When I was growing up, I was disinterested in cooking and even food in general. I was a scrawny little 95 pound weakling whose clothes did not fit very well.
The movie "Bend It Like Beckham" could be my autobiography.
Ironically, I got married into a family to whom food was everything. They could sit around reminiscing about a biriani they ate decades ago like most people would remember a sunset or a beloved friend. It was like being in a family of gourmet chefs. All the ladies had taken some kind of formal training in traditional Hyderabadi cuisine. Also, it wasn't just WHAT you cooked, it was also which dish went with what- God forbid that you should make dal with khorma- that sort of thing- that would be sacreligious.
Then came me.
I had grown up in a loving family- some may say spoiled. If I so much as a boiled an egg, I would be praised for my culinary prowess. My mother had always worked outside the home so "planning meals for the week" meant Mum would come home exhausted around 5 pm. She would go into the kitchen, find defrosted meat, throw it onto the stove and emerge an hour or so later with some wonderful salan. She always told me "Eat to live, don't live to eat!" I grew up believing food was fuel but attached little more importance than that to it. I appreciated my mother's casual attitude towards the chore and, like any child, believed her cooking was the best in the world- still do to this day.
When I found out I would be moving to America after marriage, I hurriedly learned a few dishes and felt that I had perfected lamb haleem and palak goshth. I thought I would probably pick up the rest, instinctively. Picture the scene at Heathrow Airport when I was going off to start my new married life. My mother was dictating a recipe for Khutti Daal which I feverishly scribbled down on the back of my itinerary while the announcement "Final Call for San Francisco" was blaring in the background.
Thankfully, I had my 13 years in California where I was free to burn dishes, ruin the evening dinner beyond recognition or make kheer that you could use as playdoh. These were the joyous newly wed years when you could laugh it all off while searching for a pizza coupon.
So when I used to come to Chicago, I was not ready to be the joke cook of the family! I think they were most forgiving of my lack of expertise though I did pick up on a few barbed remarks here and there. But it wasn't just limited to my in-laws, every single member of my extended family cooked like some kind of Iron Chef India. Pista Kulfis made from scratch, badaam ki jaalees that melt in your mouth, daalcha that you would sell your soul to taste.
So understandably, I built up a very negative relationship with cooking.
About 10 years into our marriage, my husband began to want to eat more vegetables. Since the Hyderabadi diet is practically meat-based, I hadn't a clue where to start. I was regionally-challenged. There was a vegetarian Indian cooking course that was being offered at De Anza college and we thought it would be fun to take it as a couple. But the children were still too young to be left alone so I said I would be the one to attend and come back and share what I learned.
I felt nervous on the first day of class. All the other students were upper middle class professional white Americans with very limited exposure to Indian food. What would they think of me? I had been cooking for over a decade, was as Indian as the Charminar but here I was taking a beginner's course. I hid at the back when it was time for introductions. I spied a lady in the front row. She was dressed in a pair of charcoal woollen slacks, a plum-colored kashmir sweater and a multi-colored designer scarf around her neck. She had just a subtle layer of make-up on and smiled broadly while introducing herself. I found out later, she was a successful lawyer.
"Hi everyone, I'm Laura and I LOVE Indian food. It's delicious. I cook it almost every other night of the week. Daals, sambars, dosas. I'm here just as an excuse to meet fellow Indian food enthusiasts"
Remember,this was 1998-years before it was hip to be Indian- a decade before you could buy sequinned kurthas at Macy's and light years before "Slumdog Millionnaire". I was intrigued at this lady's interest in what I considered a very un-cool cuisine and heritage.
Her exuberance calmed my fears and I emerged from the back row.
"Look- I was hoping to pass as a dark-skinned Egyptian but the truth is I'm hard-core Indian. I've been cooking Indian food most of my life but still don't know a squash from a squash racket coz Hyderabadis are carnivores. I need to find out how to cook a vegetable."
This speech endeared me to most of the other attendees and we all became good friends.
Apart from Laura, no one had cooked Indian food before so the instructor, Shalini, most patiently demonstrated the basics. I was happy that I had at least picked up SOMETHING over the years. In fact, I was over-joyed when to discover that I actually had a certain level of proficiency. After a couple of weeks, I was able to actually make gajar ka halwa (sweet carrot dessert) like I knew what I was doing. One day one of the students said they did not want to make pooris as they were deep-fried in a vat of oil. Shalini came over to me and whispered in a strong Gujerati accent:
"VOT did they think donuts vere made out of?????"
This "South-East-Asians-Unite-Over-our-Love-of-Grease" moment was fine bonding but other than that I learned a lot more from Laura than the instructor. It was just a treat to be around her and observe her antics. During one class she had made some very orange looking daal. She then poured some cream and created a swirl on it like that commercial for Campbells Tomato Soup. Laura was wearing a thin gold chain with a jewel-encrusted pendant that swung like a pendulum as she waved her arms around,. With one final flourish, she turned to us and proclaimed:
"You have to be at ONE with the daal!!!"
It was beyond enthusiasm, it was almost seduction.
Laura would come over to my table at the end of every class with a spoon and ask if she could taste some of the dishes I had prepared. She was always full of praise and then would show me some little trick with a sprig of celentro or a handful of ground pistachios to make the dish look more aesthetically pleasing. (Remember this was also before "Food Network" or "Ace of Cakes" so the idea of food as an art form was still novel) Laura was clearly highly skilled and experienced but her attitude was not patronizing. She simply wanted us to share her passion.
Slowly, I began seeing cooking in a totally different light. It could be exciting, imaginative and above all delicious. You could bring joy to others with your creations as I discovered when I took the dishes home to an ecstatic husband and contented children. It no longer had to be a chore.
Shalini had taken our registration and our $65 but I think Laura was the one who awakened the Julia Child in me.
Well now Laura also had a borderline obsession with a Pakistani fusion restaurant in Mountain View called Amber.
Every week she suggested that we meet up there one day but we were all busy people and brushed her off.
"You're making a mistake, Amber is amazing, we can all meet for lunch one day"
"We have full time jobs" explained Chris, an accountant.
"We can go in the evening" Laura returned.
"Er, we have young children" I piped up
"Get a baby-sitter" Laura snapped back- "Amber is worth it!"
She made one last attempt:- "What about Sunday brunch?"
Chris, who was actually an atheist, replied (as a joke because most Californians are not really church-going folks) "Well that's the time we go to Church!
Laura just stood there, pastry brush in hand, and uttered the following immortal words:
"There are MANY forms of worship. Amber happens to be mine"
I almost fell over from laughing so hard! Sigh. What a California Nut.
The movie "Bend It Like Beckham" could be my autobiography.
Ironically, I got married into a family to whom food was everything. They could sit around reminiscing about a biriani they ate decades ago like most people would remember a sunset or a beloved friend. It was like being in a family of gourmet chefs. All the ladies had taken some kind of formal training in traditional Hyderabadi cuisine. Also, it wasn't just WHAT you cooked, it was also which dish went with what- God forbid that you should make dal with khorma- that sort of thing- that would be sacreligious.
Then came me.
I had grown up in a loving family- some may say spoiled. If I so much as a boiled an egg, I would be praised for my culinary prowess. My mother had always worked outside the home so "planning meals for the week" meant Mum would come home exhausted around 5 pm. She would go into the kitchen, find defrosted meat, throw it onto the stove and emerge an hour or so later with some wonderful salan. She always told me "Eat to live, don't live to eat!" I grew up believing food was fuel but attached little more importance than that to it. I appreciated my mother's casual attitude towards the chore and, like any child, believed her cooking was the best in the world- still do to this day.
When I found out I would be moving to America after marriage, I hurriedly learned a few dishes and felt that I had perfected lamb haleem and palak goshth. I thought I would probably pick up the rest, instinctively. Picture the scene at Heathrow Airport when I was going off to start my new married life. My mother was dictating a recipe for Khutti Daal which I feverishly scribbled down on the back of my itinerary while the announcement "Final Call for San Francisco" was blaring in the background.
Thankfully, I had my 13 years in California where I was free to burn dishes, ruin the evening dinner beyond recognition or make kheer that you could use as playdoh. These were the joyous newly wed years when you could laugh it all off while searching for a pizza coupon.
So when I used to come to Chicago, I was not ready to be the joke cook of the family! I think they were most forgiving of my lack of expertise though I did pick up on a few barbed remarks here and there. But it wasn't just limited to my in-laws, every single member of my extended family cooked like some kind of Iron Chef India. Pista Kulfis made from scratch, badaam ki jaalees that melt in your mouth, daalcha that you would sell your soul to taste.
So understandably, I built up a very negative relationship with cooking.
About 10 years into our marriage, my husband began to want to eat more vegetables. Since the Hyderabadi diet is practically meat-based, I hadn't a clue where to start. I was regionally-challenged. There was a vegetarian Indian cooking course that was being offered at De Anza college and we thought it would be fun to take it as a couple. But the children were still too young to be left alone so I said I would be the one to attend and come back and share what I learned.
I felt nervous on the first day of class. All the other students were upper middle class professional white Americans with very limited exposure to Indian food. What would they think of me? I had been cooking for over a decade, was as Indian as the Charminar but here I was taking a beginner's course. I hid at the back when it was time for introductions. I spied a lady in the front row. She was dressed in a pair of charcoal woollen slacks, a plum-colored kashmir sweater and a multi-colored designer scarf around her neck. She had just a subtle layer of make-up on and smiled broadly while introducing herself. I found out later, she was a successful lawyer.
"Hi everyone, I'm Laura and I LOVE Indian food. It's delicious. I cook it almost every other night of the week. Daals, sambars, dosas. I'm here just as an excuse to meet fellow Indian food enthusiasts"
Remember,this was 1998-years before it was hip to be Indian- a decade before you could buy sequinned kurthas at Macy's and light years before "Slumdog Millionnaire". I was intrigued at this lady's interest in what I considered a very un-cool cuisine and heritage.
Her exuberance calmed my fears and I emerged from the back row.
"Look- I was hoping to pass as a dark-skinned Egyptian but the truth is I'm hard-core Indian. I've been cooking Indian food most of my life but still don't know a squash from a squash racket coz Hyderabadis are carnivores. I need to find out how to cook a vegetable."
This speech endeared me to most of the other attendees and we all became good friends.
Apart from Laura, no one had cooked Indian food before so the instructor, Shalini, most patiently demonstrated the basics. I was happy that I had at least picked up SOMETHING over the years. In fact, I was over-joyed when to discover that I actually had a certain level of proficiency. After a couple of weeks, I was able to actually make gajar ka halwa (sweet carrot dessert) like I knew what I was doing. One day one of the students said they did not want to make pooris as they were deep-fried in a vat of oil. Shalini came over to me and whispered in a strong Gujerati accent:
"VOT did they think donuts vere made out of?????"
This "South-East-Asians-Unite-Over-our-Love-of-Grease" moment was fine bonding but other than that I learned a lot more from Laura than the instructor. It was just a treat to be around her and observe her antics. During one class she had made some very orange looking daal. She then poured some cream and created a swirl on it like that commercial for Campbells Tomato Soup. Laura was wearing a thin gold chain with a jewel-encrusted pendant that swung like a pendulum as she waved her arms around,. With one final flourish, she turned to us and proclaimed:
"You have to be at ONE with the daal!!!"
It was beyond enthusiasm, it was almost seduction.
Laura would come over to my table at the end of every class with a spoon and ask if she could taste some of the dishes I had prepared. She was always full of praise and then would show me some little trick with a sprig of celentro or a handful of ground pistachios to make the dish look more aesthetically pleasing. (Remember this was also before "Food Network" or "Ace of Cakes" so the idea of food as an art form was still novel) Laura was clearly highly skilled and experienced but her attitude was not patronizing. She simply wanted us to share her passion.
Slowly, I began seeing cooking in a totally different light. It could be exciting, imaginative and above all delicious. You could bring joy to others with your creations as I discovered when I took the dishes home to an ecstatic husband and contented children. It no longer had to be a chore.
Shalini had taken our registration and our $65 but I think Laura was the one who awakened the Julia Child in me.
Well now Laura also had a borderline obsession with a Pakistani fusion restaurant in Mountain View called Amber.
Every week she suggested that we meet up there one day but we were all busy people and brushed her off.
"You're making a mistake, Amber is amazing, we can all meet for lunch one day"
"We have full time jobs" explained Chris, an accountant.
"We can go in the evening" Laura returned.
"Er, we have young children" I piped up
"Get a baby-sitter" Laura snapped back- "Amber is worth it!"
She made one last attempt:- "What about Sunday brunch?"
Chris, who was actually an atheist, replied (as a joke because most Californians are not really church-going folks) "Well that's the time we go to Church!
Laura just stood there, pastry brush in hand, and uttered the following immortal words:
"There are MANY forms of worship. Amber happens to be mine"
I almost fell over from laughing so hard! Sigh. What a California Nut.
2 comments:
Worth the wait, but you always leave us wanting more (like Chinese cuisine)! Bravo Chef de la Pen!
Now when can I invite myself over to dinner?
"Vot did they think donuts vere made out of?" Priceless!
When you cannot be a perfect cook- opt to be a writer :)
Brilliant! Expressive! Evocative! More!!!
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