As I set out to write this one, I realise that a lot has happened in the time that has passed; I have moved steadily from a new-wife-in-the-kitchen, to a more seasoned and calm partner who is comfortable in experimenting and sharing the load. The past few weeks have seen me in and out of the kitchen, trying the old and the new, getting quicker at the processes that used to take ages, and feeling more at ease with ingredients that used to scare me. And all of this, with a heightened sense of peace for soul, that creating good food always brings! So while the Ricky Martin song (Mambo Number Five, of course) plays through my head, here's an ode to the 'little bit of everything', rain and sun included, that has gone on in my lovely little abode.
Cheese; it's a breeze!
There were times when we had to plan a week in advance, if we wanted to make a simple pasta. It would include 'cooking' in my mind, the different ways I would do it, the ingredients I would use, and then it involved a trip to the store with the list on paper. If that was not enough, we would have had to clear our entire evening to do this, since it seemed to be a really complicated process! But now, things have changed and time has been kind. So when my husband announced one evening that cheese pasta would be nice for dinner, I was the knight on the white horse, swooping in to serve the final dish on the plate. I was up for the challenge, got right down to it, and surprised myself at the ease with which I could create everything out of nothing, grinning all the while at my spiked learning curve. And before I knew it, the pasta was boiling away, the white sauce turned out perfectly and the right amount of cheese went in, melting beautifully into the sauce. The chicken thawed just in time to saute with spinach before adding into the pasta pot.
I had in front me, a simmering pan left on the flame to cook, of all things good. It was simple and easy, and a treat to the palette. And more than anything else, it gave me a huge confidence boost, put a smile on my face with the toss of my head, that I had finally mastered this after my many attempts at perfection. All the sweat and time put into making pasta in the past, now resulted in a seamless process, where I was breezing through the motions. And as we settled down to eat this with some good ol' TV, we relished the priceless joys that come with everything just right.
Taking a pungent hit
So with this attitude of I can conquer the world, I went about the following days, trying to whip something together in the little time I had, planning well enough to give me time to relax. However, pride goes before a fall, and it took some hard learning for me to understand that things do not always go right. And thus came the tale of my disastrous date with orange chicken, a dish that I was in the throes of my second attempt at perfection.
My husband was away for a few days, and I had already stocked up on ingredients to make orange chicken. I had the day to myself, a lot of time to use productively, and it was a natural decision to just go for it. Preserving the sanctity of the moment, I went into zen mode, determined to enjoy the process. And I certainly did, especially since I was not a rookie at this now, and the ingredients were all there with me on the counter, ready to go in and use as I pleased. As I went about with more corn flour this time as compared to the last, I was sure that this would turn out well. My instincts told me to stick to just garlic, and to skip the ginger, and I usually go with the gut. But this time around, I had a ready ginger-garlic-paste in my fridge - so it was quite a no-brainer, since my aim was to enjoy the peace, not sweat it out. I squeezed out the paste straight into the pan, a little aghast at the amount that accidentally came out. But I told myself that this would be fine, since the orange and soy flavour would overpower this slight of hand. And from previous experience, I knew that the dish on the whole tasted quite different from the individual ingredients that went it.
I went ahead with the rest of it, feeling quite content at the layer of brown that the chicken had obtained while deep frying. Since this was my first time with the corn flour slurry, I was pleased to see the sauce thicken, a great consistency to work with. And after a teaspoon of hoisin sauce (again, notes from experience to limit the quantity), I tossed all of it like an expert. I resorted to my usual move of sniffing the aroma to check for flavour, and that is when my heart dropped to my stomach. The entire thing smelled pretty funny, as though something went terribly wrong. I loaded the spatula with trembling hands, to taste the possible mistake. And then it hit me, as pungent as it could - I had put in too much ginger! I went through moments of disbelief and shame, all the while tasting to ensure that this was really happening. I immediately took measures to correct this - more honey, a good measure of brown sugar, more orange! With the panicked solutions, it was starting to taste better, and thank God for that. Fast forward a couple of minutes more, and it was time to sprinkle the sesame seeds and wait for the moment of final truth. And well, it wasn't that bad eventually. In fact, it was quite a surprise (save the ginger) that the dish turned out better than the last time. There would always be the truth behind the lies, that the bowl is too pungent, but each time I ate it further to that moment, it seemed to get better. Maybe it was not so bad, after all. But the lessons it taught me, I will never forget -
a) We are all human.
b) Pride always goes before a fall.
c) Your instinct is your spirit guide.
d) Precaution is better than cure (cure = more sugar).
e) If you don't watch out, the bite can be worse than the bark - and whatever I meant to say by that, let's just understand that the last thing you want is the pungent bite of ginger that tells you 'I told you so' long after you swallow the piece!
Two Different Cultures - A single plate of love
Ours is a love story that spans over a lifetime of good moments and happiness. Coming from two culturally varied backgrounds, with their own set of traditions, the differences have only added to that beautiful journey. One such area of interest is food (of course), where we love to experiment with each of our local cuisines. We always take pleasure in trying out new family recipes and our own dash of flavour. On Easter day, since we wanted to have tradition with a twist, we decided to create just that!
The famous 'kori roti' comes in packets, and stays fresh for long. I love the crisp wafer, often finding myself snacking on it all by itself. Similarly my husband loves the chicken curry I put together, all the spices of the region combined. So we decided to bring both these food cultures together for our Easter Dinner, shared over some good wine. Looking back, I am amazed at how well the cooking of it came together. While I took care to wash the chicken pieces, he chopped up the onions, sorted the garlic and ginger, and got the tomatoes ready to pulse. The masala paste was combined beautifully, and I remembered to pay attention to my instincts. I had the coconut milk getting to the right temperature on this side as I started the sauteing and mixing process, going by the book, but also following my heart. I got all of it in at the right time, slightly worried if the onions had enough sweat before I started the process, but nevertheless believing that this would be just fine.
The aroma that filled the kitchen once done was out of this world. It smelled just perfect, with the right amount of masala and coconut, neither overpowering nor bland. I was overjoyed that it was about to taste even better than it looked, and we enjoyed every drop of it. The combination with the wafer too was perfect, and we ate till we could no more. It was what we both wanted and needed; a journey to our roots and back to the present moment of happiness. Our first official Easter as a married couple, with something new to our customs; perhaps to form a tradition of our own in the years to come!
In the end ...
Yet another song resonates in my head now, as I wrap this up - quite a transition from Ricky Martin to Linkin Park, though! And I think of my own predicament in verse, as my mind drifts to heights of numb bliss.
The days have been eventful, and the gut satisfied,
But life moves on, with hardly enough time.
We are left with no choice but to drift with the tide,
And while my hours in the kitchen have made me wiser, in the end does it really matter?
I have no bucket list to cross off from,
I have no challenges to overcome.
My only take-aways are the waves of pleasures that accompany my little feats,
And this is what brings into my life, such peace.
Simplicity; a constant move towards minimal living and a healthy mind.
This is what my 'little bits' are made up of.
No Monica and Erica in my life,
No Sandra by the sun.
Whether it matters or not in the end,
I found a love, stronger than any love I've known -
A combined force of the pen, the cooking spoon, my husband and my heart.
And with this I continue to conquer, continue to strive,
Continue,
To be the happiest I have ever been all my life!
