When I first moved to Malmö I was delighted by the ready availability of not just fresh vegetables in the market at Möllevången, but also cheap bulk-packet spices; both of these are in heavy demand from the city’s huge range of ethnic communities.

One of my favourite spices, however, I just couldn’t find. In a city with so many people from the Middle East, I thought, how can it be so hard to find ras el hanout?

Eventually someone pointed out the obvious: no self-respecting person buys ras el hanout at the store, because they make their own at home, using their secret family recipe.

This recipe is not secret, and I make no claims for its authenticity; I have bodged it together from various online sources, and it tends to change a bit depending on what I’ve got in the cupboards. It works for me, and maybe it will work for you, too—as a spice mix, of course, but also preparing a batch as a de-stressing activity.

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Put these in a smallish bowl:

• 2 teaspoons ground ginger
• 1 teaspoon ground turmeric
• 0.5 teaspoons cayenne pepper

Now warm a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan over the lowest, slowest heat you can get your hob to do. Once it’s ready, turn on the extractor fan, then dump these in the dry pan and start stirring them around:

• 2.5 tablespoons cumin seed
• 2 tablespoons coriander seed
• 1 small cinnamon stick
• 2 teaspoons black peppercorns
• 0.5 teaspoon cardamom seeds
• 0.5 teaspoon whole cloves

(You may want to bust the cinnamon up a bit before the pan, it’ll toast through quicker.)

All these wonders will first start to smell amazing, then to smoke and to blacken. I can’t tell you how to know when to stop, because I always have to guess, but put it this way: if the seeds start popping and bursting out of the pan, and/or everything goes seriously dark, and/or the fire alarm goes off, you’re probably done.

(Remember the pan will stay hot, and if you only have a small mortar, you may have to do the next bit in batches; in other words, take it off the heat before you reach what feels like your own version of final

Now grind the heck out of the toasted spices in with your pestle’n’mortar. (This is the best bit of cooking, for me, because it means I get to spend a few minutes pretending I’m an alchemist.) Tip them in with the pre-ground stuff in the bowl. Mix thoroughly, then decant into some sort of airtight jar.

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Now your apartment smells amazing, you’ve stopped being quite so stressed and angry by the sociotechnical problem that has wasted your entire fucking Tuesday, and you’ve got enough ready-to-rock spice blend to last you a good many meals in the weeks ahead.

(Put it on anything! It’s going on some roast cauliflower and couscous in this household this evening.)