My wife with a ear to ear grin, daughter & daughter in law ,in tow, with smug faces followed by my son sporting a half-grin, trooped in front of me. The moment I saw them, I sensed trouble. As I finished my coffee, they announced in unison that I have to cook the meal on that Sunday.
Fearing that I would somehow wriggle out of the assignment, they had secretly planned to go visiting with relatives and come back in time, for lunch.
Before leaving, my wife said, “You have managed earlier with the children and I know it will be a child’s play now.” Instead of boosting up my ego, this statement tersely held out an admonition “do or else! I mentally cursed the relatives for not hosting lunch for the visitors. I did not understand how my son became a party to the plan.
I had a sinking feeling that my wife of 30 + years had finally succeeded in cornering me into the confined space of our kitchen. Except the water tap, sugar and Instant coffee powder, the kitchen shelves were unfamiliar terrain like Alaska or Siberia – Cold and forbidding. I could vaguely recollect the vegetable tray and the storage area for milk and curd, in the fridge.
I started to recriminate, for having brought this culinary mess (test) up on myself. Had I kept my tongue and taste buds in check, it would have been fine – a realisation after 30+years. To bolster my shaking confidence, I reminisced about the times my wife had to go out of station leaving the children and how I tried my hands in preparing break fast, lunch and dinner.
To endear myself to the taste buds of the children, I dreamed up exotic breakfast items like Ariel -Mixed vegetable upproma, King Lear -Tidly, Lady Macbeth – steamed vermicelli and Caesar –sandwchadai.
It turned out at the end, that I exhibited more Shakespearian leaning than culinary skills. Not to be out done they chose Bernard Shaw type barbs - an apron does not maketh a chef; taste buds are not test buds; burnt up sponge and shells are not veggie breakfast.
Stung by their barbs, I stuck to the beaten path for L & D - cooking plain rice, making onion-potato curry and preparing ‘dal’ and tomato rasam. The hand- on experience in the kitchen proved disastrous and difficult, by the hour. The cooked rice was either in solidified form or free flowing or rice grains standing alone from each other.
After seeing the cooked rice my son and daughter nicely summed it up, “Pa, we have never heard of any one cooking varieties in plain rice!” Thank god they forgot to include the ‘dal’ also in their summing up which also suffered the same fate at my hands. Regarding the onion-potato curry, the duo said, “What a killer combination?”.
The curry was either too ‘hot’ or salty. The rasam I prepared was so non-descript, it failed to earn any sobriquet. It merely mimicked the potato-onion curry and with varying taste. At this point, running out of phrases the duo kept mum, silently praying for their mother’s return.
Even this variety preparation needed a wake-up alarm, children’s assistance and the best part of two to three hours. I never estimated that it will take so long for these non-palatable dishes to be made. My wife did everything under 30 to 40 minutes and at the end of meal, the preparations were totally consumed. My preparations, on the other hand, were replenishing themselves like from an akshaya patra.
To make them to gobble up the unappetizing food, I employed a few tricks. The first of the tricks was to constantly drill in to their conscious and subconscious mind that simple food is a healthy food- including my varieties in plain rice. The second was to force feed them. To divert their attention from the culinary disaster on the plate, I regaled them with imaginary stories mixing myth and science.
Once I tried to include some morals in the story and they promptly clammed their mouths shut. I reverted to myth and science to keep the mouths moving. I had to treble my efforts- cooking, inventing stories and force feeding them to keep the show going. I too started to pray for the early return of my wife!
This down the memory lane reminiscing was of no help now and I resolved to get going, shuddering at the unfamiliar work and afraid to look at the clock face . Gathering up whatever courage I could gather, I decided on two things – free-style (my style) cooking and to surprise their taste buds even if it involved moving heaven and earth. If one has to fall from a height, better inform your fragile bones in advance – is my adage!
I earnestly started drafting an exotic (outlandish) menu in my mind and set in motion the culminating activities one by one. I even had a moment to burst out laughing and imagined the stunned look, I hoped to see on the faces of my clan.
Enthusiastically, I filled the cooker with enough water to float a super tanker. Washed rice, potato in their jackets and toor dal went in- in separate containers. The first surprise I got was the cooker – it spewed steam and water from the sides, under the lid. A wrong sized rubber gasket and my forgetfulness causing a near mishap. The three-whistle signal came after an enormous time delay – the gas cylinder was working over time to convert an ocean of water in to steam!
Lucky, it did not give up on me and Robert Stephenson was not alive to file a patent infringement suit for copying his steam machine.
After readying the ingredients for my sure-shot ‘rasam’, I focused my attention towards the ‘special’ kheer I had fashioned with cereals, rava, veggies, sugar and milk – a navaras kheer ( a piece de résistance). To add flavour and appeal, I included dried saffron in to the kheer, at the end. Satisfied with the aroma and look, I transferred the kheer and sent it inside the cooler to get acclimatized.
I paused, briefly to enjoy a cup of coffee to keep me going the last miles towards culinary glory. The ingredients for my sure-shot rasam, toor dal, pepper, jeera, tamarind syrup, mustard seeds and ingua were eagerly awaiting their turn. As mid course correction, added a little chilli powder, a few red chillies and generous helping of curry leaves to garnish and confuse.
The product smelled good, inflating my self confidence to take up the potato-onion combine as the next item on the menu.
Just as I was peeling the potatoes, the house wife from next door dropped in. Coming to know that my wife had gone out, she left saying, “Hmmm. heavenly aroma from the kitchen. What are you cooking? At that moment I felt like climbing the snow capped Himalayas on one leg.
With euphoria playing in the mind, I was liberal in adding oil, ingua powder and mustard seeds. It just happened unintentionally. To cover up the mistake, I did quite a repairing work (quick fix solutions) with a sprinkling of rice powder, adjusting the quantity of chilli powder etc. . In this confusion the onions joined the potatoes in the frying pan a little too late.
A little unnerved by this quick -fix episode, I started to make chutney with warmed Bengal gram dal, soaked toor dal, red chilli, and a ball of tamarind, deciding to add the salt at an appropriate time. The granite stone slab and its cylindrical companion were as nervous as me – they kept on shifting positions making it difficult for me to get the rhythm of ‘wet grinding’ the chutney to the right consistency. Cajoling and coaxing them for cooperation, somehow managed to finish the chutney.
It looked alright (consistency) but not that alright (appearance). But anyway it was a done deal.
To cover up the commissions & omissions, I placed a handmade menu card on the dining table .My daughter was the first to notice it – she has an eye for anything that is out of sync
.
The clan walked in at around 1230 pm looking famished. I led them, like a maître de hotel, straight away to the dining table. I had opted to be the chef and server for the simple reason that our dining table seats only four. Serving the unique courses, I expectantly waited for someone to ask for another helping. It was not to be and the lunch was completed in total silence, without any tell tale signs on their faces. I started to scratch my head, through the hastily fashioned paper chef cap, thinking what might have gone wrong. It took a long time before the results (like our election commission) were announced –
“From the top, middle and bottom the rasam had different tastes. How you managed it - a three in one!
“The chutney reminded me of a cattle munching cud!”
“The onion-potato curry, though looked like a jelly, is fit for use in place of glycerine in cinemas!”
“The kheer was excellent, but tasted like a 50:50 mix of vegetable soup and kheer”
I am not revealing the identity of the persons who made these forgettable quotes.
Low down in spirits, I slept off the whole afternoon. Little did I expect to see the same troop standing in front of me once again! They gave me just 15 minutes to get dressed up. Wondering what was going to befall me now at 7 ‘ 0’ clock in the evening, I got ready without even looking at the mirror – had no guts to see my own failure blackened face. Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked where we are going?
The stunning reply I got was ‘to a decent hotel for dinner’. My wife added “You will pay for it”
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