“Try as she may, this wasn’t the kind of superficial loneliness that could be cured by another’s touch. No, she knew it was something bigger than that. Absolute.
The kind of loneliness that’s etched into your bones. “
“Your spoken words are sweeter than any siren’s song.”
Decided to freestyle a red lentil curry this evening.
I was expecting it to be slightly more disastrous than it was, but everything turned out ok in the end (except for some pretty nasty oil burns – protips: cumin seeds can get violent when heated.)
It doesn’t look like much, but I swear it’s delicious.
Anyway, vague approximate recipe:
– Puree Lentils with some of the liquid from the canned tomatoes
– Purée tomatoes with the ginger and cayenne pepper
– Heat oil in saucepan, then toss in cumin and onion when it’s heated.
– Once all the cumin’s cracked, add the tomato purée mix (this can splash, be careful)
– Cook for a few minutes until tomatoes are ~ 50% reduced
– Add lentils — Mine were really thick/pasty because there wasn’t enough liquid when I mashed them up (This is where the milk comes in. Add a bit if necessary until smooth)
– Stir on medium heat for a few minutes (careful for splashing)
– Add the rest of your spices and cook for 5-8 more minutes (or until you feel like it’s ready)
And voilà, delicious curry.
I dream of one day having my own kitchen, well lit and roomy – with granite counter-tops, dark-stained, cherry cabinets, a well-stocked, organized spice rack and a full set of pots.
I’d also like a nice china tea set and a juicer.
So, I stumbled upon this website yesterday and was completely inspired by this woman’s recipes.
The cheese was a bit crumbly, but held together pretty well when I fried it.
Et voila ! Final product over rice.
My father said it was a bit bland (then again, he says everything I cook is a bit bland), but I think it turned out pretty well considering I had no idea as to what I was doing.
Conclusion: Success. I’ve got enough for the week, and I am a happy camper.
“I can read you like the gulls read the changing winds – like an old sailor reads the horizon.”
“You call it stubbornness, I say endurance. It all boils down to the same thing in the end. I’m still here, aren’t I? “
“No, you don’t understand, sir. You cannot separate a musician from her instrument. Rhythms pulse through her veins, keeping the tempo of her heart. Every movement; every exhalation a different song. Music is her life – the very essence of her being. Without music, well… you try holding your breath for an eternity.”