
Simple and speedy recipes for a cosy Friday night dinner
In my teens, Saturday night was the big night. Friday night was about fraying edges and feeling tired, tripping over the pile of school bags by the back door that our mother repeatedly told us to move. On Saturday nights you went to discos or parties, or had friends to stay and turned the music up to full volume (your parents were out). We danced, shaking our heads violently to Elton John's Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting. There was a recipe in an M&S cookbook – Indian chicken with peaches – that I made again and again on Saturday night even though we didn't have all the right spices and depended on tinned peaches. If your parents came home early, it spoilt the whole weekend.
I'm not the only one who loves Friday nights. Swedes call it fredagsmys, a ritual that seemed to develop in the 1990s. The term entered the Swedish dictionary in 2006. Picking up your children from school on Friday afternoon, the teacher will say, 'Enjoy your fredagsmys tonight!' The food is supposed to be cosy – nothing grand, in fact tacos are very popular – and forms part of an evening of film watching, eating sweets, chatting and lounging. It has been suggested that the Lutheran concept of hard work is so prevalent in Sweden that Friday nights evolved to mark a break between the working week and the weekend.
Here too, Friday-night cooking should be easy – nobody expects or wants anything grand. It can be a huge bowl of pasta. I make my old standby, spaghetti with garlic, parsley, lemon and chilli; or my latest love, pasta with fried prawns, 'nduja and little chunks of ricotta (the soothing coolness of ricotta and the burn of 'nduja colliding with each other). You want dishes you can make in your sleep: roast chicken, risotto, a big pilaf and nothing more than a green salad on the side.
You can prepare some of the food – a braise that needs slow cooking, say – on Thursday night, but leave something to cook on Friday night itself. Being perfectly prepared doesn't create the right vibe. You want to get home, quickly sort out one dish, throw crisps and olives into bowls and get someone else to do the drinks. There's no need to have ingredients for six different cocktails, though one would be good, and wine, chilled if necessary.
Pudding? It's not mandatory but most people like a little sweetness. When they're in season, raspberries or baked peaches or pears with cream is fine. Or you can go for indulgence and ease with tubs of ice cream. For me it has to be Hackney Gelato (no, they're not paying me), which you can get from Tesco, Ocado, Sainsbury's and Waitrose. Even bowls of jelly babies are good. You're with friends, remember.
I'm lucky. Since I became a freelancer working from home – 25 years ago – I've never had the Sunday-night blues. But even when I have to work on a Saturday (you have many masters if you're freelance, and deadlines are deadlines), I still get the Friday-night rush.
It's Sunday as I write this, but I'm already wondering what to cook next week, and who's going to share my Friday-night freedom with me.
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BBC News
2 days ago
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Metro
3 days ago
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I told him I wanted a divorce - then feared for my life
When I think of my ex-husband, I'm constantly reminded of one thing. He used to call me a bad mother in front of our children. It was just one way I experienced a pattern of abuse for nearly two decades and, as South Asian Heritage month draws to a close, I want to highlight domestic abuse within our communities and to push for cultural change. For 18 years, I endured coercive control, financial and emotional abuse from my ex-husband, as well as my in-laws, before I escaped with my children. He would question everything I bought from the shops – harassing me over what I had purchased, while pretending he was going to buy a house for us. Instead, he coordinated with his parents to bring us into their home, where we lived in squalid conditions. If I reacted to any of this, he would call me 'emotional' and 'sensitive'. I am a British Sikh woman in my 40s, and was raised in a traditional Indian household. From a young age, I was conditioned to respect my parents and learned that I should stay quiet – I was often shouted at – or even hit – if I tried to express an opinion or stand up for myself. My mother also sold me on the myth of marriage. 'Just wait until you're married,' she would tell me – promising I would be able to go out, wear nice clothes and wear make-up and live my life on my own terms. But those promises of freedom never came to pass. I became a solicitor, a profession I love. Work was a space where I would come alive, where I could prove to myself what I was capable of in ways I never experienced at home. I met my ex-husband during my first few months of university, at a dinner event hosted by the Asian Society. He was five years older, already working, and struck me as a family-oriented, sociable person. But the abuse – from him and his family – started before we were even married. At our engagement, my future father-in-law told me that I could not take a job in London. After the wedding, we moved in with my in-laws. My husband was the only son in his family and his mother treated him like a king. She told me often that many other women were after him, as though I should feel lucky to have him. I felt like a hostage. I was able to find a job locally but I did this around serving the household: cooking, cleaning, and food shopping. Over the years, as our children arrived, things only got worse as I was expected to solely look after them, clothe them, and take them to and from school. When I tried to talk to my husband, his response was always, 'You're lucky you have my parents to help,' but the reality was I was looking after them too, taking them to medical appointments and acting as their interpreter. As we end South Asian Heritage Month, it is very much the right time to highlight domestic abuse within our communities and to push for cultural change I felt completely trapped. There was enormous cultural pressure to make my marriage work, no matter how unhappy I was. I lived in a heightened state of stress, constantly in survival mode and unable to rest. Still, though, I didn't recognise domestic abuse and had begun to believe that I was the problem – that I was a bad person or a bad wife. But eventually, I realised the reality of my situation and knew I had to leave with my 10-year-old son and 8-year-old daughter. I started to smuggle my children's clothes out, item by item, hiding them in my spare office at work. I found a rental property and quietly used my own funds to set up a bank account in my sole name. A few weeks before I left, I told my ex I needed time and space to think. I didn't say I was leaving for good or mention divorce to him – I feared if I did, I might not get out alive. 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I was shouted at, disbelieved and put under unbelievable pressure despite already being traumatised. I was advised by my solicitor that judges prefer to see parents getting along and that if I wanted to relocate with the children, it would only be permitted if I got along with their father. The experience was harrowing, lasting over two years as various divorce and custody arrangements were decided, and it nearly financially crippled me. There were times when I felt like I couldn't keep going but today, I am finally divorced and rebuilding my life. The most difficult and painful repercussion is witnessing the continued emotional abuse of the children by their father. It's extremely hard to live with and is both psychologically and physically damaging to them. If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic abuse, help is available. Refuge offers confidential support for survivors from all backgrounds. No one should suffer in silence. During South Asian Heritage Month, let's break the silence and stand together against domestic abuse – because every survivor deserves safety, respect and the chance to rebuild their life. The National Domestic Abuse Helpline can be reached at 0808 2000 247 and provides a live translation service for all languages – ensuring support is accessible to everyone. Visit for more information. My story is one of many, yet too often silenced by cultural stigma and fear. In South Asian culture, there are issues rooted in longstanding gender norms that place boys on a pedestal from birth. This dynamic can create environments where control, entitlement, and emotional neglect become normalised. If we were more open about these topics, perhaps we could help others break the cycles of abuse; I think that if I had been able to read someone else's story during my own marriage, I might not have stayed for over 15 years. More Trending Personal experiences have the power to educate, validate and empower others. As we end South Asian Heritage Month, it is very much the right time to highlight domestic abuse within our communities and to push for cultural change. Domestic abuse is a generational issue – it's passed down to children unless we confront it. It transcends culture and community – and trust me, every survivor deserves support, respect and freedom. *The survivor featured in this piece has requested to remain anonymous for her safety and privacy. We are using a pseudonym to protect her identity. Do you have a story you'd like to share? Get in touch by emailing Share your views in the comments below. 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