we do nice things with roast chicken here

fenugreek roast chicken

When you’re single, envious of your married friends, self un-assured and plummeting towards 30 like nobody’s business, you start making promises to yourself. About your future no less. Yep. You have very little clue where you are in your present, but nevertheless, you make promises about your future. The word you’re looking for is “optimism”.

When it’s late enough in the night and you find yourself tossing and turning on your bed trying to find a cool spot on your pillow, or you’re hungry enough to constantly keep opening up the refrigerator door as if something suitable to eat would magically pop up any second — that’s when those promises show up at the forefront of your mind. And they refuse to go away till either you resort to counting imaginary sheep, or till you’re distracted by something smothered in chocolate or by someone with an invite to the latest bistro (apparently) in town. Oh but I’m rambling.

I made myself a few promises, quite a while ago, notably while eating greasy strands of bacon over the sink at midnight after returning from work. It was cold and damp like most English evenings, the house was as quiet as death and it was a quick dinner after a long day.

The promises were or are not anything too life-changing. Inspirational maybe, but not life-changing. Actually, come to think of it, I think they were born out of a grumbling stomach and an empty refrigerator at an ungodly hour:

– Any home I occupy ever will never be devoid of dark chocolate and,
– Saturday Biryani is always going to be a thing. And it will be never anything less than Sunday Roast.
– There will always be a roast chicken in the refrigerator to pick meals off of.

You may be happy or unhappy to know that I’ve failed miserably at keeping every one of the three promises. I have occupied plenty of homes in my lifetime so far, and have found my pantry devoid of dark chocolate numerous times. This has led to a lot of cursing and finger-pointing, especially when I was craving brownies or something resembling the same.I have forgotten many a Saturday Biryani and opted for cold 6-inchers from Subway instead. And a roasted chicken daily, as you can, imagine has been virtually impossible to get around to. I can barely even manage to roast any in a month.

I haven’t thought of those promises in a long time. That’s the best thing about this blog, I suppose. That’s the best thing about you and what you inspire me to do. Every time I come here, I feel I’m coming back to a repository of memories, ones that I love to visit and re-visit over and over again. And the memories are like chapters. Sometimes they end abruptly. Sometimes they’re like pretty girls…the ones you like to stare at but not do anything about. And others may lead you to the next chapter or to something completely new and different, something that you didn’t expect to remember at all. You like to turn those memories this way and that, trying to understand why you’d forgotten them in the first place. They might turn out to be disappointing memories or happy ones. Sometimes you’re glad that you remembered and sometimes you’re not. But if you’re anything like me, you’ll almost always hope that the memories revolve around family and friends and food.

The blog helps me remember life lessons like this one or random recipes like this one. And I’m glad that they involve roasted chicken. They make me want to re-promise myself about dark chocolate and Saturday Biryani. They make me want to get off my arse and roast a ton of chicken. They also make me want to re-promise that my first-born will be named Siya if it’s a girl and Abhimanyu if it’s a boy.

Happy week ahead, you lot!

Fenugreek Roasted Chicken Thighs

Note on fenugreek: I use dried fenugreek leaves in this recipe because they pack a serious flavour punch. Fresh leaves are not that effective and might be difficult to find outside of India. Dried leaves are sold as kasoori methi in packets or boxes at Indian grocery stores.

10 chicken thighs, organic is best, skin off though
1/2 cup of yogurt
1 tbsp garlic paste
1 tbsp ginger paste
Oil, to flash fry the thighs [canola, sunflower or groundnut will do]
1/4 cup of dried fenugreek leaves [kasoori methi, see note above]
1/2 cup of chili flakes
Salt, to taste
Olive oil, to drizzle over while roasting
Roasted baby potatoes, steamed rice or salad, to serve with

In a large bowl, coat the chicken pieces with yogurt, garlic and ginger paste. Cover the bowl with cling film and leave to marinate overnight in the refrigerator. If you’re pressed for time, 2 hours marination times will work as well.

Pre-heat the oven to 180 deg C.

Heat oil in a large skillet. Shake the excess marinade off the chicken thighs but retain the marinade that’s collected at the bottom of the bowl. Fry the chicken thigh in the hot oil till they caramelize. You may need to do this in batches of 2 or 3, otherwise the pieces will just stew instead of crisping up. Fluctuate the heat between high and medium depending on how quickly the oil browns. You may also need to top up the oil in the skillet between cooking the chicken. I find that covering the skillet while the chicken in frying helps in preventing splatters and spitting oil. On medium-high heat, frying the thighs for 45 seconds on each side works just fine.

Line a baking tray with aluminum foil and lay the chicken thighs on it. Pour over the remaining marinade in the bowl. Sprinkle the kasoori methi, chilli flakes and salt, over the chicken. Drizzle some olive oil over the chickens, as well, to help the roasting process along.

Roast for 40-45 minutes or till the juices run clear. You want the chicken to be white when pierced at it’s thickest part. I don’t normally turn the pieces while roasting, but one of my friends preferred to do that during the halfway mark. Serve hot with rice or roasted potatoes and a fresh salad.

get your Asian on.

I don’t know what to call this.

Tamarind & Honey Chicken

It is technically not bibimbap, due to the lack of beef or kimchi for that matter. There’s no Chinese fried rice in there; I haven’t used a fluffy omlette and it’s not nearly as colourful as fried rice ought to be. However, it is definitely more colourful than your typical everyday Singaporean chicken rice, so we can’t go there either. No Indian or Thai curry I’ve ever seen came with a sunny on top. I’ve had two bowlfuls of it for dinner almost three hours ago and I still don’t know what to call this.

However, I do know that you need to get your Asian on and make this now. Or the next time you’re craving Chinese take-away.

Tamarind & Honey Chicken

There is deep satisfaction in making Chinese food. There aren’t too many ingredients as Indian or Thai food demands. There aren’t the fussy bits of rolling or fiddly bits of technique that French food demands. It doesn’t take the kind of time British food normally does.

If it sounds like I’m dissing all the other cuisines of the world and awarding the trophy to Chinese food…well, I am. Get over it. And you secretly know that I’m right. You secretly know that you love it too.

The best part, apart from all the lack of paste making and pastry rolling, is that Chinese food is something people make their own in a matter of seconds. Not minutes. Seconds. You want it sweeter, add sugar. You want acidity, plop a few more splashes of rice wine vinegar. You want it saltier, grab that bottle of dark soy! You can have it deep-fried with a ton of people around you, poking their chopsticks where they don’t belong. Or stir-fried in a tiny bowl watching your portion control. You can have it steamed feeling holier-than-everyone and then go crazy by dousing everything in chili oil. Or you can have your housemate cook it for you, while you lie on the sofa with your eyes half-closed watching Gok Cooks Chinese.

Or, like in today’s case, you can come back home from work and hit the bed seconds after you’ve dumped your bag on the floor. You can lie there in the dark, face down on your not-so-fluffy mattress while your stomach grumbles loudly in protest but the rest of your body refuses to move. And then after a while you can start thinking of ways to use up all the leftover tamarind sauce from the weekend. The thought of tamarind sauce leads you to think of the chicken that’s been marinating in the refrigerator to be used for something completely different. You don’t know why you’re thinking of chicken but you decide to go with it anyway. And after a lot of no-this-no-that, you push yourself up, walk into the kitchen and put a pan on high heat. Fifteen minutes later, you walk out with a bowl of food that not only makes you end up licking the bottom of the bowl (with your tongue as well as the tip of your nose), it also makes you want to run to the top of the roof and declare yourself the mistress of Chinese food in all the world.

Except, I don’t really know if I can call this Chinese food. Oh well.

Pickled Cucumbers

Tamarind & Honey Chicken

A note on Tamarind Sauce: You’ll find tamarind paste in most Asian supermarkets or even Indian grocery stores. You could either buy the bottled variety, which is more of a ‘sauce’. This kind is easier to cook with. You can use it straight from the bottle. However, the bottled kind usually has spices pre-mixed into it and is not completely pure, so it might just make the chicken taste different.
The other kind is the ‘paste’ or ‘pulp’ form. Using this requires a little more work but gives much much better results when it comes to the taste of the final product. Mix the paste into some water and squeeze out the pith to separate it from the seeds. The resulting mixture should be pulpy, murky and super-thick.
The tamarind sauce I used here was homemade from tamarind paste and here’s the recipe. Keep in mind, that at any point if the gravy tastes too sour, you can just add in more honey till the balance is right.

1 kilo (2 pounds approx.) of boneless chicken pieces [I prefer dark meat, but you can mix it up by using both dark and breast pieces]
1 large onion, pureed
2 tsp of garlic paste
2 tsp of ginger powder
1/3 cup of cornflour (cornstarch)
Olive oil, to shallow fry the chicken
1 cup of tamarind sauce
2 tbsp of dark soy sauce
1/4 cup of honey
1 or 2 red chilies, finely chopped (keep the seeds in, if you’re brave enough)
1 lime, zest and juice
Salt, to taste
Fried eggs, sunny side up (optional)
Steamed rice, freshly chopped coriander and pickled veggies, to serve (optional)

In a large bowl, toss the chicken pieces in a mixture of onion paste, garlic paste, ginger powder and a teaspoon of salt. Cover the bowl with cling film and leave to marinate in the refrigerator for a coupe of hours. Or a little over 10 hours, in my case.
After their stint in the fridge, pick the chicken pieces out of the marinade and pop them in a separate bowl. Retain the marinade collected at the bottom of the bowl. Sprinkle the raw chicken pieces with cornflour and toss the thoroughly. there won’t be any excess of cornflour to shake off, because the moist pieces will soak most of it up.
In a smaller bowl, combine the tamarind sauce, dark soy sauce, honey and chopped chilies and stir to mix.
Heat oil in a pan (or even better, a wok) and fry the chicken pieces on high heat till they turn white and the cornflour starts to caramelize on the surface. Do this in batches so the caramelization is proper. You don’t want to end up with watery chicken. Once all the chicken is fried, put all the pieces back into the pan. Pour the tamarind mixture over the chicken along with a tablespoon of water. Cover and cook for 10 minutes over medium heat.
After 10 minutes, slice open the biggest/thickest piece of chicken and check the center to check if it’s cooked. If it’s still pink, simmer for another 3-4 minutes. If the center’s all white, then mix in the zest and juice of one lime. Add salt to taste and stir everything on high heat. If the gravy’s too runny, you can cook off the liquid a little more.
Serve the chicken on a bowl of rice, topped with some fried eggs, chopped coriander and pickled vegetables.

sunday and other things.

Walnut Cake with Tamarind Sauce & Whipped Cream

It has been a weepy Sunday so far. You know how we feel about Sundays out here. Especially one that comes with a side of soft rain pitter-pattering against the bay windows. The kind that fails to pull you out of bed in time to taste mother-made French toasts (that are rarities in this household) and hence you end up losing all the egg-y goodness to your brother, who then proceeds to strut around the house boasting of a belly full of fried bread.

But the day gets better; you help your mother make more toast doused in eggs and fried in oil (not butter, oil). You also call up your Delhi-dwelling cousin and pester her for her honey-garlic chicken recipe. She made it a couple of weeks back when visiting Kolkata and we made a feast of it along with fried rice and cheap frosty beer followed by that walnut cake (you know, the one that comes with a tangy tamarind sauce…). There was a lot of beer, a lot of cake and a lot of badly taken phone photos. And so far it has been the best dinner I’ve had this summer.

The prospect of spending a wet Sunday marinating boneless chicken bits in garlic, ginger and onions, coating them in cornflour and frying them, and then smothering them with honey, just gets my Chinese on. The chicken bits are marinating as we speak. Meanwhile, I’ve been marinating myself in the following:

– Alice Medrich’s House Truffles. Look at the cocoa dusting on those, will ya?

This poule-au-pot from Mimi Thorisson. Her food is beautiful.

– Can’t stop listening to Happy.

Henry Happened is a current favourite…aaand she has a Pina Colada pre-tan scrub recipe. Pina Colada scrub, people!

– There’s something called a Nutella Dorayaki in this world. The world is great.

Lisa Eldridge’s channel is addictive. Even if you, like me, can walk down the road without makeup looking uncannily like a homeless person. And she’s so pretty.

Raw chicken calls. Happy Sunday you guys!

best eaten cold.

It’s the middle of May and I’m here today to talk about Christmas.
Yes, I’m 5 months and a whole season too late, but this is how we roll over here. So, here’s a picture.


If you’ve guessed bread pudding, then you’re right. A large vat of messy, melt-y, boozy chocolate bread pudding with crusty bits at the edges.I made my first last Christmas and this one a couple of days back. We’ve been high on alcohol and carbohydrates (and episodes of Game of Thrones) for the last 36 hours.

My mother, though not much of an enthusiast in the kitchen, is a hostess to her bones. She doesn’t even need a reason to call up a handful of people in a moment’s notice for an impromptu dinner party and have them show up for a guaranteed good time. Complete with good food, of course. And, the guests never fail to show up. She might serve some complex chicken rice (a homely substitute for the more elaborate Indian biryani) with cucumber raita. Or she might just go plain and simple with some fish curry and rice. And then comes Christmas.

You may find it weird that a family of fish-curry-eating, rosogolla chomping, cricket worshiping thoroughbred Bengalis, who by the way, prefer Darjeeling tea over Earl Grey any day, celebrate Christmas like there’s no tomorrow. I don’t blame you. It’s true.

When Christmas rolls around in anything but chilly Kolkata, we invite a bucket load of fellow crazy Bengalis over for dinner. We exchange gifts and crack awkward room-emptying jokes. And then we stuff ourselves with food. The food admittedly is a mixture of everything and do not have the remotest similarity to any Christmas dinner that you might be imagining right now.

I have an excerpt here that I wrote on the 2011 Christmas, when this blog was just a baby;

“It started with a round of prawn cocktails and chicken & cheese balls. Then we moved on to chicks in blankets, chicken sausages wrapped in turkey bacon, processed and proud. The table was flecked with small plates of grilled pineapple kebabs on toothpicks and wine glasses filled to the brim with mulled wine and port. Lamb stuffed tomatoes came next, with potato & leek crostinis following close by. The mains were two of these humongous trays of pasta bake and four large roasted chickens. The night ended well with a session of Minute To Win It inspired games, more port, a lot of cursing and laughter and tiramisu shots. I discovered talents that I did not know I had – that I could cook and bake for 30 people if I was given 8 hours prep-time and two very worthy helpers (Ma and Cook). I also started aching in spots I did not know existed on my body. And more importantly, I realized that it would be a long time before I would go near a sausage.”

2012 saw a spectacular Kerala fish curry that we served with couscous. Our guests were still pretty much into the pigs-in-the-blanket that we had fed them moments before, when the curry arrived on the table. It’s safe to say that the food has always been beyond Christmas-y. I think the only time it came even remotely close to being Christmas-y was when I whipped out Nigella Lawson’s Christmas Cake and served it with a dusting of snowy sugar, sans malt candies and glittery starts. You get my point obviously.

We love our Durga Pujas and we love our Christmases. We see nothing wrong in scooping chicken curry up with freshly baked French baguettes. We are secularism personified. We are Bengalis.

Coming back the bread pudding. It featured on last year’s Christmas Day menu. It just sat on the menu like a large formidable sumo wrestler that took up all the space and overshadowed all the other items and made them look weak and unimportant. A trip to the supermarket a couple of days back, yielded in a loaf of a white & brown swirl bread (such a novelty!) and I knew it would end up as a bread pudding. As the bread pudding soaked in rum, dotted with nuts and baked in custard making which requires you to be a little heavy-handed with the cocoa powder. It’s best eaten cold with crème anglaise poured on top (try the one from The Kitchn), after dinner or late at night while everyone’s asleep and the house is quiet and all you can hear is Peter Dinklage’s hoarse voice through the dim glow of your television. It may not be all out twinkling-tree-gifts-galore-carols-everywhere, but it is still a pretty solid reminder of Christmas, the way we do it out here.

chocolate bread pudding

Chocolate Bread Pudding that is not always for Christmas

– 1 loaf of bread (this majorly depends on the size of your loaf and the size of your tin. I used 1 and a half loaves for the baking dish above)
– 2 cups of whole milk
– 1 cup of double cream
– 1 & 1/4 cup of white granulated sugar (you can increase the amount depending on how much of a sweet-tooth you and your guests have)
– 6 eggs
– 1/4 cup of natural cocoa powder, 70% preferably
– 2 tsp of vanilla extract (you could go all fancy-schmancy and use the seeds of a vanilla pod)
– A pinch of salt
– 1/4 cup of white or dark rum
– 2 cups of mixed nuts, toasted (cashews, almonds, hazelnuts…but no peanuts please)
– Desiccated coconut & shaved chocolate, optional
– Creme Anglaise, optional

Grease a 12″ baking dish/tin generously with non-stick spray or butter. Slice the bread in triangles with a serrated knife and set aside.
In a heat-proof bowl crack in the eggs and set aside. Heat the milk, cream and sugar in a large pan till the sugar has dissolved and the mixture bubbles up at the edges. Make sure the mixture doesn’t boil over. Take it off heat and pour it slowly into the bowl with the eggs, beating constantly. At this point, pouring slowly and beating vigorously is crucial because you don’t want the eggs to scramble. Add in the cocoa powder and stir so no lumps remain. Once everything is combined, pour the mixture back into the pan (in which you heated the milk) and set it over medium heat. Keep stirring constantly with a wooden spoon to make sure the mixture doesn’t catch on the bottom of the pan. Keep doing this till the mixture turns thick and custard-y and coats the back of the spoon easily. Take it off heat. Stir in the vanilla, rum and salt and set aside to cool. At this point, if you’ve got a lumpy custard with bits of cooked egg, you could easily strain the mixture into another pan to get rid of the lumps and bits.
Once the custard is cool, you can start layering up the pudding. Start with a layer of the bread triangle at the bottom. Ladle over with some of the cocoa custard till the slices are evenly soaked. Sprinkle over the toasted and chopped nuts. Repeat the layering till the rim of the baking dish. Finish with a layer of nuts and a handful of coconut flakes or chocolate shavings, if you’re using any. Rest the unbaked pudding in the refrigerator for a couple of hours. More, if you’ve got the time, because it really really makes a difference.

Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees C. Pop the pudding straight out of the fridge and into the oven and bake for 40-50 minutes. You’ll know it’s done when the edges start coming away from the sides of the dish/tin and the center is just set. You could serve it hot, but we here prefer it cold. It doesn’t have to be Christmas though.

quintessential. tomato. date. sultanas. sugar.

Today is Monday and it’s Election Day here in Kolkata.


India’s voting for her CEO and we’re all busy holding our breaths. Yes, me too, considering that I’m not allowed to vote in this country. But all the excitement is more than merely contagious. You might find it difficult to pass a tea shanty without overhearing retired sixty-year-old men sitting around drinking their morning cuppa and bad mouthing the candidates. Even the ladies get into heated debates on occasions. Their’s aren’t as animated or vigorous as that of the men, but the debates are most definitely punctuated with a lot of eye-rolling and pursing of lips.

The days of summer have given way to rain. OK maybe not rain….just clouds. They’re a tease. However, they make sitting inside a cafe with interesting ceiling lights all the more better.


Monday was slightly more sunnier and after about half a day at the office, I flew through empty roads and past poll booths and returned home to sleep in till the evening. Then we hired a couple of DVDs and exclaimed at our Facebook news feeds that have been taken over by photos of fingers dotted with indelible ink (proof that the Indian youth may have been jerked into their senses at long last). We also ate these aubergines and sausage rolls for dinner and stewed a bucket-load of tomatoes to make chutney.

I will talk to you later about the sausage rolls but right now I have one question for you: did you know about this tomato chutney?

tomato_chutneyThe photo was actually taken last summer, when we had a huge supply of carob seed biscuits which we used to dip into the chutney after lunch. It was also a point of time when my oven mitt needed a good wash.

But that chutney, it is what it is. There are these tomatoes and you stew them till they slump over your fork like hopeless druggies. Plump and ripe tomatoes are thrown together with a few spices, sugar or molasses and fat de-seeded dates. They are then gently heated with some water that contributes to the stewing and you end up with a pot of sweet and mysteriously spiced chutney.

You will find tomato chutney by the gallon all over India. I’m pretty partial to a South Indian tomato chutney that comes with an entourage of coconut and curry leaves. There’s a popular version of it found all over North-west India that is tangy and smoky and savory and goes well with steamed rice. What I have here however, is a quintessential part of the Bengali household.

The chutney is not just about the tomatoes. It’s also about the dates. Come to think of it, I don’t really want to call it a tomato chutney. “Tomato chutney” makes me think of the local pub we used to visit in Nottingham that served a very good Chicken Tikka Masala with a very good garlic naan and a very insipid savory tomato chutney. I don’t want you to think of this chutney like that chutney. It’s anything but that. This one here is more like a dessert to be taken chilled, after a meal. After, people. Do you hear me?

 Tomato & Date Chutney

Note on the ingredients:
ghee is clarified butter, but you can easily substitute it with some plain flavorless veggie oil like sunflower oil. Do not use butter though.
– the tomatoes have to be roughly chopped, so don’t go OCD about making all of ’em half-inch pieces
– soak the sultanas/raisins in boiling water for 15 minutes. Drain the water before using. In order to be naughty, use white rum instead of water.
– instead of crushed cardamom you can also use a teaspoon of ground cardamom seeds, if you icky about cardamom pods in your food.
– the recipe below mentions sugar, but we’ve made this chutney several times before using thick molasses (1 cups) or even dark muscavado sugar (same amount). I have even wanted to try this with maple syrup and maybe I will someday. If you do, let me know immediately, please! The sweetness depends a lot on the palate you’re about to feed, so add less or more as necessary.

2 tbsp of ghee [see note above]
1 tbsp of mustard seeds
1 dried red chili, seeds intact…..trust me.
1 green chili, seeds intact
1 kilo of tomatoes (that’s about 2 lbs), chopped into half-inch pieces [see note above]
2 cups of dates, seeds removed (Arabian are the best), chopped
1 cup of sultanas or raisins [see note above]
8-10 pieces of green cardamom, crushed roughly [see note above]
2 1/2 cups of white granulated sugar [see note above]
1/2 tsp of salt

Heat oil in a skillet big enough to hold a couple of pounds of chopped tomatoes and mash the two chilies together into a paste, seeds and all. Add the mustard seeds and wait till all of them have popped. Add the chili paste and cook off it’s pungency for 30 seconds. Add tomatoes, dates and sultanas along with half a cup of water. Cover and cook on medium-low heat for 15 minutes, till the dates have softened. Add in the cardamom, sugar/molasses and salt. Stir well. Turn the heat up to medium, cover and cook for 10 more minutes till the tomatoes are rid of all their tartness. You could pull the chutney off heat at this stage. However, if you want it to be thicker, take the cover off and heat the chutney on high till most of the liquid evaporates.
Chill the chutney in the refrigerator and serve with water biscuits or with vanilla ice-cream or you could even serve it simply on it’s own. But always after a meal!



the banana bread bandwagon.

Anywho, we made it. The bananas and I. We made it right into, and you may want to sit down for this, my first banana bread.

Yes, I know. I’ve been missing a lot in my life. I’ve missed out on boyfriend-made mix tapes, I’ve missed love at first sight, I’ve missed out on the last five bikini seasons and up until last week, I’d been missing out on banana bread. Mix tapes and bikinis I can make peace with but I’m still keeping my fingers crossed about the love-at-first-sight thing.

But a bit of bad news first, dear reader: It is not empty yet. That bag of coconut dust is not. Empty. Yet.

chocolate coconut banana bread

I dump cupfuls of it into baked goods and curries. My friends have started to greet my cupcakes with a tired “Does that have more coconut in it?” A couple of days back when I offered a spoonful of coconut crusted chicken to one of my friends, she actually semi-cringed. She loves coconut. She literally inhaled that cake I made three weeks back. And the chicken was definitely drool-worthy. And she cringed, only slightly though, before opening her mouth.

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homemade yogurt. all you need is a towel.

Well, Ok. Not just a towel.

You also need two metal saucepans, a spoonful of yogurt and milk. But I can assure you that the towel is the MVP here.

Before we get down to how most households in India make their own yogurts everyday, let me tell you that yogurt is not what I planned to write about today. Putting up a photograph of gestating bananas in the freezer is only perfectly acceptable when you follow it with a story of banana bread. But you’ll have to settle for yogurt instead because considering how easy this is, I think you need it more than you need banana bread.

I grew up watching my grandmother do it. My mother does a potful of it everyday. My neighbour makes more than potfuls of it everyday. My aunts even do the sweet versions. Mishti doi that Bengal is famous for. And so far, the most I’ve done on the yogurt front is to buy the conjoined packs of flavoured yogurt-cups from the supermarket. Its a bit of work that we here take for granted. It’s not special or wonder-worthy. Like coconut cake. It’s not something to write home about, like roast chicken. It’s like putting on your pants in the morning and going to work. Everyone does it. Like routine. Homemade yogurt is routine.

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