A man once married, no matter for how long, days, weeks months or years, will always reminiscence his “good old days” of freedom. And indeed food is one of the items that is quiet central in the themes discussed. I remember that my dad still fondly talks about the early days in Mumbai, when he had just a handful of utensils, which did not limit him to experiment his culinary skills. His claims to cook one the best minced meat, aka kheema, are validated by all family and friends. These meals were cooked on the weekends when his friends would visit him, happily carrying in beer as a barter for the feast he could cook. Of course, with the entry of the better half, the kitchen was more arranged and with the time the lunches with friends were far and few before none, and were more with family and luckily for him the new generation were meat eaters, unlike his wife and most of her family.
My early memories take me to my high school and junior college, when I could and can still make the best tea at home and of course some really nice eggs to go with the perfect piece of toasted loaf. Did not venture beyond this, or rather never had the need or want to do that ever. Yes I must add that given the batter paste, I could come up with some really nice Dosas.
My cooking experiments have been more recent, and took serious roots when I joined Cambridge at Bangalore. That was the first place where on the weekends I would come with up Upma and Poha for friends.
Then the real test was when I landed in the UK for my longest stay. From the experience of my earlier stay in the UK, I was quiet comfortable that I could survive on the local stuff and would not need to cook much. Yes should add that I am a vegetarian by choice for the last two decades. The first few days were brave, in the cold January, English tea with the namkeen that my mother had managed to smuggle into my bag unknowingly, and thank God for that. With a few pots and a kettle that we had been provided in my studio room, I used to sauté some mushrooms each day, several times and eat them. One fine morning as I woke up, I found my Guajarati, pure veg, roommate unpacking a few things into the kitchen section. I was happy. I could already smell pickles, and savories that his mother had packed for him. Early days, so concept of sharing and the cost of sharing were still to be discussed, so I quietly got up and got ready to prepare tea. To my joy, he got my attention by saying, “ Look at all that mom has given”. My eyes lit at the fare that was on the table and in the shelf. I also noticed that there were small packets of spices and condiments and a pressure cooker. I joyfully asked him if he cooked and knew how to operate the pressure cooker, which I could not. His negative response forced my half smile to disappear.
A few days went past, and I realized my resolve of surviving on the last packet of namkeen I had, and the local loaf and cheese won’t get me far. So off I was to the local store and picked a packet of potatoes , onions and tomatoes. I reached my room, and began visualizing my mom in the kitchen, and the dishes she cooked. My mouth watered as I could visualize and smell the potato gravy she cooks, and I began using my tastes buds which were salivating like a dog looking at a chocolate. And with that taste I deciphered, I needed salt, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, ginger, garlic etc. Most I had in some form or the other, and a few I did not. So got to chopping the potatoes , the onions. Realizing that I had no oil, I used the butter and was made aware of the small things that we take for granted at times. Anyhow, realizing I am making something got the attention of my room mate, who in a split second offered the spices etc that he had, to be used. With my ego intact, I accepted his offer and added a few of this and that. It did turn out to be pretty good I would say, and as we sat across our multi utility table, we were able to put up a roommates code of conduct, and how finances etc would be managed.
Must say that it was that day and the present that I have enough stories to share and keep everyones attention, but somehow with the “better half” now in the picture, I am reduced to simply appreciating what is cooked and not allowed to critique anything served. Yes, on weekends I can wear the apron, not literally, and still get back in time when I was the king of the kitchen!!
