Life brings with a plethora of experiences, each with a flavour of its own. I wish to share with all my readers these various experiences and observations that I have made during my time here on this planet. They may be funny, thought-provoking or simple reflections. I do hope you will find these enjoyable and interesting.
Everybody is advised to read this write-up
only if they feel up to taking some shocks. The author does not
intend to willfully offend anyone's sensibilities, having said which
she does not guarantee the improbability that that might be the
outcome. Any such effect is purely unintentional.
I am a gourmet (and admittedly a gourmand) is a well known fact. A
gourmet is one who appreciates and enjoys good cooking while a
gourmand is one who can't lay off food. My motto is "I see food,
I eat it" (my definition of sea-food diet). I have tried various
kinds of diet, but this is the only one which I have managed to
faithfully stick to and which has worked for me. (As I write this
there are some lovely smells floating out of the kitchen, making me
weak in the knees).
So coming back to the point, although I
have always loved eating, I cannot say the same about cooking. I was
a very hard nut for my mom to crack. Somehow I was an avowed women's
libber in my school days and did not like the fact that people
expected only girls to learn cooking while men could expect to be
waited on (at least it was my perception of reality those days). So I
pig-headedly refused to go anywhere near the kitchen
while continuing to eat like a larva.
While the mysteries of
cooking eventually did begin to intrigue me, my big fat ego would not
allow me to admit to mom that maybe I would not mind some lessons in
one day when I was in Std. X, she went out with my neighbours to see
a film, while I was left at home to study. That did not go down too
well with me
and I decided to entertain myself at home. What better way of doing
that than eating some nice. My mind thought up a wonderful dish to
eat - fried potatoes. I wanted to make it like what my friends
brought in their lunch boxes. How does one fry potatoes? Well,
simple. One took a wok (kadai), chopped up potatoes, put them into
the wok and onto the fire, closed it with a lid and presto!!! After a
while, there would be delectable potato fries coming out of the wok
straight into my waiting mouth. (I could almost imagine the
trajectory it would follow).
After a while of waiting, I
opened the wok and checked inside. The potato did not want to part
company with the bottom of the wok and it did not look like what mom
made. Nor did it look like what my friends brought in their lunch
boxes. I decided to take no more risks. Mom might arrive any minute
and it would be a major loss of face for me to let her know that I
had tried my hand at cooking. I picked up a piece of potato. It did
not quite follow the trajectory I had imagined it would take. It made
a brief halt in front of my eyes. Then I thought, maybe it might be
alright after all. I gingerly took a bite. It was completely raw.
What could I do? If I chucked it in the bin, mom would certainly spot
it and my cat would be out of the bag. So with all the courage and
adventurous spirit of a new teenager, I chucked the whole stuff into
my biological bin. It
was strong enough to biodegrade it without anyone noticing. Then came
the next step of cleaning the wok and even if I say so myself, I did
a sterling job of it and put it away, hoping that all evidence of the
crime was wiped out.
But I realized two facts that day. One
was that I would not make such a good criminal after all. Second that
our CID should have made it a policy to employ only mothers. After
all God provided them with a sixth sense and eyes behind their heads
as well as other powers of ESP (Extra Sensory Perception). So it was
to my utter chagrin that mom comes into the kitchen and asks me "Did
you try cooking something today"?
And being a useless liar, I decided to give her the facts straight.
After that I was put through an interrogation about how I made the
fries. When I told her, she said "Have you never watched me do
anything? Don't you know that you need to use some oil and spices and
that you need to sprinkle some amount of water to allow vegetables to
cook? Why could you not ask me? Would I not have taught you"?
years went by. When I left home for the first time, i was determined
that if I were to ever feel homesick for any reason, lack of my
favourite foods would not be on that list. Thus it was that I got the
recipes for all my favourite items from mom before I left, and I must
say it stood me in good stead. I did a pretty good job of feeding
only problem was that I did not have so much time for cooking and
many of our vegetables were not available where I lived. Once when I
went to the doctor with recurring headaches and tiredness, he said it
must be lack of proper nutrition. I felt very sorry for myself
and went shopping for vegetables at "Safeway" and decided
to make a mixed vegetable soup for myself.
Once back at the
hostel, I found that my pressure pan was not large enough to hold all
the vegetables and borrowed my friend's pressure cooker. The soup was
made and was pretty tasty. So I shared it at the communal table with
my friends at dinner time. We had it for one day, then the next and
the next. I had it alone on the fourth day. Finally I decided I could
do without such "healthy" soups. What was I to do with the
remaining stuff? It was in this way that the soup found a resting
place in my freezer.
A few weeks passed. After about 3
months, I decided it was time to check out on the state of the soup.
I pulled out the container and defrosted it. I did not know what to
do with it. So after a bit of
I had a brilliant
I added some orange masoor dal, some onions and masala and seasoning
to it and pressure cooked the stuff again (just to make sure it was
safe for consumption). An American friend walked in, took in a whiff
of the air and asked what smelt so good. That was my chance. She was
given a generous helping of the stuff and she walloped it up with
great relish. I was relieved. It was not just edible, but yum. So the
"new" dish made its way back to the communal table.
asked what it was, I told my friends to taste the stuff and take a
guess (nothing works like a bit of suspense). After they had
finished, no one could guess. So I finally spilled the beans
and was met with a horrified silence. "What? It is 'that' soup”?
What if something happens to us? You – a microbiologist?" I
assured them that the microbiologist had carried out a quality
control test on it before it was served up. Besides I had part taken
of the stuff myself. So that should be proof of the fact that it was
safe for human consumption. Besides the proof of the pudding (dal in
this case) was in eating it, wasn't it? And after all they had all
declared it to be yum – and that was just 5 minutes ago.
cut the story short, there was still some dal left and my friend
whose culinary skills extended to cooking rice, offered to do me a
favour and finish up the stuff the next day. So that was how my
"healthy" soup was finally cleared up, with no detrimental
effects whatsoever to anyone.