Spiced chicken for the soul and something for the stomach
I rise at dawn and before the coffee is brewed I have ground the spices for the day, picturing myself pounding each seed and root for the flavours I fancy. After coffee, back in bed, I consider dough for parathe; indeed, I consider spicing potato and mashing it for alu ke parathe. But we are hungry and cannot wait. I pour cornflakes and make porridge for the baby then load the dishwasher. I mentally unclip the tiffin box and fill each container with a little of many varied but perfectly balanced dishes: a little sabzi, a dal for gravy, rice, a folded roti with a dab of pickle, even a simple crunchy carrot one, fritters for a surprise. I know how it's all done; I've read the recipes a hundred times. The photos are gorgeous. After a sandwich lunch we collapse into naps. There, head on pillow, I hope that the afternoon stillness will be long: that the baby will sleep a little more and my son's playtime will be peaceful and that today, at last, I might make something specia...