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At Amante Beach Club, Zoë Perrett finds an Ibizan venue where it’s impossible not to fall in love with the view, the food, and (most likely) your dining companion When you’re in a state of unrivalled relaxation that can only be achieved when you’re sunk deep into an oversized beanbag beside your lovely love, chilled cava in one hand, the other hand in theirs, even the prospect of fine food can make it
nigh-on impossible to struggle to your feet.

Especially when you’re somewhat transfixed by the sun-soaked, panoramic view of the azure blue sea that stretches out into infinity and laps gently at the pebbly beach below, and are equally in awe of the aesthetically-blessed

people who surround you.

Sprawling out across three floors housing a restaurant, bar and terrace, Ibiza’s Amante Beach Club is all about beauty – from its clifftop situation through to its clientele. And, we discover when we finally make it to our table, that theme persists when it comes to the modern Mediterranean menu.

Italian food is big in Ibiza, and Amante’s seasonally-changing menu fuses that cuisine with contemporary Spanish fare. Pre-starter, LB and I amuse our bouches with shots of Andalucian gazpacho – a simple showcase of the bright,

beautiful flavour of locally-grown tomatoes.

Flawless service is refreshingly unobtrusive – no unnecessary frills and flourishes; just what you need, when you need it (often delivered before you know you do). Of course, both the guys an girls who work here are utterly gorgeous, but more

importantly, they’re also friendly and exceptionally on the ball.

‘Starters proper’ further our quest to exceed our five-a-day: a tasty terrine of buttery avocado, earthy beetroot and sweet-tart marinated turnip with a punchy Peruvian yellow pepper dressing; and a crunchy, refreshing salad of shaved fennel and tomatoes in which young goats’ cheese is used as a sort of

dressing, cloaking the vegetables and adding creamy tang to the whole shebang.

Neither of us can stay veggie for more than a single course, so next we tuck into pork belly with cracking crackling whose
division is worth a small affectionate fight. Served with pickled pink onions and sweet potato puree, it’s a tasty plateful that’ll greatly please the sweet of tooth.

Josper-grilled Formentera squid is the star of the show: a handsome arrangement of charred tentacles atop a rectangle of local potato mash flavoured with sobrassada (a soft, spicy sausage that’s omnipresent across Ibiza – and with good

reason), all scattered with the samphire-like salicornia that grows wild all over the island.

Amante’s unhurried pace affords much-welcome time to revel in your surroundings. Peering down at the stone heart that a fellow happy, sappy couple have clearly constructed on the beach beneath us, we both come over all drunk in love.

One suspects that a fair few marriage proposals have occurred here; what’s more, one suspects the ultra-romantic location – whose name actually and aptly translates to ‘lover’ – would make it nigh-on impossible to refuse were the question popped.

But on this occasion, the only question we’re asking one another is what to have for dessert. The headline component in my chocolate cream is almost obscured by a colourful riot of bells and whistles including (but not limited to) raspberrries, dehydrated pistachio sponge, chocolate stars, and vibrant

purple petals.

LB’s lemon cream is a similarly ample agglomeration of bits and bobs – a pool of curd-like custard populated with candied pecans, blackberries, mint leaves, pink grapefruit pieces and more of that sponge; this time stained a deep red hue.

We want to stay but we don’t want to outstay our welcome. For now, Amante’s evening vibe must remain a mystery to us. But not for long – we’re infatuated with this place, and suspect it won’t be long before it blossoms into full blown love.

Make it happen

Where: Cala Sol d’en Serra, Calle Afueras, s/n, 07849 Cala Llonga, Islas Baleares, Spain

Find out more: To visit the website, click here

In Kent, Zoë Perrett enjoys a gin-soaked Spanish lunch at Mark Sargeant’s Wife of BathWe step off the train into the sunshine, greeted by screeching seagulls. A short stroll up the road ensues, then we’re nibbling fat green olives, each of us cradling a big balloon glass filled with ice-cold gin and tonic. We’re definitely not in London anymore.

But nor are we lunching in some Spanish town. No – we’re in a quaint Kentish village, scarcely an hour from Kings Cross. Why? Because Wye is home to The Wife of Bath, where Mark Sargeant creates stunning sunshine food year-round, whatever the weather.

The restaurant-with-rooms is Mark’s pride and joy, and it’s a venue of which he should be justly proud. Whilst transforming The Wife of Bath late last year, the chef-turned-restaurateur tells me that he and business partner Josh were ‘like an old married couple’ – picking textiles; bickering over artwork; wondering whether the curious locals would actually populate the dining room once they opened the doors.

They needn’t have worried about the latter. The Wife of Bath does a brisk trade – Wye’s residents gathering around the bar for drinks and tapas of a weekend; coming in to feast on stunning Galician steaks on a Monday night; and shortly (providing Mark finds the right equipment) taking tipples from a tableside vermouth trolley – a concept I helpfully suggest should be titled ‘Get Trollied’.

And it’s not just a local place for local people. As word spreads, The Wife of Bath is increasingly becoming a destination restaurant; its five beautifully-designed rooms serving both as an extra reason to visit and an excuse for a lazy lunch to segue into a well-lubricated dinner, because there’s no need to leave.

We’re not staying the night, but as I run my eye over our menu (on this occasion, a team-up with Gin Mare) and realise it’s a five-courser paired with the same number of cocktails, I have an inkling that the temptation to slope off for a catnap might become a prospect that’s very alluring indeed.

But first, food. Or, rather, drink. Gin Mare mixologist Stuart Bale introduces the contents of a round of tomato vine-garnished martini glasses: a surprisingly-triumphant, super-savoury blend of Gin Mare, tomato cordial, mushroom stock, miso paste and malic acid. A pair of tapas eases us in – a heritage tomato salad whose croutons soak up copious quantities of gin-spiked dressing a treat, and tiny clams dressed with crisp Serrano ham, basil and rosemary.

That ham makes another appearance in the next dish – this time as silken slices that are nestled against wedges of sweet, gin-marinated canteloupe; the melon compressed to imbue it with an intriguing, dense, almost jelly-like quality. A dash of salt lends a sprinkle of magic to the tall, cooling combo of cucumber, melon, gin and Cava to which the course is matched.

Next, we make the acquaintance of tiny glass of an elixir whose ingredients Stuart reveals as Gin Mare, yellow chartreuse and Seville orange. It’s a bracing, palate-cleansing concoction; a brisk number with which to precede hunks of roasted hake with asparagus, orange, radish, and the most beautiful butter sauce I’ve eaten in perhaps my entire life. Instead of the typical dry white wine, it makes wildly successful use of Gin Mare. Bread is requested; not a drop is left.

I’d happily sail on over to the next life on a river of that sauce (and I suspect that, were I to indulge in the quantities I’d like to, death by butter would surely come soon), but it’s time for something sweeter. Stuart’s Ramos Fizz-inspired cocktail is like a herb-accented liquid lemon meringue pie, playing its part in a citrus double act alongside a lime-and-Gin-Mare cheesecake whose proportions are daunting but, I find, entirely conquerable.

Having clearly had his fill of clear spirits, Mark cracks open a bottle of sherry cask-aged brandy. A slice of olive oil and salt dressed chocolate tart appears, as do dishes of creme Catalan fudge, tiny churros, and coffee.

It’s not quite evening, but it’s late enough to begin entertaining notions of moving on to tapas, and then one of those aged steaks and all its associated trimmings. Mark lets slip that there’s an empty room upstairs. Summoning all our resolve, we manage to take our leave. But not until 9 o’clock. And not until after a few – too few – tapas.

Make it happen

Where: The Wife of Bath, 4 Upper Bridge Street, Wye, Kent TN25 5AF

Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Busy? Tired? Hungry? And, to make matters worse, it’s only Monday? Then, says Zoë Perrett, you need that (Sweet Chilli) Friday feeling, stet…

A recipe book might seem less appealing than a large g&t when you finally get in from work to a famished family demanding instant sustenance, but it’ll stand you in far better stead when everyone gets fed and you can treat yourself to that very tipple in peace – and maybe even sneak in a bubble bath for good measure.

Penned by half-a-dozen working mothers who were sick of endlessly serving up the same suppers week in, week out, Sweet Chilli Friday is a collection of fast, simple recipes shared at the monthly meetings of the women’s cookery club, Peppercorn Passion. The dishes demonstrate you don’t need culinary prowess to impress – and nor do you need a Nigella-style fancy pantry.

Born when old school friends Sangita Manek and Sheetal Mistry started exchanging recipes with first one another, then Alpa Lakhani, Anjana Natalia, Sonia Sapra and Deepa Jaitha, Peppercorn Passion has been successfully expanding culinary repertoires (and quite probably delighted husbands’ waistlines) for the past six years – and now the authors are inviting you to tickle your own family’s fancy by trying something new.

The Peppercorn Passion ladies may have South Asian roots, but the 60 recipes in Sweet Chilli Friday rove the globe from Europe to Southeast Asia. They’re dishes are also all vegetarian, but, with the likes of Burmese khao suey noodle soup and sweet potato and black bean burritos on offer, it’s highly doubtful anyone will miss the meat.

And if they do, just tell them you’re now a fully flexitarian family – and, if they don’t like it, they’re jolly welcome to don their own aprons.

Make it happen

Where to find it: ‘Sweet Chilli Friday’ by Alpa Lakhani, Anjana Natalia, Deepa Jaitha, Sangita Manek, Sheetal Mistry & Sonia Sapra is published by Meze Publishing, RRP £15
Find out more: For details and to order, click here
Read this:  To read an interview with the Peppercorn Passion cooking club, click here. For three recipes from the cookbook, click here. For two Indian recipes from the cookbook, click here

Inspiration comes from the strangest places. For Zoë Perrett, it was a call-centre soundtrack what done it…

Insurance company hold music brought us here. Or, to be more precise, LB’s car getting stolen did. 

We’re always ones to turn negatives into positives, so when his umpteenth attempt to make contact with the insurers resulted in 40-odd minutes of twinkly-plinky music which called to mind the piano man’s oeuvre in Galvin at Windows’ Skybar on our last visit, it seemed only apt to go there and galvanise our spirits over dinner.

Glass half full and all that – particularly and indeed literally for LB, who has his beady eye on the fine wine pairing before we’ve even arrived.

It’s not always time for fine dining; a lot of the time, it’s time for hearty slabs of lasagne or sweat-inducing Thai; but on the rare occasions it is, it’s like the pause button gets pressed on life – a plush dining room a meditation chamber soundtracked not by whale song but tinkling glasses, clinking silverware and a happy, hushed hubbub.

Or maybe that’s just me, and if so IDGAF cause I know you’ll agree it’s lovely to be cosseted on occasion. Fred Sirieix may have long left the building, but he’s left his legacy in superb service that feels supremely genuine and never, ever slides into cringy oleaginousness. In the midst of a national staff crisis, I think I’ve found where all the hospitality heroes are holed up (special shout out to Thomas).

It’s been half a decade since we last sat here – coincidentally (or maybe not, for elephant-esque memory of guests’ past visits is a given here), at this exact table. We still vividly recall absolutely ruining ourselves on a bread basket with the properties of the fabled Magic Pot way back then, so in spite of Thomas’s zesty encouragement, we exercise extreme restraint, mindful of the seven courses to come.

… And of course, amuse bouches don’t count as a course, and we’ve two to try before dinner proper even commences: charcoal Cornettos filled with (not ice-)cream cheese, and smoked caviar-jewelled golden potato beignets. 

I almost choke on my savoury doughnut when LB declares a new-found love for olives evoked by Galvin’s house-marinated Gordals. They say olives are one of those things you grow into enjoying. Well, 48 years later, here we are. 

A year ago, I’d also have informed you that neither of us like tomatoes, but then a certain small plate at Sager + Wilde changed that narrative, meaning that – in spite of its strange unseasonality – we tuck into a rainbow of toms, goat curd and basil emulsion with relish; LB equally so to his accompanying tomato-leaf scented Sanct Valentin Sauvignon. 

Round two sees two different dishes arrive – because I’ve gone for chef Marc Hardiman’s plant-based menu, LB for the omnivorous option. He’s got a venison tartare with beautiful bbq notes and the tart-salt-sour tang of umeboshi plum, coupled with a Yalumba Grenache. For me, it’s a glorious chowder that tastes like sweetcorn on so many steroids you’d stare at it in the street. For LB, too, actually, ‘cause he’s the one mopping every last drop from my bowl.

He’s hard pressed to get a look in on the parsley risotto which follows; juxtaposing risotto’s round richness, the herb’s grassy freshness, truffles’ and girolles’ bosky, earthy qualities, and a madeira jus’s sweet syrupy character to quite stellar effect. It’s a paradox on a plate, and I am loving every spoonful. 

LB’s done alright for himself anyway; glugging buttery Joseph Faively Meursault alongside Portland crab served in its spiky shell with, hazelnut, dill and crab apple (see what they did there?), finished with a gorgeous brown bisque. Top tip: whenever a sauce is poured at table, insist on keeping the jug, because you’ll inevitably want to devour every dreg. 

You’d have to be living under a Liberty Cap to have missed the recent shroom boom pervading the mainstream media everywhere from pharmacology to fashion to face cream. The next course might not be magic in the psychedelic sense, but it’s still out of this world: an inverted ‘mushrooms on toast’ featuring crunchy-scrunchy croutons and a heap of sauteed mushrooms, compressed to yield mind-blowingly meaty textures. I start smooshing the last crouton in the juices as a gift to LB, then rethink my goodwill when he has the temerity to start backseat driving my technique. 

I tell him to stick it and stick to his mussel-studded Dover sole Veronique, against which the paired Christophe Mittnacht Riesling drinks rich and oaky. The wine works a treat, too, with the mushrooms, revealing a fresher, greener side to its personality.

It’s a complete contrast to the Chateau Pichon Longueville Pauillac with its rich purple nose and soft leather notes, chosen to meet with a meaty beef Wellington. Anyone who’s sampled Calum Franklin’s example at Holborn Dining Room is spoiled forever to any other iteration, but it’s a solid example nonetheless. My parmesan gnocchi with spiced squash, pickled walnut puree and yet more cepes is an altogether Autumnal affair: the gustatory equivalent of kicking your way through piles of crunchy orange leaves.

We’ve savoured all manner of flavours and now it’s time for some sweet treats: a grown-up, multi-elemented remix of that childhood favourite, jelly and ice cream, which I’m down with aside from the inclusion of little nubs of skin on cucumber (GTFO pls); a gin-infused spin on lemon meringue pie; and a beautiful dessert wine whose name I don’t catch but which boasts a tropical bouquet and a whisky-like warmth in the throat.

Tasting menus make it easy to assuage guilt around overindulgence – after all, you’re not scoffing yourself silly; you are but ‘tasting’. So a second pudding isn’t greedy, it’s a given; and now we’re given a lychee-laden Vin de Constance, a berry-dressed coconut crème, and a lime dulce de leche-centred chocolate mousse whose flavour is pleasing to fans – aka me – of those chocolate limes off the pic’n’mix.

I know I said what I said about how we’re only here to taste so it’s not greedy, but a third pudding is a bit Billy Bunter even by ‘just tasting’ standards… although it’s delivered in honour of LB’s belated birthday, so it’d be rude not to – especially when it resembles a mini Colin The Caterpillar. But posher, obs: arise Lord Colin Of The Caterpillar in his shiny tempered chocolate coat. 

A post-prandial glassful of Chateau Du Breuil Calvados helps the sugar go down in the most delightful way – spicy, smokey, burnt caramelly – and we lap up the 28^th floor views ‘til LB’s lapped the last of his drink, toasting both to not letting the car-thieving bastards grind you down, and to the always-galvanising nature of dinner at Galvin at Windows. It’s been a while, but I suspect we won’t let it be that long again. 

MAKE IT HAPPEN 

• Galvin at Windows, 22 Park Lane, London W1K 1BE
• Visit Galvin at Window’s website here
• Find @galvinatwindows on Instagram

Authentic, elegant and accessible, this luxe London-based Turkish delights Zoë PerrettA top-notch Turkish in central London was always the dream. Aside from Oklava in Shoreditch, the only way to sate a craving for the likes of lamb ribs and Ali Nazik was with a trip ‘oop North’ (well, to Green Lanes, which is as far in that direction as many Londoners are willing to travel). And then Yosma opened its doors. And, at last, the dream was realised.

The Baker Street restaurant may be billed as a ‘meyhane, mangal and raki bar’, but it’s miles away from the rambunctious, functional grill houses to which Turkish families and hip kids flock to feast on vast mixed grills. The Good Food Society group’s seriously sleek setup features an open kitchen, elegantly unflashy decor, and a menu you can graze from or feast upon. It’s not theme-y, or fussy, or novel. It’s just a thoroughly pleasant place to dine.

If you know Turkish cuisine, you’ll find the menu smattered with words that will instil confidence from the off – pastirma (cured beef sausage); haydari (herby strained yogurt); uykuluk (sweetbreads). If you’re into fine food, you’ll be every bit as pleased by phrases like ‘Cornish day-boat fish’ and ‘Josper-grilled best-end chops’.

Menu lingo’s all well and good, but rest assured; any Bee Gees-esque doubts that ‘it’s only words’ will fast be dispelled. Come with a crowd, because then you can cover the table with variously-sized plates and pick prime morsels like a hungry magpie.

And there are rather a lot of prime morsels to be savoured. It’s not easy to refine classic dishes whilst retaining their heart, but suffice to say that exec. chef Hus Vedat is a passed master in that art – whether it’s ravioli-like lamb manti swimming in a silky sea of minty yogurt and chilli oil; grilled octopus atop earthy black-eyed beans; a beautiful, delicate roasted golden beetroot salad, or any of the other umpteen dishes we ordered and swiftly demolished alongside a solid Turkish red and various rakis (which also pepper a short, smart cocktail list).

Top tip: when it comes to pud, ‘please allow 15 minutes’ is usually a good omen. Here, the virtue of patience earns you a silver salver of kunefe – shredded wheat pastry enclosing salty, stretchy cheese, the whole shebang soaked in syrup and showered with jewel-like pistachios. I can still taste it. You need to taste it.

The verdict

Go for the manti, stay for the kunefe, and, in between, enjoy all kinds of refined Turkish delights. Yosma’s long overdue, and long may it prosper.

Make it happenWhere: Yosma, 50 Baker Street, London W1U 7BT
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Arts & culture by Zoe PerrettNovember 28, 2018 Leeds food by Zoe PerrettNovember 13, 2018 Recipes by Zoe PerrettNovember 5, 2018December 17, 2018 Recipes by Zoe PerrettNovember 5, 2018December 17, 2018 Restaurant reviews by Zoe PerrettNovember 1, 2018November 6, 2018 Restaurant reviews by Zoe PerrettOctober 16, 2018 Food stuff by Zoe PerrettOctober 11, 2018 Leeds food by Zoe PerrettOctober 5, 2018October 5, 2018 Leeds food by Zoe PerrettOctober 4, 2018October 5, 2018 Recipes by Zoe PerrettOctober 4, 2018October 5, 2018

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Eye-poppingly good Modern British food served in an understated dining room? In local parlance, says Zoë Perrett, this Leeds venue is mint

A meal that starts with the offer of a dish of warm liquid chicken fat with which to anoint chunks of crusty bread is never going to end badly. And indeed, with the involvement of smoked caramel, this one ends every bit as well as it begins.

We’re dining in Ox Club – a restaurant which occupies the ground level of Leeds’s five-floor Headrow House, a former textile mill which bills itself as a ‘multi-use arts and event space’. That’s all well and good, but for us (as I suspect for you, dear reader) it’s all about the food.

Ox Club is a part of omnipresent local restaurant guru Ben Davy’s oeuvre, and, with a fan in critic Jay Rayner and listings in both the Good Food and Michelin guides, it’s perhaps the most upmarket. With brick walls, schoolroom-style furniture, blackboards and a shiny-tiled pass, the dining room’s vibe is rather refectory-ish, but the addition of touches like a set of shelves cluttered with homely paraphernalia means it stops shy of stark.

The menu is concise and ever-changing, with Davy often sharing sneak peeks of dishes in development on his @mrpristina Instagram feed. In fact, it was an enticing image of fu-ramen that prompted tonight’s visit, and which now has LB and I breaking our unspoken rule of never, ever ordering the same thing as one another in order to always sample the maximum in any given meal.

This take on ramen flips the script on the traditional version, reducing the usually-abundant broth (in this case, a 36-hour pork and chicken broth) to an intense, luscious sauce on which sits a melting chunk of pork belly, half a soft-boiled egg, fermented bamboo shoots and other assorted delicious gubbins. It’s an idea that’s genius in its simplicity, resulting in a dish that’s perfect for me – she who loves the flavour of broth but hates the slosh.

Despite being united in our starter, we’ve managed to go our separate ways when it comes to the next course. For LB, a generously proportioned grilled lamb leg steak and charred hispi that’s seasoned with fiercely spicy Italian sausage n’duja, whose meaty heat increases the cabbage’s own lipsmacking qualities tenfold. For me, a 28-day dry aged sirloin, prettily pre-sliced and fanned out alongside a bone marrow bearnaise and watercress so peppery it brings tears to my eyes.

Side dishes are equally praiseworthy – fat chips which we dunk into the second helping of that chicken fat we sheepishly, gleefully requested, and a grilled quarter each of a head of cauliflower and broccoli; the former dressed Spanish-style with romesco sauce, sherry vinegar and almonds, the latter with pumpkin seed pistou and salty-sharp blue cheese oil.

The consumption of a couple of large g&ts and bottle of Parker Station Pinot Noir has rendered us suggestible, so we allow our arms to be twisted by the mild enquiry ‘would you like to order dessert?’. ‘Toffee crisp’ reveals itself to be a silky-smoky, beautifully bitter ganache bedded on a sea of puffed wild rice coated in the aforementioned, almost bacon-y smoked caramel – a pud made all the more perfect eaten alongside scoops of parfait-like peanut butter ice cream.

Ox Club offers brilliantly executed food, but it’s food that’s resoundingly not poncey. It’s Modern British in its truest, greatest sense – variously borrowing ingredients, techniques and dishes from around the world but serving them up as something that makes sense to a nation whose cuisine if historically rooted in the school of meat-and-two-veg.

You know the kind of food you’d eat if a friend who’d digested and mastered the collective works of the likes of Ottolenghi, Oliver and Fearnley-Whittingstall invited you round for tea? That’s what you’re in store for here. To shoehorn in a couple of Northernisms in surmising, Ox Club is nowt short of absolutely mint.

Make it happen

Where: Ox Club at Headrow House, 19a The Headrow, Leeds, LS1 6PU
Find out more: To visit the website, click here

Potato, pah-tah-toe: however you say it, there’s no denying this humble tuber’s versatility and flavour. Spice up your spuds with Asma Khan’s Kaju Aloo – a dish you might have been lucky enough to taste if you’ve dined at Asma’s London restaurant, Darjeeling Express.

KAJU ALOO – POTATOES WITH CASHEW NUTS

Dosas are a South Indian speciality, thin crêpes made from a lentil and rice batter filled most commonly with a stuffing made from potatoes. However, my dosa-making skills are poor – I always fail to achieve the thin crisp crêpe that is the hallmark of a good dosa – so I console myself by making Kaju Aloo, the potato stuffing of my favourite masala dosa. The combination of mustard seeds, curry leaves and cashew nuts works really well in this dish. A word of advice: if you are using super-spicy green chillies in this recipe, you may want to reduce the quantity you use.

Serves 6

INGREDIENTS

• 1kg large white potatoes (such as Maris Piper), unpeeled
• 6 green chillis
• 1 x 4cm piece fresh ginger
• 2 tbsp vegetable oil
• 1 tsp black mustard seeds
• 12 fresh curry leaves
• 1 tbsp cashew nuts
• 2 large onions, cut into small chunks
• 1 tsp ground turmeric
• 1 tsp salt
• ½ tsp sugar

METHOD

1. Place the unpeeled potatoes in a large pan that has a lid and fill with water.
2. Place the pan over a medium–high heat and bring to the boil.
3. Lower the heat to low-medium and keep on a low rolling boil for 20–25 minutes. The cooking time for the potatoes will vary according to their variety, size and quality. Test the potatoes to check that they are cooked.
4. Using the point of a sharp knife or skewer, pierce the middle of the largest potato. The potatoes should be tender but not falling apart. Once the potatoes are cooked, drain them in a colander and leave to cool. When they are cool enough to handle, remove the skins from the potatoes, then cut them into 2½cm cubes and set aside.
5. Using a food processor, blitz the green chillies and ginger together to make a paste. If you want to reduce the heat of this dish, remove the chilli seeds.
6. In a frying pan with a lid, heat the oil over a medium–high heat. Add the mustard seeds to the pan followed by the curry leaves and cashew nuts and cook until the cashew nuts darken in colour. Add the onions and cook until soft, translucent but not coloured.
7. Add the chilli and ginger paste to the pan along with the ground turmeric, salt and 200ml water, bring to the boil, cover, and simmer for 10 minutes. Remove the lid and add the diced potato.
8. Bring the mixture back to the boil, then lower the heat, add the sugar and cook, covered, for a further 10 minutes. If there is any excess water in the pan, remove the lid and cook over a high heat until the potatoes have a glossy sheen.
9. Before serving, taste to check the seasoning and adjust with more salt or sugar as necessary.

Make it happen

Where to find it: Recipe from ‘Asma’s Indian Kitchen‘
Find out more: ‘Asma’s Indian Kitchen’ by Asma Khan is published by Pavilion Books, RRP £20
Read this: For Asma’s Saffron Chicken Korma recipe, click here. To read more about Asma Khan, her restaurant Darjeeling Express and Asma’s Indian Kitchen, click here

Photo credit: Kim Lightbody