A lot has been happening the last two weekends. The first weekend was mother in law’s birthday. She had been dreaming about stuffed cannolini for a few weeks now. So, the husband caved in and made it for her. I made a version of the Japanese Nama truffle which was so dearly loved that it might become a weekly thing I need to do. As I sat down to write about that weekend’s cooking, the son declared that stuffed cannolini is no different from lasagna and did not qualify as a new dish. One thing we were clear on, when we embarked on this resolution, was that we would make something new and different every weekend, otherwise it doesn't count. So, I had to concede and skipped the writing. This weekend, the parents had gone to get vaccinated. So the whole Sunday cooking had slipped our mind, buried under concerns of side effects from the vaccine, unfruitful discussions on the user interface of the website and zoom calls to exchange notes on the easiest ways to identify the nearest hospital. Meanwhile, I have been making an effort to get back on a keto diet after a full year of working from home. A year in which I made up the daily 10k steps solely with trips from the workroom to the kitchen and lockdown snaccidenting. So, in an effort to support the woman at home, the husband ordered some lamb and set out to make a dry mutton varuval. He has become something of an expert in cooking meat South Indian style. However, over the course of the 2 hours he spent grinding various kinds of spices and leafy things, he ended up with a gravy version of what tasted like pepper mutton. Nonetheless, I could not have asked for a better lip smacking start to the diet. The drama around the vaccination appointments and hospital visits took up the rest of the day, and it was evening by the time everyone was declared jabbed and packed off home. The next day started off with our cook waking us up with a gentle knock on our door at six in the morning. I tumble out of bed to open the door but then wake up the husband to discuss the day’s meals with her. I would do it, but usually I end up under planning and make at least one of us go to bed hungry. So, he insists on waking up and having the talk. We have a very beneficial symbiotic relationship with her. She usually goads me to have more than just eggs for breakfast (she isn’t aware of what goes into my tummy post the breakfast, or for that matter how many breakfasts I have), reminds the husband that he had made her promise to not give him anything more than eggs and indulges the son with whatever he asks for provided he first eats what she makes.
This morning, she takes over the reins and steers the discussion towards not only using potato but also mixing it up with a host of other vegetables. To be honest, I have never been a fan of pav bhaji. For one, I am wary of dishes where everything has to be smushed together. Are the vegetables too ashamed to be seen with each other? Why do they have to be made unrecognizable? Also, is it legal to have chat items in any other setting apart from the one where you are standing next to a cart in the middle of the street? But, decisions were made before I made it to the kitchen with a clean face and a clear head. The bhaji was ready and a dozen pavs were already ordered. Much later in the day, when the fingers were thoroughly licked and the bub asked for a second helping of the bhaji and rated it a 10, we realised that we had accidentally cooked our dish, ate it and didn’t photograph it. We had ended up making pav bhaji and pepper mutton in place of our specials. Do I regret that I have no photographs as proof? Yes. Am I tired of photographing the same pots and pans, on the same wooden table? Also yes. Do I need to upgrade to some respectable cutlery in the house? Strong yes. Am I ready to pause consumption, carry my plate of food into the balcony and take a fancy food shot with the foliage of DRDO and the construction dust of the new upcoming block as a background? No. And that, dear people, is how matters stand as of week 10, in the year of the cook.
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Aishwarya KalakataThe loss of and search for individualism has never been felt more acutely. Everything changed after I had a kid. But this blog is not about me being a mom. It’s about the things I do when I want to stop being a mom. It’s about telling myself that it is possible and that it is ok. It’s about my little escapades. Mostly travel - sometimes physical, sometimes mental. A desperate bid to stop my identity from being rolled into a single word. CategoriesArchives
March 2021
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