Concorde. Oil painting. jpeg.jpeg
Oil painting of a Parisienne beauty by French painter Jean Beraud. At Place de la Concorde.

Spicy Egg Bath for Your French Toast

Savoury French Toast with chillies and onion is one of the best snack-y dishes you will have in life. Because who can say no to fried bread with some spices thrown in. If you can resist the temptation, let me know. Not that I would hang you upside down or force-feed you, okay? So do not run away, my pretty.

The idea of this post was suggested by Dolly. She wrote a post on French Toast (that rhymed and I declare myself a poet) which brings together the Romans and this fried bread dish. Being the inveterate opinion giver that I am, I had to put in my two bits on her post, to which Dolly responded with an invitation to do a guest post for her. So here I am with two slices of French Toast in my tummy, feeling like a veritable Roman gourmand and typing away whatever comes into my French toasted mind. Now Dolly does not just put recipes – she gives you a backdrop to it which tickles the imagination. When I learnt that the French Toast, which we have corrupted in India with our typical obsession with spices and heat, was actually the product of a 1st-century Roman fellow called Apicius, I was chuffed. Who would have thunk, right?

Below is how you go about making it for yourself. Since I made it for just myself this morning (I foresee the husband protesting and pouting at being left out), it is enough for one.


Eggs, 2

Bread, 2 slices

Half of a small red onion, chopped fine

A chilli, chopped into thin discs

A handful of coriander, chopped fine

Milk (optional), about 1/4 cup

Cumin powder, 1/4 tsp

Garam masala, 1/4 tsp (recipe for homemade garam masala is to be found at the end of the post)

Red chilli powder (a pinch or two)



Wholegrain spelt & malted barley seeded bread slices with ancient and sprouted grains. I found this bread the other day on the aisles and it is delicious. Nutty and with a slightly chewy texture to it.
Spices. From left to right: Garam masala, red chilli powder and cumin powder. These are just roughly put into the bowls so please do not sprinkle such generous helpings of these.
Bread into the egg bath …
…and into the pan.
2017-03-29 01.05.26 1.jpg
Sauces to dip the bread into

Heat a skillet well and drizzle it with the oil of your choice. I am democratic, yes. I used mustard oil because it adds a wonderful flavour to Indian dishes. I did not go crazy with the oil – just enough to drizzle both sides of the slices. You can always opt for a bed of oil because they do crisp quickly with more oil. As a result of the less quantity of oil, I had to leave the slices to toast for a fairly long time.

While the skillet is heating, whisk the egg with above chopped ingredients and spices. Dunk the bread slices in them and coat both sides of each slice well with the mixture. The chopped veggies do not always stay put (perverse things), so you will have to spoon them onto the bread while frying. Now ease the slices into the skillet and toast both sides till they are crisp.

When they are ready to be ravished, just add some ketchup or Tomato Hot & Sweet sauce, because really, this sauce is a beauty. If you like it hotter, go for a sauce like a Bhut Jolokia hot sauce and let steam vent from your ears.

How to make fresh garam masala

2 tbsp coriander seeds

1tbsp cumin seeds

1 tbsp cardamom seeds

1 tbsp whole black peppercorns

1 tsp fennel seeds

1 tsp mustard seeds

1/2 tsp whole cloves

2 dried red chillies

2 tbsp ground turmeric

Toast the whole spices (except turmeric powder) on a skillet till they are fragrant (roughly for 2 mins) and grind the spices in a coffee grinder.Add the turmeric powder to the mixture and you have your garam masala which will stay well for up to a month in a mason jar.

Sundays To Clear Out the Rust of the Week

How is this Sunday going for you? I have been smelling the pages of old books that I laid my hands on for the smashing overall amount of 2 quid yesterday at a second-hand bookshop in Ludlow, and, inhaling a box of cookies I had stashed away and suddenly found on Friday evening in a dark corner of the pantry. Hidden treasures are not to be scorned, especially the buttery kinds, no?

Below is a shot of two pages from an autobiography by Nicolas Bentley, a 20th century British author and illustrator. It is an unusual autobiography. You do not come across those very often. Bentley said with a self-deprecating tinge: “ I have very little imagination, not being a fisherman, and practically no memory, I realised that my autobiography, if it was to be written at all, must be written while my eyes though no longer innocent saucers were yet undimmed by the rheum of antiquity”. I was even more kicked to realised that he was the illustrator for a book – How to be an Alien (1946) by George Mikes – I have stacked into the library room of my childhood home in Calcutta. Travel – it makes you meet your childhood at unexpected places, or maybe I should have expected it because Mikes was writing a book on classic British humour (an instance of which is a chapter on sex that goes thus: ‘Continental people have sex lives: the English have hot water bottles’).

2017-03-19 10.49.54 1.jpg
Nicolas Bentley’s The Time of My Life
2017-03-16 05.05.32 1.jpg
Little rounds of heaven. You cannot stick to one.

Lastly, because I have been routing through my box of postcards every weekend, here are some tidbits for you.

Theatre Poster from Hamburg 1883. Bought in Theater Figuren Museum in Lubeck, Germany.
Scan 1.jpeg
Theatre poster from  1910-11 representing the Schichtl family’s style of marionette theatre. The family’s work dates back to the 17th century. The Schichtls and their travelling cabaret & puppet theatre visited Hesse, Lower Saxony, Saxony and Thuringia.
Scan 2
Sita, consort of Rama in Hindu mythology, reflected in an ancient form of storytelling-shadow puppetry.
Scan 5.jpeg
Notre Dame de Paris
Scan 6.jpeg
Place Blanche et Moulin Rouge
Scan 3
Eighteenth century Parisian lady kitted out in a Circassian dress fashioned out of Italian taffeta gauze.
Scan 8.jpeg
Dinner menu from 1751 at the Chateau de Choisy in Val-de-marne in the Ile-de-France region. It belonged to Louis XV after he bought it in 1739. 
Scan 4
An old poster of Lago di Como, Italy. 


The Italian-Norwegian Frame of Mind

What a strange combination you might comment. It is, but then I am a little strange too. I mean, I like to make up my own rules when cooking. I team up dishes from various parts of the globe together. It is closely related to travel. I end up picking up on tips on introducing dishes to my repertoire of cooking while dancing around in the kitchen with a ladle and knife (I really do, I groove to music while cooking). These dishes take me along with them to where I was when I first tried them and the feeling of pure bliss I experienced when I dug into them.

Tonight I am in the mood for Aglio e Olio. It is the classic spaghetti dish, the ultimate feast food really. Put that in front of me and I could gobble up more than my stomach can hold. The rustic Italian dish is made with the simplest of ingredients such as generous lashings of olive oil and crushed garlic pods along with a smattering of peperoncini – because it is said to have originated in the once poor region of Abruzzo in Italy. I substituted white spaghetti with wholegrain spelt spaghetti. And I love my greens, so in the backdrop is a side of stir-fried asparagus with salt and freshly crushed black pepper.

The other star of my dinner is the Norheimsund Chicken. You see, one rainy day in Norheimsund, a village on one of the many mysterious fjords of Norway, we were presented with organic chicken breast and thyme by the host of the apartment we had rented. She runs an organic farm on her farm which is just one of her many talents. The others include dancing a jig while explaining the name of her Pointer dog, Charleston, and then suddenly positioning her arms like she was about to launch an arrow off an imaginary bow into the air — to tell us that he points just so when he goes hunting. I could see why Charleston would not leave her alone. And I could also see why she so appealed to me.

Anyway, to get back to matters more related to what lies on the plate, I slit the chicken breast, slid a sprig or two of thyme in with two cloves of garlic, a slice of Babybel cheese (because I like to have them on me for snacking when I am travelling) and some butter. It went on to a cast iron pan on the burner and voila, the chicken that came out was a winner. We call it Norheimsund Chicken, because it is something that we just came up with out of necessity and fell in love with. If you try it, do let me know.

I am tucking into the goodness of it with a ruby-red Malbec — the spaghetti making me feel greedy for some more, but the chicken saying, ‘Go on, ignore me. You know how it thrills me’  — and I cannot help thinking that Sophia Loren had a point when she noted, “Everything you see I owe to spaghetti.

What is going to be on your plate tonight? What are your favourites from your travels that you have incorporated into your daily meals?

My Rain-Soaked Northampton Days

And that is not how dawn today looked. It is a shot from a couple of days before, taken by the husband before he set out for London for his daily commute to work. I do not get to see many sunrises because I am one of those people who can sleep so much that you would think that I am dead.

The sky is uniformly drab and colourless and there are tiny drops of water speckling our bay windows as it drizzles away at a constant rate. I switch on all the fairy lights in the room, put on the cosy lamp at the corner of my round table and settle down to a large mug of cold coffee (because there is nothing that starts my day better than coffee). Hygge, hygge my friend. Did you know that people nowadays do coffee detoxes? Lordy lord, I do feel sorry for their caffeine-deprived souls.

I want to pep up my mind with some random thoughts on this dull, dull day (before I get cracking with my other writing).

  • I do not mind rainy Fridays as long as I am inside, tucked in with lots of books and a blanket.


  • I am currently into making dark chocolate barks. I have realised this kinda goodness is easy to put together in the kitchen. Really, try it out. Melt some dark chocolate cooking bar, sprinkle it with your preferred things. Chilli, dried blueberries and pecans, cranberries and hazelnuts, sea salt, orange zest. Not all together in one bark, please, however.
You see what I mean?
  • I cannot wait for the skies to turn a glorious hue of blue again. Even if a smoky one will do. So that I can get back to my beloved park nearby and get going with clearing the cobwebs in my mind while running. Apart from the fact that I am a glutton, I also am a thinker. Nothing gives my mind more free reign than when I am surrounded by the idleness of people loitering around with their dogs, dogs meeting other dogs, toddlers playing in the park with their parents, school children passing through, old men and women out for vigorous walks with their hands intertwined, other joggers sharing benign smiles as they pass me by. The joy of life are simple, no?
  • I hate being pitied. Much as I hate the expression, ‘Poor you’. I can abide with empathy but not pity. Also, I hate it when women emphasise the fact that they are helpless beings. It destroys the very tenet of why women all those years ago fought for the likes of us who came thereafter.
  • I am re-reading Three Men in a Boat. Jerome K Jerome is a hoot. I am inclined to think that Bill Bryson (who I love reading because he makes me shake with mirth) is quite inspired by Jerome K Jerome. I find a similar tone of humour in his travel books. Try this from Three Men in a Boat: “I can’t sit still and see another man slaving and working. I want to get up and superintend, and walk round with my hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do. It is my energetic nature. I can’t help it.”
  • Where shall we head out tomorrow? We love our English countryside wanderings. There is nothing like the sight of a field full of busy sheep and a curious horse or two, followed by rummaging in vintage stores and a cup of tea and cake to make my day. Fortunately it seems that the rain gods will take a break tomorrow before they start with their job on Sunday afresh.
  • Should I make pizza for the husband today (with a cauliflower crust)? Psst: This is just to alarm him. Once I did make him one and it turned out that I had not drained the cauliflower rice well enough. That is okay, right? We live and learn.
  • I am into Nordic noir. It is like biting deep into a delicious piece of crime fiction and there is no looking back. My obsession started with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series. Now I cannot put down the likes of Henning Mankell, Hakan Nesser, Jo Nesbo, Asa Larsson, Leif GW Persson, Samuel Bjork. So I have these two books on my bedside table to be picked up soon and I am loving the deliciousness of the wait. Are you a reader of the genre too?


  • I cannot stand whinging. Yes, I know, we are all human and we like to complain, but not all the time, okay? We all have our share of problems and worries but it does not overtake the essential goodness of the fact that we are alive to feel all of the above emotions.
  • I hate gossip mongers. Period.
  • I used to blog once upon a time. It was an anonymous one till it was not anon no longer one day. It also landed me in hot water (which I do not regret however because I am trying to work on myself. Ref: the point below)
  • I was born with the disease to please. It will take the rest of my life trying to shake it off.
  • I can see the spires of two churches from our window. They make me happy when I look out on any day, however crappy the weather might be. One is the steeple of a 12th century round church (there are only four such churches in England). The other is the turquoise domed spire of the 17th century church that was rebuilt after a great fire ravaged Northampton in 1675.
  • I cannot wait for our satellite dish to be set back alright (Doris came visiting, you see) and get back to watch The Kettering Incident, an Australian drama series which is quite intriguing. Plus it has Elizabeth Debicki and she is my new favourite.

How is it going for you in your part of the world? Is it cold, warm, sunny…? I would love to hear your thoughts on this Friday too. Once in a while it is nice to pen down these completely random thoughts and look back at it from another time and place. Do you know what I mean?