Guru Kaur's Blog

I travel to New Mexico twice a year for the Khalsa Council, of which I am a member, which meets about an hour from Santa Fe. It's a magical place, 180 degrees round the globe from Punjab.  There I first ate Tamales, surely something which has been around since the dawn of time.  Then when I came back we came across a variation which surely is also the most divine food ever.

On a hot summer's day, the sort that we all long for summer to be a continuous succesion of but it rarely is (it's raining now here) Nick and I went off on his motorbike to join his family in a small village in Wiltshire which delights in the name of Teffont Evias. The best part of the day was our impromtu visit to its annual village fete, which embodies all that is good and noble in this green and pleasant land.

There's a saying that if you're ever asked to describe the Way of Tea then say it is the sound of windblown pines in a painting. It's a phrase that came to mind when I went to see Melody Gardot's gig here in London at the Bloomsbury Theatre, which I know well from my student days. I've met her before when she came earlier this year to my Kundalini Yoga class one night. Then none of us knew...

I'd never heard of Mango Jam, I've never eaten Mango Jam, and yet I longed to make Mango Jam. And what a jolly good decision it proved to be. The short-lived Alfonso season is over already for this summer, and we're now into the Pakistani ones, which are extremely good, if not quite in the stratospheric god-dwelling plane of their Indian Alfonso cousins. There was nothing for it except to work out how to get them into a jar so that this winter we can remember the delights of summer, and that of the Indian Sub-Continent....

In the days when I used to wear make-up I would regularly apply concealer to the bags under my eyes to hide the fact that I wasn't getting a good night's sleep. One day it dawned on me that that was ridiculous, and probably my lack of vitality was giving it away anyway. Surely sorting out the underlying cause would be better, healthier in the long run and I could stop wearing make-up to make-up. As Grannie kept reminding me "it's not called beauty sleep for nothing".

My grandmother had very strong views about sleep. I forget how many times she used to say “it’s not called beauty sleep for nothing”. It was indeed remarkable that when I went to stay with her I did sleep much better than I did at home. Of course, I found it laborious making the bed with the crisp sheets and pure wool blankets, which had an uncanny knack of falling off in the night if I hadn’t made the bed properly that morning. But it was worth it. There. However, back home in London...

There's a wonderful story from the Way of Tea which directly challenged my approach to flower arranging, my appreciation of beauty and my attitude to simplicity. It goes like this. The Shogun heard through the grapevine that the front garden of Rikyu, the founder of the Way of Tea, was overflowing with Morning Glory flowers. Apparently it was a sight to behold. The Shogun thought that this was too good a sight to miss and therefore invited himself over for Tea early one morning to catch the flowers at their most beautiful and brilliant. Imagine his dismay when...

Today is our 20th wedding anniversary. During all those years since that day in Paris, when the Lady Mayoress with her Tricolor sash, amid the gilt pomp and huge vases of flowers, married Nick and me, we have been severely tested on our commitment to stand by each other, for each other "for better, for worse, in sickness and in health". We've turned our lives upside down leaving the security of careers behind us as we sallied forth into the unknown, ...

Saffron's worth more than platinum by weight and yet its ethereal nature can carry you across continents simply by its exquisite uplifting taste and bewitching aroma. Last autumn my husband, Nick went to Kashmir to photograph the saffron harvest. His stories of how the soil suddenly blooms forth into a myriad of purple parcels, each containing those beguiling stems richly enchanted us all. He's recently returned from another month there again bringing us a small pot of dark red saffron stamens. These are the royalty of spices and it seemed most appropriate to make for lunch today the most majestic of deserts with it: Shrikand.

As we drove up the woodland lane that unmistakable fragrance of wild garlic filled the air, immediately taking me back to the halcyon days of my childhood in my grandparents' quintessentially English garden. Now, however, I was arriving for a crochet workshop at Laughing Hens, nesting deep in the timeless landscape of rural Kent. This, however, was no whimsical reminiscence of bygone days of permanent happiness, blue skies and Victoria sponge for tea. This was all for real. The excuse was a crochet workshop, but to describe our day thus is a massive over-simplification of heaven.

1. She is successful in her own right

2. She knows how to make a man feel as though he is the only man in the world

3. She knows how to...

Risotto's one of those comforting savoury foods which bring floods of memories of my time in Italy where I would regularly be put to stir the risotto. It's a very responsible role because forget to stir it for a second and it will stick to the bottom of the pan.

Inspired by the book Pupcakes Nick developed these biscuits which are an amalgamation of a couple of the book's recipes. Millie loves them, and rather regrets that I have the discipline to ration them. She gets one after we're completed "Pretty Millie" morning grooming, and one after her afternoon walk. She's quite insistent that she has them. I tried to photograph her eating a biscuit, but it was unsuccessful.

I never wanted a dog. I wanted an angel in my life. And then Millie came into our lives bringing us all so much love and joy. At first, I decided to be thoroughly strict and make do with old socks with knots in for her as toys. She was not overly impressed with this, partly I'm sure because like me she loves pink....

Have you noticed that since the Spring Equinox on 21st March that the light has changed? Even though the days are only lengthening minute by minute each day, there is somehow an uplifting vibrancy outside. On Tuesday Millie and I went for a long walk through the Ecological Park. It was all primroses, in that subtle baby-clothes yellow, nestling in the verdant freshness. In the orchard the pink buds of apple blossom ...

I love that rhythm and meditation with outcome of knitting. It is one of the ways that I unravel my day as my beautiful wooden needles unwind my tension and create from a strand of wool a piece of a garment. However, up to now, when I came to assemble the finished pieces into a cardigan often it had a homemade look rather than a beautiful handmade one. It was therefore with great relief that I went yesterday to one of Laughing Hens’ Knitting Workshops on Knitting Finishing Techniques.

There is something very beautiful and reverential about commemorating the death of Rikyu, the founder of the Way of Tea. Each year the Tea Room, here in London, as do all the Tea Rooms round the world, celebrates with a Tea Gathering called Rikyu-ki.

I've just got back from a walk with Millie in the Ecological Park near where we live here in London. There's been a heavy frost the last few nights leaving a festive frosting to the gloomier parts of the woods and the water in the pond with a fine layer of ice. It was definitely bracing and, even with gloves on, my fingers felt the cold biting them.

Millie's solution was to run, and run, and run, on the grass skidding through the grass to the layers of mud underneath. She's all clean now after her bath and being lulled into a magic world by the pink lights of our festive decorations. My solution was to get a steaming cup of frothy Yogichino.

There' s something very primal and magical about the smell of bread. It goes a long way to making a house into a home. Wherever we've travelled somehow that smell of bread in its local form is there. There is a universality to that distinct aroma, coloured by local traditions. It brings people together. It conjures up feelings of being cared for and nurtured.

One day in Latin class we were translating, rather slowly, some bit about Cleopatra and her famous bath of asses' milk. Of course, we giggled. How absurd was that? We were far more into floral bubbles. So when a few years ago I read that Yogi Bhajan recommended a bath with yoghurt I remembered the legendary beauty of the Egyptian queen. Suddenly it seemed that maybe she had been onto something.