The Tempest tossed: My trysts with cooks n cooking…
Sometimes you just have to do it,
Fortunately I always evaded doing it,
Those cumbersome chore-like, sweaty, smelly actions
Those permutations, combinations, and for some people letting loose emotions as well
Bah who needed it anyways?
But then one fine day, I did it. I actually cooked!
My bhindi pyaaza became like a sweltering oil plaza instead. What a pity, indeed!
My burnt citadels of bhindis that had so stoically stood when I bought them were razed to embers like those in a war town country.
Concerned and slightly zealous friends painstakingly gave me recipes with their worst-case scenarios, and a list of what-could-go-wrongs.
Each gave me their simplest versions of how a recipe so simple jus simply cannot go on. And I would jot down every uttering like my life depended on it. After all, it must be life learning how to drive a car or a cycle. No skill on earth can master me, but I will master all. This wasn’t my only tryst with cooking. Oh I’ve had a history of disasters, mind you. Somehow rice has always been a foe not ready to be mastered by and has given me grief and embarrassment to no end. Sample these starters:
>Once my rice was cooked in such a fashion that reduced my to tears. My response was a smirking nose.
>My khichdi has so much turmeric in it that the vessel acquired a nice little yellow forever and the rice also stiffened against this turmeric attack and became like dried up against me. Hadn’t Coldplay sang, "Everything I do, it was all yellow"
Oh only if he knew what he was singing.
>My dum aloo lost all its dum in a mélange of water. While the recipe book had a nice plate of steaming aloos all in military correctness with garnishings adorning them. Mine were only squishy-mushy. I believe that one should never have a dry state of affairs. Hence.
But nothing hurt as much as my favourite veggie bhindi joined forces against poor old moi. I almost had smoke out of my ears when I ate my hand made charred remains of what was to be Bhindi pyaaza. I never like it when onions become black as if indifferent to any kind of tempering. How dare they do that?
I embark on my tryst with cauliflower begins soon. Updates coming up….
Moral of the story: The taste of the pudding is never in the chef’s eating it!
Sometimes you just have to do it,
Fortunately I always evaded doing it,
Those cumbersome chore-like, sweaty, smelly actions
Those permutations, combinations, and for some people letting loose emotions as well
Bah who needed it anyways?
But then one fine day, I did it. I actually cooked!
My bhindi pyaaza became like a sweltering oil plaza instead. What a pity, indeed!
My burnt citadels of bhindis that had so stoically stood when I bought them were razed to embers like those in a war town country.
Concerned and slightly zealous friends painstakingly gave me recipes with their worst-case scenarios, and a list of what-could-go-wrongs.
Each gave me their simplest versions of how a recipe so simple jus simply cannot go on. And I would jot down every uttering like my life depended on it. After all, it must be life learning how to drive a car or a cycle. No skill on earth can master me, but I will master all. This wasn’t my only tryst with cooking. Oh I’ve had a history of disasters, mind you. Somehow rice has always been a foe not ready to be mastered by and has given me grief and embarrassment to no end. Sample these starters:
>Once my rice was cooked in such a fashion that reduced my to tears. My response was a smirking nose.
>My khichdi has so much turmeric in it that the vessel acquired a nice little yellow forever and the rice also stiffened against this turmeric attack and became like dried up against me. Hadn’t Coldplay sang, "Everything I do, it was all yellow"
Oh only if he knew what he was singing.
>My dum aloo lost all its dum in a mélange of water. While the recipe book had a nice plate of steaming aloos all in military correctness with garnishings adorning them. Mine were only squishy-mushy. I believe that one should never have a dry state of affairs. Hence.
But nothing hurt as much as my favourite veggie bhindi joined forces against poor old moi. I almost had smoke out of my ears when I ate my hand made charred remains of what was to be Bhindi pyaaza. I never like it when onions become black as if indifferent to any kind of tempering. How dare they do that?
I embark on my tryst with cauliflower begins soon. Updates coming up….
Moral of the story: The taste of the pudding is never in the chef’s eating it!
Comments
I remember my attempt at baking cake. It could have been used as a paper weight but it was too sweet for that :(
Anyway, out getaway planning is due. I have taken the first step...got a book on some good weekend getaways.
Love
Purva
After reading this, I have gone for intense soul searching as I was the one who gave Lux the bhindi piyaaz recipe and she pianstakingly took the recipe. And in the end landed up with charred bhindis... may be i am a bad teacher.. ha ha and as an epilogue to this story i must add that even cauliflower was semi-cooked. But I am not the person to call it quits.. will keep on motivating her till she turns the chef whom the neighbours would simply envy... did anybody utter 'Audacity of Hope..' i leave it there
love and cheers
Deepika
but plz b gracious enough to let us knw the next time u feel like cookin n inviting us on dinner.
cheers,
sats