walk a-musing

Friday, September 19, 2008

Down Recipe Lane

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I recently bought an old book "Eastern vegetarian cooking" by Madhur Jaffrey, in our charity book shop. It has vegetarian recipes from many Southeast Asian countries where, as is well known, it is extremely difficult to find vegetarian food.

What I found really cute about the book were the names of some of the recipes: Kamal's SWEET TOMATO CHUTNEY, Alun's CACIK (Cold Yoghurt Soup in Turkish Style), Mrs Wawo-Runtu's NASI KUNING, Yien-Koo's SPINACH WITH FERMENTED BEAN CURD. Obviously these are the people who taught her those recipes, and she has acknowledged their help in the correct place. It delighted me all the more because I do exactly the same in my recipe book at home.

My beloved sister V who knew about my culinary abilities, set about writing a recipe book for me when I decided to get married and leave home. She bought a 400(!) page book which she divided into many sections - soups, rotis, roti accompaniments, rice preparations, rice accompaniments, sweets,and so on and started to fill them with old family recipes as well as new favourites in her neat handwriting. After the wedding she presented the book to me and advised me to add any new ones I learned along the way.

And I did. Now my book is somewhat worn and contains hundreds of recipes and more importantly, many memories from my culinary journey. The ones in my handwriting have names like Chikkamma's Hitakavare, Prabhu's Kootu, Vijaya Athe's Mavinakayi Chitranna, Anupama's Sindhi khadi, Album Aunty's Bagara Baingan, and so on. When I read the names I am transported back to the time when I first tasted that dish, and where we were sitting as this friend or relative told me how to make it. Sometimes it is the memory of making the dish the first time. Like when I made the Suji Halwa for visiting friends and the milk curdled so that I had to run to the shop to get more. Or when I made the cabbage Pulav for guests and it turned out to be so lumpy. Or when I made the sweet Pongal and my aunt - famous for her absolutely delicious cooking - tasted it and turned to the others and said "After all she is my niece!"

There are some recipes in other hand writings too. Shubha telling me how to make the perfect Methi Thepla, Veena teaching me to make a special Stuffed Bhindi. There is one recipe for a Tomato Chutney in my niece's childish handwriting written as my sister B dictated, which always makes me giggle. My ever mischievous sister has given me minute instructions such as to throw the skin of the tomato into the dustbin and not leave it lying around.

They say perfumes bring back memories. Music does. Photos definitely do. For me, in addition to all these, there is my recipe book.

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Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Let A Girl Overtake Me? No Way!!

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When I was in college I had a bicycle (Yes, back then, college girls didnt zoom around on Kinetic Hondas :)). I loved my cycle. It was my proudest possession. My brother bought it for me soon after he got his first job and from the day it arrived, I was a willing messenger, letter 'poster', money 'withdrawer', shopper.....in general, a great errand girl for my parents. Our family friends, who lived five houses away joked that I took the cycle out even when I had to visit them. I just didnt understand what was so funny about it!

Once I hopped on to the cycle, I hated getting off till I reached the destination. I rode it through traffic, through flocks of sheep, through the rain, and up steep inclines till I got where I wanted.

On the way to college there was a long road that went uphill, became really steep along one stretch, till at some point it levelled out. Most riders, young and old, male and female, got off at that steep incline and pushed their cycles up till they reached the flat road. I was loathe to get off even here.I started pedalling fast a little early so that I gathered a bit of momentum which helped me ride up the hill without any major effort.

Gradually over the days I made a very interesting observation. Whenever I overtook a male rider who was pushing his bike up the incline, I could be sure that within a few seconds, he would be up on the bike and overtake me. The girls didnt seem to care. If they decided to push the cycle rather than ride it, they continued to push it irrespective of who rode past them. This became a game for me. Whenever I saw a male rider ahead of me struggling up the hill, an evil grin would form itself in my head, I would pedal fast, overtake, and start counting. One, two, three, four...... Without fail, hundred percent of the time, before I counted ten he was past me. The younger the poor devil, the earlier he had to hop on to the bike. Such entertainment it provided me, back then!!

Ohhh, the Vanity of Men!!
:)))))))))))))))))

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