I am bemused and confused by that very English saying of "a little of what you fancy does you good" or the rather black humour version of "what won't kill you makes you stronger".
In simple terms ,for the simple man that I am, it is nice on that rare occasion when time, mood and finances come together to treat yourself to that something special.
My "little bit of fancy" in this context is a particular food snack item.
I can easily consume huge amounts of the stuff in a single sitting or eke a supply out over an evening, at a push, even with the best intentions of trying to make it last for a few days.
Those who know me well are already guessing at Sherbet Fountains, true, a delicacy and luxury item but not a food snack in any respects.
I am referring to Bombay Mix.
I love it but it is not a mutual feeling.
I should really abstain from eating such a spicy mixture as it does not always agree with my digestive system but the temptation to devour copious amounts of it is just too great.
The typical scenario for a Bombay Mix session is as an evening snack, just after my tea has settled down and I am looking for an easily managed foodstuff to compliment a TV schedule. You know the sort, reasonably dry, capable of being poured into a cup or bowl, finger suited and not of any real potential for damage if spilt down your front or onto the furnishings.
Crisps may suffice but when compared to the range of flavours , textures and sensations in a typical Bombay Mix they are very much pale offerings.
My first experience of this taste of the East was in a roundabout way down to the influence of Idi Amin, former dictator and despotic ruler of Uganda.
No, he did not endorse it on a celebrity cooking programme but indirectly promoted it in a more sinister way through his expulsion of the indigenous Asian population to the UK in the 1970's.
It was through our befriending of a family of Ugandan Asian refugees that I had my first taste of a Bombay mix.
I was of course too English and ignorant to enquire about its authentic name when it was kindly offered upon our visits to the old RAF Base where temporary and cramped accommodation had been provided to newly arrived families prior to re-settlement nationwide.
It was many years later that the anglicised name of Bombay Mix became commonplace to describe the delicacy , amongst other names, Chevda and Chanachur.
Our Asian friends had been forced at gunpoint out of their homes and with no opportunity to salvage any meaningful possessions other than what they could wear or carry. Yet, their hospitality was far beyond what would be expected following the traumatic and harrowing circumstances of their forcible expulsion.
That first taste of authentic spices remains as strong a memory to my 50 year old palate as it did all those years ago. It was a technicolour explosion of exotica on an otherwise black and white staple food diet (No disrespect to you, Mother). There are now as many variations of Bombay Mix available as its constituent ingredients and the choice within the ethnic food aisles of our largest super and hypermarkets is extensive and mouthwatering.
The question I pose to myself is could I make my own version taking on board all of those that I have sampled in more recent years?
All of the ingredients are can be readily sourced from within a few hundred metres of my front door with the proliferation of continental and Asian foodstores as has taken place in the majority of UK cities and larger towns.
I do not anticipate any difficulties in obtaining and assembling the basics such as red lentils, Moong dahl, sunflower seeds, almonds, shelled pistachios, cashews and peanuts and the spices for the pungent and aromatic seasoning. These include cumin, dry powdered coriander, turmeric, chilli powder and salt. Schwartz can easily cope with such an order on their herb and spice displays in aisle 5 of my nearest Tesco. I may even include a few sultanas from a Bangladeshi version I once tried.
The most difficult task facing my culinary project is likely to be the production of an authentic dough to be deep fried and to form the distinctive crunchy strands that are the inherent characteristic of the snack. These are the elusive chickpea flour noodles.
Again, the elements are easy to source; the flour itself and yet more chilli powder, turmeric, salt, oil and lemon juice all formed into a malleable dough.
Panic, then what!
I do not have anything to hand in the kitchen to create the stringy lines for immersion in the boiling hot fat. This is the stumbling block because I need a Sev Maker. This is a cylinder with shaped interchangeable nozzles, a sort of stainless steel piping bag into which the dough is placed and then forced out straight over the deep fat fryer.
I will have to put that item of equipment on my Christmas List but in the meantime I have a secret stash of shop bought Bombay Mix just to tide me over until my production line comes on stream. Yep, they make and sell them in 10kg bags just for that type of emergency situation.
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