I have occasionally written about Hay-on-Wye, my favourite spot in England, and home to numerous second-hand bookshops. A small town on the border between Wales and Hereford, it is situated by the river Wye and in the shadow of the Black Mountains. We stay at our friend Kim’s house by the river where we have wonderful views. A pair of arrogant and haughty swans patrol the stretch of the river outside the house and herons stand on rocks, waiting for fish.

We had assembled there last week for a birthday celebration, and all the guests were asked to bring one meal. I cooked aloo-gosht for 16 and froze it to travel the two-and-a-half hours it takes us to get to Hay. There were only four of us for lunch on arrival, and we went through one of the two large roasted chickens the lady wife had prepared at home. Free-range, organic chickens have a very different flavour from the battery-raised birds that are normally served.

On our first evening, we were supposed to dine on my cousin Babar’s offering of chappli kebabs and parathas, but as he and his wife Lalita were running late, I was asked to quickly cook dinner. Luckily, I had brought Arborio rice and dried mushrooms, and was able to whip up a risotto. But as I was cooking for 10, and using a kilo of rice, I needed a big utensil. Not finding one, I improvised with a baking tray. At one point in the stirring and ladling process, I became afraid the rice would overflow as it gained volume. But luckily, it stayed within its confines, but only just.

Frozen parathas are a wonderful invention, and Babar’s kebabs were excellent, while Lalita had made a great chanay ki daal to go with them. We sat outside as the weather was wonderful: sunny with a cool breeze.

‘‘One of the delights of life is eating with friends, second to that is talking about eating. And, for an unsurpassed double whammy, there is talking about eating while you are eating with friends.’’ — Laurie Colwin ‘Home Cooking’

The next morning, we went for a drive across the Black Mountains to Llantony Abbey, an 11th century ruin that now houses a small pub and five rooms for tourists willing to risk encountering the ghost that is supposed to haunt the place. We stayed here a few years ago without meeting any apparition.

When we returned, Ilva, Anjum Taseer’s wife, unveiled a magnificent gravadlax, or cured salmon, she had prepared in London. This consisted of two fillets of salmon, each weighing around three pounds. In between, a paste of caster sugar, sea salt, white pepper and dill had been rubbed, with some of the paste rubbed on the outside surfaces. These fillets were pressed against each other, then sealed in cling-film (or placed in a container) and left in the fridge for 48 hours. The fish is thus cured, and has a wonderful, slightly sweet taste. This was served with a mustard-based sauce and baby potatoes. With 17 of us present, not a scrap of the fish remained.

That evening was the celebratory dinner at the Bull’s Head, a wonderful old pub about six miles from Hay at the end of a winding country road. We have eaten here before and always enjoyed ourselves. For the festivities, the lady wife had fixed the menu months ago through an exchange of emails with Charles, the amateur cook who had bought the place a few years ago after retiring as a surveyor.

The pub dates back to the 17th century and has wonderful wooden beams and a splendid fireplace. Our first course consisted of bresola, or beef that has been cured by hanging in a cool, dry place for a few months. It turns dark, almost purple, and is sliced very thin before serving. A delicacy, it is expensive as it loses a lot of its original weight in the curing process.

The main course was a huge salmon that had been cooked en croute, or in a pasty crust. After Charles showed off his creation to the guests, he took it back into the kitchen to cut it up into portions. Dessert was a moist, home-made cheesecake that made most of us groan “Enough!”

The next evening was the final of the World Cup, and only six of us were left to watch it, and eat my humble aloo gosht. By now, the meat and potato curry had intensified in flavour, as curries usually do. I made some raita, masoor ki daal and plain rice to go with it. We balanced our plates on our knees as we watched Germany beat Argentina by a solitary goal.

Unsurprisingly, I had put on a few pounds after several days of gluttony.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, July 27th, 2014