This is a late post. It’s been 6 weeks now since we’ve cooked anything special at home or written about it. With everything going on around us, I just didn’t feel like cracking jokes, or looking for the funny side of life. A couple of days ago, a friend messaged, checking in on us. After we spoke about the absolute horror that is the world today, he said I have to keep writing; for him it was something to look forward to. Incidentally, on the same day, I also finished reading this book called A gentleman in Moscow. I don’t remember reading anything that so beautifully wove the awesomeness of the human spirit into a story. In the end, we all have to do what we are meant to do, what we naturally lean towards. In whatever way possible, and under whatever circumstances. And so, I opened this draft that I had abandoned all those weeks ago, with a resolve to get back to writing. Bear with me while I find my voice. Ever since we started on our cooking spree, Gawd (as the mister is referred to due to his ubiquitous nature) has been quite keen to feed diverse sets of people and bask in their praise. He particularly wanted to impress this couple who are known to experiment with very fancy stuff. The last time we were invited to their place, they fed us black rice biryani. It was the final frontier. Unfortunately, every time we made plans with them, we ended up canceling, for some or the other of life's mundane tasks came in the way. We had invited them over on the weekend of the Duck confit. But that did not materialise. This weekend, they called us and said they were quite tired of waiting for Gawd to cook, so they are taking things into their own hands and making some Miso glazed Fish. And we were welcome to join them. We gladly agreed. We made a trip to the in laws’, and had just finished a very satisfying meal of dal and potato for lunch, when they called us to ask if they could meet at our place instead. Not wanting to make a habit of canceling, and always happy to have guests over, we shook on plan B. They were getting the fish and we agreed we were just gonna order in the rest of the meal. I start rummaging the bar shelf to check what needs to be topped up. I notice my comments go unanswered and turn around to find Gawd ordering ingredients to make Mutton Varuval. With two hours to go, I tell him making an elaborate meal is out of the question. By now you already know, he doesn’t agree with most things I say. After much fight over who orders what and who cooks what, he finally relents and says he’s gonna make his go-to dessert even if he doesn’t make the full meal. Which, for the uninitiated, is the Tiramisu. Yes, he’s become that suave. We place orders for the ladyfinger biscuits (I’d draw the reader's attention to the post on said biscuits) and cream. This time around, he doesn't pull off all the peaks quite as prescribed. We order 3 different kinds of cream, and finally get one right. The recipe says we have to chill it overnight. Gawd scoffs at such recommendations. We’ll see, he says. The friends arrive with their fish and shove it into the oven. It looked glazed alright! It also smelt like what one would assume miso to smell like. Apparently it’s been marinating for over 24 hours. Meat appreciates patience. The fish comes out just perfect. And surprisingly, the tiramisu comes out great as well. We polish off a full bowl of it and stow away the other for later. The next day, the beneficiaries of the Duck Confit from the previous weekend call us home for some prawns and pork. Mangalorean pork and batter fried prawns they say, to lure us. This weekend was turning out to be all kinds of awesome. We postpone all other plans we have, and ask the son to get ready.
He says yes, but goes into the bathroom and starts his usual shower routine. Which is where, every time we peep in to ask if he is done, we find him holding the water wiper in a different position and singing into it, in what I can only imagine is his rehearsal for the Grammy’s performance. Anyhow, we pull him out, deposit him into a set of clothes and rush off, following the smell of prawns being doused in batter and dropped into the bubbling pan of oil. The softest pork with rice and the fried-est prawns with beer make for an excellent Saturday afternoon. We remember the remaining tiramisu stashed in our fridge. Taking advantage of living next door, we rush to get the casserole. This tiramisu was doused in coffee and dark rum. That meant we didn’t have to share it with the kids. Always a bonus. We sit around the table and finish it off in one go. Gawd’s balance of the universe is restored with all the praise showered on him. The end to my first draft read, “I hope we get to do this more often. Freeriding on other people’s kitchens.” That was probably the last time we visited anyone or had anyone visit us. The house definitely gets smaller when there are fewer comings and goings.
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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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