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Good grief this has been a champion week: I learned that supermarket giants Tesco and Sainsbury’s are both going to be stocking copies of my book ‘Made in India’. This is enormous news considering they rarely buy books not written by celebrity chefs.

‘Made in India’ is also going Dutch. Fontaine, a wonderful publishing house is translating the book and it will be available in all good bookshops in The Netherlands later this year. Fantastiche*

If that wasn’t enough, I had my first recipe published in a national newspaper and the Guardian at that. My beetroot pachadi, a lovely South Indian curry leaf, beetroot and coconut stir-fry features in Guardian Cook’s 10 Best Beetroot recipes. I am one een gelukkige eend (lucky ducky). Here’s what people on twitter have said about the beetroot pachadi recipe:

  • The beetroot pachadi recipe by @meerasodha is THE BEST of the @guardian 10 Best Beetroot Recipes @monisha_rajesh
  •  Made this beetroot pachadi by @meerasodha featured in the Guardian Cook yesterday. Can’t stop serving @roseandcardamom
  • I made it tonight – lovely. Used coconut cream as couldn’t get into the fresh nut. Will do it again! @edstromhelga 

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Beetroot Pachadi

This South Indian beetroot and coconut dish is often served as a side to go with grilled meats or other curries, but we think it is just as good as a main in its own right. Serve with plenty of warm chapatis, steamed rice and yoghurt.
Made in India by Meera Sodha (Fig Tree) will be published on 3 July,meerasodha.com

Serves 4

  • 800g raw beetroot
  • 2 tbsp rapeseed oil
  • 2 tsp mustard seeds
  • 10 curry leaves
  • 2 garlic cloves, crushed
  • 4cm ginger, peeled and grated
  • 2 green finger chillies, very finely chopped
  • ¾ tsp salt
  • ½ tsp ground cumin
  • ¾ tsp ground turmeric
  • 200g grated coconut, fresh or frozen
  • 4 tbsp whole milk or Greek yoghurt

1 Top and tail the beetroot, then boil in water until they are tender (or you can stick a knife through them with ease). This should take around 35 minutes. Leave the beetroot to cool down, then slip the skins off with your fingers and cut the beetroot into ½ cm wedges.

2 In a large lidded frying pan, heat the oil and when hot, add the mustard seeds. When the mustard seeds are starting to pop, add the curry leaves, garlic, ginger and green chilli, salt, cumin and turmeric.

3 Stir-fry for 4-5 minutes then add the beetroot and grated coconut. Stir to mix, then pop the lid on. Leave to cook for 10 minutes stirring a couple of times then stir in the yoghurt. Serve hot with rice.

* Dutch for fantastic.

 

Back in the mists of time when the menus of English curry houses were first writ and laminated, South Indian food did not get a look in.*

Most dishes at your local Indian restaurant are from the North of India. The state of Punjab is where the likes of chana masala, butter chicken and matter paneer come from, while the dhansak originated from the Parsis (Indian Persians based in the North West of India) the rogan josh is from Kashmir and the korma, koftas and kebabs from the imperial kitchens of the Muslim Mughal Empire.

Many of these dishes are rich: heavy meat dishes, cooked long and slow with clarified butter and cream laced with nuts, sugar and warming spices. It’s the kind of food which compliments the imagined splendour of the Raj and the British weather, where for over six months of the year, we all wear jumpers.

It’s very different to the food of South India: the states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu whose cuisines are little known over here.

vegetable sambar

South Indian food puts fish and vegetables up front and centre, surrounding them with sharp and clean flavours from the use of curry leaves, tamarind, tomatoes, chillies and fresh coconut milk and coconut oil.

One of the most popular dishes from the South of India is this nourishing sambar: a sweet and sour yellow lentil stew packed with lip-smacking tamarind, coconut and a small holding’s worth of vegetables.

Recipe notes: you’ll need a spice grinder for this recipe

Vegetable Sambar with Coconut and Tamarind

Serves 4

  • 150g toor dal or split yellow lentils
  • 4 tablespoons rapeseed oil
  • ½ teaspoon fenugreek seeds
  • 2 teaspoons coriander seeds
  • 1 ½ teaspoons cumin seeds
  • 4 dried kasmiri chillies
  • 2 tablespoons dessicated coconut
  • 2 teaspoons mustard seeds
  • 12-15 curry leaves
  • 4 banana shallots, finely diced
  • 450g vegetables (200g butternut squash, diced. 100g snake beans (or drumsticks or green beans) cut into 5cm pieces 150g aubergine, diced)
  • 3 medium sized tomatoes, sliced
  • 1 ¾ teaspoons salt
  • 1 ½ teaspoons sugar
  • 1 ½ teaspoons tamarind paste

Put the lentils into a deep saucepan and wash under cold water until the water runs clear, then cover with four times the amount of water and bring to the boil. Simmer for around 35 mins or until soft, straining off any foam from the lentils if it arises.

While the dal is boiling, heat one tablespoon of oil in a wide lidded frying pan and add the chillies, coriander, fenugreek and cumin. Stir-fry for a minute or until the coriander seeds start turn golden, then add the coconut for a minute last minute, then take off the heat and grind to a paste.

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Wipe the frying pan clean and heat three tablespoons of oil over a medium to high heat. When hot, add the mustard seeds and curry leaves, followed closely by the shallots. Cook until translucent and browning (around 15 minutes) then add the diced squash, cover for 5 minutes then add the aubergine and stir fry for 5 minutes on a high heat. Now add the tomatoes, a little water (say 50ml) and the salt, sugar and tamarind paste. Cover with a lid and leave to cook for around 5 minutes.

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When the tomatoes are soft and have broken down and the lentils cooked, transfer the vegetable mixture to the lentils, add the beans and heat together for another 5 minutes. Taste and adjust the salt, sugar and tamarind as you wish. Serve with steaming basmati rice.

*yes yes, Madras curry but no – that was invented in here in Britain.

 

channa saag

It’s hard to think of a vegetable more popular than kale. First, the story emerged of Gwynny being seen out with her new ‘friend with benefits’ then Beyonce was seen sporting the sweatshirt shortly after the first lady, Michelle Obama was said to be snaffling kale chips.

With a vegetable being so shamelessly promoted and also virtuous, my first instinct was to avoid it, surreptitiously turning my eyes away at the elbow fights and hair-pulling occurring over it in Islington.

But this week, I’ve surrendered and jumped right in there and I can tell you that am fantastically waving big fronds of the green leafy stuff around in solid approval. It’s ruddy tasty.

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In this recipe I’ve used the leaves where I would ordinarily use spinach (channa saag) and was astonished to see the leaves didn’t shrink like spinach does and became lovely and tender within minutes.

This is a great and quick mid-week supper, packed full of creamy and voluptuous chickpeas and braised kale in a scant spicy tomato sauce. Best scooped up with hot whole meal chapattis to complete the virtuous loop.

Kale and chickpea curry

Serves 4

  • 3 tablespoons rapeseed oil
  • ½ teaspoon mustard seeds
  • 1 teaspoon cumin seeds
  • 1 large onion, diced
  • 4 garlic cloves, crushed
  • 2 plum tomatoes
  • 3 tbsp tomato puree
  • 2 tins of chickpeas (480g), rinsed and drained (a good quality brand like Napoli)
  • 1 1/4 tsp salt
  • 1 1/2 tsp ground coriander
  • 1 ½ tsp ground cumin
  • 1 tsp red chilli powder
  • ¾ tsp turmeric
  • 200g kale, chopped

Heat the oil in a lidded pan over a medium heat and when hot add the mustard seeds and cumin seeds. Stir for a minute or until you can smell the cumin and the mustard seeds pop, then throw in the onions. Fry the onions for 10 -12 minutes until translucent and browning, then add the garlic. Stir-fry for around 3 minutes and add the tomatoes and the tomato puree, stir and leave to cook for around 5 minutes.

After 5 minutes, add the chickpeas, warm through then add the coriander, cumin, chilli, turmeric and salt. Toss the chickpeas around in the spices to coat then pour in 2cm of hot water.

Pop the lid on and leave the chickpeas to simmer for 5 minutes, add the chopped kale a handful at a time, stir to coat and pop the lid on. Cook for around 5 minutes until kale is soft and tender.

Serve with chapattis or basmati rice and a dollop of yoghurt.

kale and chickpea curry

I have been neglectful of mutton. Most people have.

Here in England, it’s the sad overlooked meat in the butcher’s shop that no one’s talked about since the 1950’s when it was a by-product of our clothing industry and people use to eat it all the time. Since the advent of factory fabricated fashion, we’ve all been eating more lamb.

In India, mutton is used all the time in curries although with one key difference: the meat comes from a goat, rather than a sheep. But the small matter of species aside, what they both have in common is that mutton makes for an excellent curry. The meat, being from an older animal is more flavourful than lamb, so better able to stand up to the strong spices and slow-cooking that a lot of Indian meat dishes require. It’s also practically half the price of lamb, making it worthy of a re-visit.

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The main spice i’ve used in this curry is black cardamom, an epic beast, so black, gnarled and brash it should have been in Dante’s Inferno. It has all the floral eucalptyus notes of green cardamom but is dried over a wood fire, to smoke it – giving any dish it touches a sweet, charred and smoky flavour.

Slow-cooking the pair together, giving them time to get intimate, creates something heavenly: soft and unctuous meat in a rich, deep and smoky sauce. Perfect to mop up with some fluffy-pillow naan.

I bought my mutton here at Turner and George (they deliver, so you could too) and my black cardamom here

Slow-cooked mutton and black cardamom curry 

Serves 6

Ingredients:

  • 4 tablespoons rapeseed oil
  • 2 x 4cm cinnamon stick
  • 1 teaspoon cumin seeds
  • 5 cloves
  • 5 black cardamom
  • 6 garlic cloves, crushed
  • 3 white onions, diced
  • 5cm ginger, grated (plus extra to serve)
  • 400g tomato passata
  • 1 ½ teaspoons red chilli powder
  • 11/2 teaspoons ground coriander
  • 1 kg mutton shoulder, diced into 4cm x 4cm
  • 4 tablespoons whole milk yoghurt
  • 1 ¼ – 1 ½ teaspoons salt
  • A big handful of coriander

Heat the oil in a lidded pan or casserole dish and when hot add the cinnamon, cloves, cardamom and cumin. Stir-fry for a couple of minutes, then add the onions.

Fry the onions for around 10 minutes, making sure to brown them but not burn them by stirring them infrequently, then add the ginger and garlic and carry on cooking for another 5 minutes.

Add the passata and cover the pan with the lid and cook for around 10 minutes, until the passata is darker and has reduced a little. Now, add the chilli powder (less if you’d prefer) coriander and salt. Stir then add the yoghurt and the meat.

Make sure the meat is covered by the liquid in the dish, if not, you may need to add just enough water to submerge it then bring the mixture up to a boil, put the lid on and turn down to a simmer.

Slow cook for around two hours, until the meat is soft and comes apart easily. Taste for salt and chilli, adjusting as you wish.

To serve, throw in a handful of chopped coriander and scatter with a few batons of ginger.

 

Penguin asked me to write a little bit on what my mother taught me when it comes to cooking for their food-focused website, ‘Happy Foodie’. Click on the picture to go through to the original article or scroll down to read. As special treat, there’s ‘Mum’s Chicken Curry’ recipe from my book, ‘Made in India‘. A wonderful curry it is too.

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“My mother taught me how to enjoy food and how to share it. She’d regularly invite everyone – from my father’s banking colleagues, to local farmers – into our house in the Lincolnshire countryside to eat our Indian food with us. No matter what time of day, or the nature of the visit, a warming and delicious feast would suddenly appear and no one would leave hungry.

So when I left home at the age of 18 to go to university, the lack of readily available good food was a sudden shock. Halls canteen food was awful and the food in the Indian restaurants on Brick Lane was nothing like our home cooking. I used to dream about mum’s chicken curry at night and regularly make the 4 hour journey back home just to eat it. Over the years, since mum taught me how to make it, it’s become my favourite dish to cook and share with friends – and for some, it has become one of their treasured dishes too”.

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(Photograph taken by the magical David Loftus)

Mum’s Chicken Curry 

  • 2 tbsp ghee or unsalted butter
  • 1 tbsp rapeseed oil
  • 1 tsp cumin seeds
  • 2 x 4cm cinnamon sticks
  • 2 large onions, finely chopped
  • 6cm ginger, peeled and grated
  • 6 cloves of garlic, crushed
  • 2 fresh green chillies (or 1 teaspoon chilli powder)
  • salt
  • 200g tomato passata
  • 2 tbsp tomato purée
  • 1½ tsp ground cumin
  • ½ tsp ground turmeric
  • 3 tbsp whole-milk yoghurt
  • 1.2 kg skinless chicken legs, or 800g skinless, boneless chicken thighs
  • 3 tbsp ground almonds
  • 1 tsp garam masala

Put the ghee and oil into a wide-bottomed, lidded frying pan on a medium heat and, when it’s hot, add the cumin seeds and cinnamon sticks. Let them infuse in the oil for a minute, and then add the onions. Cook for 10 to 12 minutes, stirring occasionally, until golden brown.

Meanwhile, put the ginger, garlic and green chillies into a pestle and mortar with a pinch of salt and bash to a coarse paste.

Add the paste to the pan and cook gently for 2 minutes, then pour in the passata and stir. Cook the passata for a few minutes until it resembles a thick paste, then add the tomato purée, ground cumin, turmeric and ½ teaspoon of salt (or to taste).

Whisk the yoghurt and add it slowly to the curry. Cook it through until it starts to bubble, then add the chicken. Pop the lid on the pan and continue to cook on a gentle heat for around 25 minutes. Add the ground almonds and the garam masala and cook for another 5 minutes.

Serve with a tower of chapattis, hot fluffy naan bread or rice, and offer yoghurt at the table.

 

 

Gujarati makai nu shaak

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We spent last weekend at my parents place in Lincolnshire where Sundays are always simple and lazy. After our ritualistic pot of chai, masala omelettes and a good thumbing through of the Sunday papers, we went for a drive to Cleethorpes, our much loved but now downtrodden local seaside town.

Our family has filled up on good times here. Long walks collecting shells on the beach, eating pickled cockles, fish and chips and taking rides on donkeys and the snakey helter skelter.

But we came back home late and tired to an empty fridge, long after the shops had closed. I started ferreting around in the back of the cupboard while mum looked through her recipe books. This one sang out from a book of my grandma’s recipes. It is an old Gujarati dish, a corn-on-the-cob curry, traditionally cooked in a chickpea flour and yoghurt sauce, but amended to include peanuts after her many years living in Uganda.

It’s a rarity among Indian dishes too as it doesn’t include onions, ginger or garlic and can be cooked using ingredients found in a (an Indian) cupboard and freezer. Simultaneously sweet and savoury but clean and creamy – it’s just right for a Sunday evening.

Gujarati corn on the cob and peanut curry 

Serves 4

Ingredients

  • 875g or around 4 cobs, fresh or frozen and halved
  • 100g peanuts, unsalted
  • 50g gram flour (aka chickpea or besan flour)
  • 4 tablespoons rapeseed oil
  • 250ml Greek yoghurt
  • 11/2 teaspoons salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon turmeric
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons red chilli powder
  • 1 teaspoon sugar
  • 3 tablespoons fresh coriander, finely chopped

Bring a pan of salted water to the boil and slip the corn in. If frozen, boil for around 6-8 minutes (if fresh 5 mins) then turn off the heat and leave as is. In the meantime, you can grind the peanuts either in a coffee/ spice grinder or food processor for best results or in a pestle and mortar to a fine consistency.

In a large lidded pan, heat the oil over a low to medium heat and when hot add the gram flour, stirring continuously to smooth any lumps and roast it slowly. After around four or five minutes, it should start to turn a pinkish brown – now add the ground peanuts and again stir for around five minutes then switch off the heat.

Add to the mix the yoghurt, salt, turmeric, chilli powder and sugar. Stir and add the sweetcorn. (Mum and my grandma like to hack each cob into 11/2 inch slices but this is lumber jack work to me so I will only halve them next time). Then put the pan over a medium heat and slowly ladle in the reserve up to around 600ml water, stirring to mix.

Once mixed, pop the lid on and leave to heat through for around 5 minutes until the sauce is the consistency of double cream then take off the heat and sprinkle over with fresh coriander. Serve in bowls either with rice, chapattis or just by itself.

cleethorpes pier

cleethorpes snacks

 

This is Bombay’s surf and turf. Coconuts and prawns are two of the most ubiquitous ingredients available in the city. Tropical coconut trees line most streets and the coast of Bombay is flanked by the Arabian Sea to the west, south and east making for a rich supply of seafood – especially big fat juicy prawns.

Together they are an old married couple one bringing out the best in the other and improved only with a bit of spiciness: some zest (coriander), some bite (pepper) some earth (cumin) and a little sweetness (fennel).

As winter attempts to pole vault into summer here and the nights are still sultry this dish makes for a perfect light and fresh end to another day here in the metropolis.

(For tips on how to crack a coconut, see here)

coconut prawns

Fresh coconut prawns

  • 1 tablespoon coriander seeds
  • 1 teaspoon of cumin seeds
  • 1 teaspoon fennel seeds
  • 10 black peppercorns
  • 2 dried red chillies
  • 50 – 75g fresh coconut
  • 2 red onions, finely chopped
  • 3 tablespoons oil
  • 6 garlic cloves, minced
  • 2 large tomatoes, chopped
  • 600g large prawns, deveined
  • ¾ teaspoon salt

First toast the spices and fresh coconut. Get a pan nice and hot over a medium heat and add to it the coriander, fennel, cumin, pepper and red chillies. Swirl the seeds around the pan until you see the coriander change from a meadow to a golden green. Then add the coconut and stir-fry for a couple of minutes until it starts to colour, then take the pan off the heat and grind the spices together (in a spice/ coffee grinder or in a pestle and mortar) with just enough water to make a paste and leave to one side.

coconut prawn paste

 Next, add the oil to the same pan and when hot, add the sliced onions. Cook the onions over a medium heat for around 10 minutes or until they are soft then add the garlic. Stir fry the garlic another couple of minutes then add the tomatoes and cook, stirring every couple of minutes until they become mushy.

Now add the coconut and spice paste to the pan and stir to mix, heat through for a few minutes and then add the prawns. Again, stirring to mix. Depending on the size of your prawns, they should take around 4 to 5 minutes to cook. Add the salt, little by little and take off the heat.

Serve with fresh hot chapattis (and a small cold beer).

Half our time in Goa was spent on sun loungers, books spine side up, staring out at the mesmeric Arabian Sea. Sometimes we swam (me half terrified by invisible sea creatures), but mostly we sat – and for this time, it felt as though we had checked out of India. A sentiment which isn’t that surprising considering that most of the coast is littered with tourists but also that Goa, for most of it’s recent life, has been Portuguese.

The Portuguese with their big hats and big beards came over in 1497 to take over this luscious bit of coastline. They came and stayed for 450 years and imparted, amongst other things their chillies to India which changed the course of Indian food forever more. Try and imagine Indian food without chillies – it really is too mind-blowing a thought to entertain.

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Chillies are used by the sackful in Goa. Many of them end up in Goa’s signature dish, the Vindaloo. A fire-laden chilli, vinegar and pork curry which had many grown men crying in tandoori houses in England when I was growing up in the 90’s. Some end up in a Xacuti, a complicated little dish made up of so many powdered spices a thick mud occasionally forms at the bottom of the dish.

Fewer, end up in the most marvellous sausage called, the Goan sausage. The woodier, headier, tougher big brother to chorizo. It was with this sausage and in our beautiful Goan kitchen we created our very own Goan shakshuka.

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Goan sausage shakshuka recipe

The one thing that I realised with this sausage is that it’s not like any other species of sausage that i’ve cooked with before. It’s tough and needs some time before it will give you it’s glorious flavours and textures. A bit like neck of lamb, or ox cheek. (I found that around 40 minutes was adequate to soften the meat, but you may need longer)

Ingredients:

  • 200g Goan sausage, skin removed and chopped into small 1cm cubes
  • 2 Bombay onions (or small red onions in England), finely sliced
  • 6 red peppers, finely chopped into slices
  • 6 ripe tomatoes, chopped into cubes
  • ½ teaspoon of sugar
  • 5 fresh eggs
  • 6 garlic cloves, very finely chopped
  • A pinch of cumin seeds
  • 1 Goan chilli
  • A pinch of salt and pepper
  • 3 tablespoons of vegetable oil

In a pan heat the oil until hot. When hot add the onions and fry until they are soft then add the finely chopped garlic and sugar. Stir for a couple of minutes and add the sausages followed by the peppers as these two will take longer to cook and break down than the tomatoes. Cook on a high heat for around 8-10 minutes, until the peppers are starting to soften, then add the tomatoes.

Leave to cook for around 10-15 mins until the tomatoes start to thicken to a pasta sauce like consistency. Pop in the cumin and a pinch of pepper and salt (if need be). Now make a little well in the sauce with your spoon and crack an egg into it. Repeat in quick succession into the pan and pop a lid on, lower the heat to medium for around 10-12 minutes until the eggs are cooked through.

Serve into bowls with a big hunk of bread (or pav, also Portuguese).

Recipes may well have been one of the first forms of globalisation. A codified and universal way to break down a dish, transport it and re-create it in another kitchen in across the other side of the world. It’s been happening for centuries.

Therefore I shouldn’t have been surprised to be fed a lovely bit of Mumbai street food, pav bhaji, in my family home in Gujarat. Pav bhaji is a delicious curry, stuffed into a ‘pav’, a sort of bun customarily dripping with butter. Lucky for all of us, my wonderful cousin, Disha gave me her secret recipe so you can make it wherever you may be.

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Disha’s homemade pav bhaji*

Ingredients

  • 5 tbs olive oil
  • 2 onions, finely chopped
  • 4 cloves garlic
  • 1 tbs grated ginger
  • 1 green chilli, deseeded and finely chopped
  • 4- 5 medium sized tomatoes, pureed
  • Two large handfuls of vegetables like cabbage, aubergine, cauliflower, potato, green peas cut into equal size pieces
  • 1/2 tsp chilli powder
  • 1/4 tsp turmeric
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 1/2 cinnamon powder
  • 1/2 cumin powder
  • 1/2 tsp coriander powder
  • Bread buns
  • Butter

In one pan, boil the vegetables until they are tender. You may want to add the potatoes in a minute before the other vegetables.

In another pan, add the oil and when hot, throw in the onions. Fry them until they’re soft then add the garlic, chilli, ginger. Stir and after a couple of mins add the tomato puree.

You want to wait for this to thicken so the tomatoes aren’t watery anymore. Then add the spices, the turmeric, chilli, coriander, cinnamon, cumin and the salt and stir – make sure they don’t catch the bottom of the pan.

Strain the boiled vegetables and add them to the mix, stir through and mash up using a masher.

Lightly toast the buns in the oven/ a toaster/ a frying pan. Liberally spread with butter and add the pav bhaji. Close, eat, rejoice etc.

*just a little note to say i’m still on the road travelling and will be for another week. The moment I get back, i’ll test this out – but for the moment this recipe is based on Disha’s notes scribbled on a bit of scrap paper.

I met my uncle in a hotel lobby in Rajkot. We nervously pulsed between curious questions and hugs. I couldn’t help but look for my grandad’s face in his as I jumped on the back of his motorbike to go over to meet the rest of the family.

It is the universal rule of having guests over in an Indian home that you offer them ‘chai’ and ‘pani’, (masala tea and water) the moment they set foot through the door. And so we were promptly hydrated before we sitting down to a home-cooked feast.

We sat around a laminated flowery table with my granddad’s sister, 82 year old Lilly, and her three generations. We ate the most delicious fire – smoked aubergines, millet flour chapattis, home-made plum chutney, deliciously crunchy-pickled turmeric, home-made white butter and some roasted poppadoms. They chucked a few crisps on my plate too – which they said were famous in Rajkot.

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I wasn’t sure what to expect, but after 40 days of eating restaurant food on this trip I felt incredibly relieved to eat some proper home-cooked food and was struck by how amazingly familiar these distant relatives suddenly felt. There is something about home-cooking in itself that makes you feel the warmth of a home and being part of a family.

Harsha’s fire-smoked aubergines

The key to this dish is having a gas stove which you can roast the aubergines on and a nice big pair of (pete) tongs.

Ingredients:

1 and a half red onions, finely chopped
4 fat garlic cloves, crushed
1 tsp sugar
4 medium tomatoes, chopped
6 small/ baby aubergines (you can use big aubergines too – but they’ll take longer to roast up)
1 green chilli, finely chopped
1 tablespoon of ginger
2 tbs groundnut oil (or sunflower/ veg or olive)
salt to taste
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 tsp coriander powder
1tsp cumin powder

Put the aubergines over a medium heat on the stove. If you have a skewer you could do a couple at a time. You want to roast them, turning them over every minute or so, until the flesh is soft and the skin is black. Patience pays off with this one.

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While the aubergines are roasting, chop the onions, garlic, tomatoes and ginger. Heat the oil in a pan, add the onions and fry on a medium heat until they’re translucent, add the garlic, ginger and chilli and stir. When the onions are turning golden, add the tomatoes.

We need to wait for the tomatoes to cook down and release their flavour, after around 5-7 minutes until they become pasty, with little water running from them.

While you’re waiting for them, check to see if the aubergines are done. If so, take them off the heat and when cool enough, peel off the black skin and chop the flesh into a fine mash.

When the tomatoes are done, add the cumin, coriander, turmeric, salt and pepper to taste. Add the aubergine mash to the tomatoes and heat through for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Serve with chapatti or naan bread.

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