the ulti­mate shrimp dish

No, I’m not pro­duc­ing my own escar­gots! But this is awful­ly fun­ny. I put out a stock­pot full of chick­en stock, out in my “larder,” oth­er­wise known as the space out­side my bed­room door, lead­ing toward our com­mu­nal gar­den. I used a lid that was larg­er than the pot, hav­ing the sneak­ing feel­ing the true lid was in… Con­necti­cut. Well, I brought the pot in to skim off the fat yes­ter­day, and there, on the under­side of the lid, was this lit­tle fel­low! He was amaz­ing­ly brave, even when I showed him to the cats (who with true domes­ti­cat­ed dis­in­ter­est just gazed at him). I was tempt­ed to keep him for Avery when she came home from school, but he moved so quick­ly in just a cou­ple of min­utes that I knew I’d have no idea where he was, very short­ly, so off he went back to the garden.

It’s offi­cial: I’ve sent off the last piece of paper­work for Avery’s senior school appli­ca­tions. Each school has a dif­fer­ent sys­tem: some want a copy of her birth cer­tifi­cate (pre­sum­ably so we can’t send a very small 18-year-old to take the exam), some want a pass­port pho­to, each wants a sub­stan­tial check for their pains. Then there’s the sec­ond tier of paper­work: once you’ve applied to the school, then they send you a form to fill out to apply to the exam. Sigh. Final­ly, though, done and dust­ed, all six sets of stuff off my desk and out to the schools. Now it’s up to Avery, poor dear. After a lit­tle ear­ly-week melt­down over the hor­rid “mock exams,” she has found her stride again and is pret­ty cheer­ful. We were walk­ing home in the unbe­liev­ably ear­ly dusk last night and stopped off at the news­stand for a lit­tle light read­ing, then head­ed home. “You know what I want to do when I get home, Mom­my? I know it sounds triv­ial, but I just want to draw and lis­ten to the sound­track to “White Christ­mas.” I had to laugh, “Lis­ten, you’re talk­ing to a per­son with Hel­lo! mag­a­zine under her arm, so triv­ial is not real­ly a prob­lem.” “Good point,” she said, and it struck me that she’s a real per­son these days, not real­ly to be treat­ed as a child very much any­more. A real con­ver­sa­tion­al­ist, a per­son who loves Bing Cros­by on her own, knows things I don’t know, has had expe­ri­ences I can only imag­ine, can do so many things I can’t do! How did it hap­pen so quickly?

The Christ­mas tree is up (it’s a lit­tle runty, but in the end I chose aro­ma over size, as the large trees smelled like pre­cise­ly noth­ing and this one emits a won­der­ful fla­vor) and dec­o­rat­ed as you see, and I’ve been able to turn my atten­tion to lit­tle mat­ters like The Ulti­mate Shrimp Dish. Try it and be amazed.

It’s a vari­a­tion on a recipe I found in Red mag­a­zine while I was hav­ing my hair cut. My Ital­ian hair guy was going on and ON in sweet but unin­tel­li­gi­ble detail about his grand­moth­er’s recipe for chick­en escalopes (“her secret, Kris­ten, she cook them twice,” what this means I know not), so I asked him if it was kosher to rip the recipe out of the mag­a­zine, and as it was an Octo­ber copy, yes. The author is an Indi­an cook called Vicky Bho­gal, from her “A Year of Cook­ing Like Mum­myji,” and I’ll def­i­nite­ly look for the book. You can also try her web­site. It’s real­ly annoy­ing: in addi­tion to being no doubt a great cook, she’s gor­geous. Just what I need in my life: anoth­er Nigel­la Lawson.

I left out the sug­gest­ed grat­ed coconut (yuck) and sub­sti­tut­ed ground cumin for cumin seeds, red chill­ies for green, and added gar­lic (how can what’s essen­tial­ly a cur­ry dish not include gar­lic? for shame!). But you can turn all those bits around if you like. I served the shrimps shell-on, with just the back cut with scis­sors, but on sec­ond thoughts I’d shell them: less mess and less effort at the table. But sublime.

Coconut and Cumin Prawns
(serves 4)

1 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsps butter
3 cloves gar­lic, minced
2 tsps ground cumin
1 white onion, minced
1 can plum toma­toes, squeezed by hand over skillet
1 tsp sea salt
3 red chill­ies, deseed­ed and chopped
1 tsp ground turmeric
1 tsp red chilli powder
1 tsp garam masala
1 can coconut milk
2 pounds raw prawns, shelled
hand­ful fresh corian­der, rough­ly chopped

In a large skil­let, melt the but­ter with the oil and then add the gar­lic, cumin and onion and saute until soft. Squeeze the toma­toes to crush them, and add all the juice. Add the salt, chill­ies (wash your hands before you rub your eyes! I did­n’t), turmer­ic, chilli pow­der and garam masala and cook down until toma­toes are thick. Add the coconut milk and blend well. At this point you can put the sauce aside and get on with your oth­er dish­es. Then five min­utes or so before you want to eat, heat the sauce again till bub­bling and add the shrimps. Cook until they turn thor­ough­ly pink, then stop the heat and serve with rice.

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With this I made a dish of sauteed green mixed veg­eta­bles with a sauce that was very nice, and could also be very good on, I thought, beef ten­der­loin or chick­en breasts.

Mus­tard Seed Cream Sauce
(serves 4)

1 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsps butter
1 tbsp black mus­tard seeds
1 tsp ground cumin
1 white onion, fine­ly chopped
2 cloves gar­lic, fine­ly chopped
1/2 tsp sea salt
2 red chill­ies fine­ly chopped
1 tsp garam masala
1 cup creme fraiche
whole milk to thin
aspara­gus, sug­ar snap peas, broc­col­i­ni, baby pak choi

Melt the but­ter and oil togeth­er and add every­thing except the creme fraiche, stir over medi­um heat until onion is soft. Then add the creme fraiche, mix well, and set aside. Saute the aspara­gus and broc­col­i­ni until cooked through, then add the peas and pak choi (be care­ful not to over­cook them as they are very del­i­cate). Heat the sauce again and serve every­thing pip­ing hot.

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So good and so simple.

Let’s see, if you’re feel­ing real­ly pre­cious and want to impress a hol­i­day guest with your pre­sen­ta­tion skills, try this:

Beet­root Tow­er with Goats Cheese and Cucumber
(serves 4)

6 beet­roots, roast­ed in tin­foil for 90 min­utes, then peeled and sliced thin
1 hydro­pon­ic cucum­ber, or 3 small British cucum­bers, sliced thin
100 grams goats cheese with chill­ies or chives
1 avo­ca­do, sliced thin
dress­ing: fresh pesto shak­en up in a jar with peper­on­ci­no oil
hand­ful of chopped chives

To assem­ble this beau­ti­ful sal­ad, start with a white plate. Arrange three slices of beet­root in a spi­ral, then lay­er a slice of goats cheese, three slices cucum­ber and two slices avo­ca­do. Con­tin­ue to lay­er until you run out of ingre­di­ents, then driz­zle the dress­ing over all and sprin­kle the entire plate with chives. Lovely.

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Tonight we have a Christ­mas par­ty at the ultra-styl­ish St John’s Wood home of one of Avery’s class­mates, which should be great for John’s ever-present real estate mis­ery. Our rot­ten land­lords have raised the rent for our flat to a tru­ly astro­nom­i­cal lev­el, rub­bing salt in the wound of our house-less state. But there is tru­ly no point at all in buy­ing a house now, when we won’t know where Avery’s going to school next year until Feb­ru­ary. I would real­ly like to live near enough to her school that she can com­fort­ably walk, since every­one with old­er chil­dren assures me that by mid-autumn next year she won’t want me with­in sight of the school. No more dropoff and pick­up heav­en for me. Good­ness, that stage went quick­ly. I’m sure my moth­er radar will con­tin­ue to go off at 3:20 for the rest of my life, and what­ev­er I’m doing at that hour, in per­pe­tu­ity, I’ll look in pan­ic at my watch and won­der how I could have for­got­ten to pick her up. Maybe some­day she’ll let me pick up her children…

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