Yeti, Cowley Road

So far food blogging hasn't brought me too much fame or fortune, but it did mean that when a couple of old friends came to Oxford for a visit this week, they asked me to choose somewhere for a group meal. I toyed with old favourites like Mario's and Qumins, but following my discovery of the Nepalese momo van at Gloucester Green on market day, I was intrigued by reports of a restaurant some way down the Cowley Road, serving not merely dumplings but a full Nepalese menu. My hunch (backed up by some very positive reviews) paid off: our meal at Yeti was, on the whole, impressive.

Qumin's, St Clements

This week, back to curry - and back to Qumin's as well, as I've been here before. Quite a number of times, in fact, because the food it serves is consistently impressive, even to someone like me who doesn't quite know their bhuna from their balti. This time, however, I was armed with the proverbial notebook.

(all photos courtesy of The Photographer - though the poor lighting conditions weren't his fault. A warm yellowy glow is comforting, especially in December, but it doesn't make for good photography)

The spice of life? Rajasthan, Cowley Road

My mother is a very good cook. When I was growing up, of course, I took this for granted, which was one reason why in my pre-pubescent years polite adults would refer to me as 'well-built', and other children...well, I'm sure you can imagine. It was not until my first year at university that I realised that there was one area to which her culinary expertise does not stretch: apart from judicious additions of ginger and a touch of chilli powder to casseroles and gravy, she never cooks anything really spicy.

It was doubtless a visit to an Indian restaurant, probably as part of the 'organised fun' (I can think of few worse oxymorons) of Freshers' Week, which brought me to this realisation. Now, I don't want to speculate here about why I had never eaten a proper curry before the age of 19, although I'd like to make it clear that my family is not imprisoned in a mid-twentieth century timewarp, waiting for Elizabeth David to come and tell them that olive oil isn't just for clearing out blocked ears. Suffice it to say that I hadn't. And although I have consumed many fairly spicy oriental dishes since then, when I do so I always feel a certain regret alongside the physical effects that other people seem to relish.