The Royal Indian Mounted Food Control Police have moved on. Off to Oslo, Norway to patrol the frosty wilderness rapping the knuckles of the culinary unaware, safeguarding the fjords and frigid plains from improper curries, irregular gulab jamun and poorly made rice in their never ending campaign for Indian Food Correctness.
Me, on my first night alone, I made kofte. Chicken kefte, keftedes, however you want to call it. I had a huge amount of fresh mint to use. (It is taking over the yard at the cottage). Since these are primarily North African, I didn’t worry too much about their correctness. They were delicious.