The trouble with cooking is that even the simplest of tasks can unexpectedly end up going wrong.
British cookery writer Delia Smith famously went to great lengths to instruct the nation on the finer points of boiling an egg. Even something so seemingly easy as dunking an object in hot water for a specified period of time has to be done correctly.
Last night the people in the apartment downstairs had a party.
They weren’t overly loud as such, but the volume level was certainly high enough to remind us that they have abominable taste in music, and for us to be painfully aware that for most of the evening all the guests seemed to be arguing with one another.
This dessert might have been the root cause of their grumpiness.
One of the things I love about Paleo is the way that once you have your head around the idea that the old rule book has been, in the words of Douglas Adams, “buried in soft peat for three months and recycled as firelighters” , anything goes.
Eat what you like, when you like. Chicken curry for breakfast? Go for it, amigo.
Another gem of an Indian fish dish, that I first encountered way back in the early 90s in a small yet informative book with the accurate but less than imaginative title of “Indian Cooking”.
One of the first things I learned from this cookbook was that the food cooked day-in day-out in the average Indian household was as different from the fare served up in the average Indian restaurant as was the delicacies on offer at Thomas Keller’s renowned “The French Laundry“ when compared to the food on the typical peasant’s table in Provence on a wet Wednesday evening in February.