I know that we shouldn't be casting stereotypes, but when I think of the land of Oz, I can't help but think of koala bears and kangaroos.

But I do hope to bring back some good nougat. See you in a week! Love, Sim.

Image courtesy of Capgros, at stock.xchng

Sweet lassi with saffron

A couple of weeks ago, two close friends and I found ourselves at one of my all-time favourite Nepalese spots, a restaurant called Everest Kitchen at MacPherson Road. And like most meals I have with most friends, we dive into the menu with wild, reckless abandon. The table creaked with food, and the waiters looked a little stunned.

Just as my guts were about to burst - and because I love ordering third rounds when my guts are about to burst - I asked for momo, a Nepalese dumpling. Steamed or deep fried, they asked. Of course deep fried! (Is it just me, or do things taste better when they clog the arteries? And does anyone else around here like spam sushi? Please raise your hands. Thank you, that one lone person who doesn't mind sharing my shame.)

It arrived, steaming hot, fried to momo perfection, and arranged prettily by an attentive cook on the border of a copper plate.

The dish came with a bowl of smooth orange chutney, which I then heartily recommended to my friends. It's wonderful, I swooned. Coriander-ish, pungent, mustard-y. Somehow, I had forgotten to mention one thing: it was HOT.

So I think the Heavens must have conspired against my friend MY that night. MY fears chilli. If she happens to consume it in the smallest amount, she reaches for a glass of water and consumes it in 5 seconds.

And so without an intelligent thought passing through my food-addled mind, I heartily recommended she douse her momo with the chutney, forgetting its potential to destroy her entire evening.

I think it was about ten seconds before MY began gaping and gasping, fanning herself like a dribble of lava had made its way down her gullet. Her hands reached with lightning speed for a glass of lassi (or mahi, as it's apparently known in Nepal), and she began chugging the yoghurt drink down in impressive time.

In a while her breathing slowed, her face resumed a colour that wasn't a vibrant beet red, and her eyes lost its wild look of panic. I apologised profusely. I think I secretly feared that if she fainted from the exertion, she might never forgive me. And stalk me. And vandalise my house. Or make me do her laundry.

But MY is nice, kind, thoughtful and rarely enjoys conflict. She generously responded to my apologies with, "Fine....okay....not your fault....yes....lassi good", as the effort of the words rended her voice sounding like it had lost a few chords.

I really regret, MY, for the trouble I caused you for offering momo chutney. And I really, really regret that I didn't take photos. This recipe is for you! And, I must add that if there are any MY-like sufferers out there, nothing saves a constricted throat like lassi.

Sweet lassi with Saffron

Ingredients:

500ml plain yoghurt (my favourite brand is locally-produced Alvas)

250ml ice-cold water

2 tbsp caster (fine) sugar

1/8 tsp ground cardamom

A generous pinch of saffron threads

One tbsp boiling water

First, your saffron. It's a spice that's pretty exotic to us, partly because it is grown between the Mediterranean and Kashmir, and largely because it's darned expensive. But the saffron here imparts a very pretty effect on the lassi. And things like this make me feel extravagant. If I were to describe saffrons' flavour, it would be slightly grassy, and hay-like. (I think my taste buds desperately need refinement.) Nevertheless, feel free to do without this - the lassi tastes wonderful either ways.

Place a generous pinch of saffron in a small saucer, pour in about 1 tablespoon of boiling water, and let that steep.

Then, measure out 500ml plain, unsweetened yoghurt - I go for Alvas, because I find it smooth. And the fluorescent pink cow is mildly hypnotic.

Pour it out into a pitcher - preferably see-through glass. That's because the saffron threads will tint the yoghurt, and it gets slightly psychedelic.

Pour in your water...

...and the saffron that's been steeping and creating a flavoursome liquid...

...Not forgetting your sugar...

...Now this, THIS is important. This is what sets lassi apart from your standard off-the-supermarket-rack-yoghurt-drink. This is cardamom. It's a spice used often in Indian dessert, and it is fragrant beyond belief. And because it's THAT fragrant, a little goes a long way. Here, I use one-eighth of a teaspoon of ground cardamom.

Now you mix till the sugar dissolves. I use a whisk, because I'm a bit fanatical about whisks. A spoon will do just fine.

Add a couple of ice cubes, and that's it. Sweet lassi with saffron. (In thick scottish accent) 'O Lassi, I can nae do a thing without ye!'Sorry. Will stop now.