How To Be A Morning Person - A Personal Experiment

Image Source: Thought Catalog

I am not a morning person. I wake up at about 7.45 am on a weekday and on weekends, well, let’s just say I don’t get to exchange morning greetings. Here’s why I am not a morning person. ‘Cos I usually wake up to a racing heart. Like I've already missed my morning bus. (Not that I have a bus to catch.) In my ideal world, the first fifteen minutes of the day would involve a sun salutation and morning kisses and a dramatic “It’s a new dawn” kind of curtain-sweep. This is what I tell myself every night when I resolve to reform my morning routine. In my actual world, I am swiping snooze about three times on my alarm and then addressing more alarming emergencies of my mind.

On a weekday, I wake up groggy with my left eye. That eye scrolls through social media while the right eye is deciding how to overpower the other with the ruse for a few more winks. A cursory look in the mirror. As expected, washed out.

And then my mind starts running.

“You know one of these days you should buy a night cream that elevates your morning look from toilet to passably regular. What are those funny kinks in your hair? Anyway, gotta get Saanvi to school. Yea, yea, she’s just in pre-school but school’s important. Must pack her a healthy snack. No, not another cheese sandwich. First, I need a strong brew of tea. But there’s no time for tea. And whatever happened to oil-pulling? Can I oil-pull at night? [Googles that.] Focus. You’re running late. Why hasn't the house-help showed up yet? Of course she’s not coming. What does she care? Only if you were more organized….Can I go back to sleep? Where are the bloody socks? One day, I'm going to have a meltdown cos of the damn socks! Sleep-deprived mum loses shit over a pair of socks. It’s possible. Why does she have to wear them anyway? Look at your cracked feet! You should wear socks at bed-time. Ooh you could get those cute kitty ones. Unlike her, YOU DO need socks. [Googles cat-print socks] Woman! You can do this later. We’re late. But why are you breathing so heavily? Is this a heart attack? [Types “Signs that you’re having…] Fuck no! You don’t have time for a heart attack!

And my mind goes on…

Some day, if I ever make it to the papers, they’re going to ask me for some wise morning routine advice. Sista, let me tell you now. I don’t have any. I still can’t tell when I should oil-pull or do stretches or take my vitamins. From the moment my day starts, all I deal with is fire-fighting level emergencies. Tiny details and chores that if missed, threaten to pull my day under.

And I realize that all I'm doing is getting through a normal day of a stay-at-home mum with some bits and scraps of writing jobs here and there. It’s not like I am managing multiple charities or feeding a million people, or saving dolphins or umm…fire-fighting. I talk fast. I eat faster. I don’t stop and chat thereby offending my neighbours. I am on the move even when I am at rest cos my mind’s either racing to the worst possible “What-ifs” or happy day-time fantasies that are entirely illusionary and have nothing to do with the present.

So you see the inside of my head is a confused battle-zone that doesn't quite know which side it’s on. As a close friend of mine once told me, “I'm my own worst enemy.”

When it gets too much, I escape to this fantasy involving a month long stay-cation. One fine day, I’ll hit the mountains alone in an idyllic cottage with just the right amount of people in the neighbourhood (I cannot handle being secluded) with enough money to survive, three changes of clothing, books and multiple bottles of shampoo and conditioner. There will be no wi-fi, no day commitments, no errands to run for others… I’ll write if I want. I’ll eat when I want. I’ll listen to music and go for long walks. I may even climb trees. I’ll clear my day of its mundaneness and reclaim whatever it is that is essential to being happy and in the moment.

But here’s the downer. I have no fuckin’ clue what makes me happy. I can pray for it all I want but I cannot define it.

I do know what makes me unhappy though. I guess it’s more or less the same things with everybody else.

• I don’t like being told what to do or how to feel. I like making my own mistakes and drawing up my own judgements and revoking them if needed.
• I don’t like nitty fault-pickings. Not just with me but with anybody.
• I don’t like worrying about everyday things like what to eat or drink or what to wear or how to impress someone.
• I don’t like feeling like I'm the only one going through the shit I go through. Cos I know for a fact that there are people who have it much worse.
• I don’t want to race to the top. I’d like the freedom to take my own time to get there. If at all.

So with that bit of wisdom unravelled, I thought I’d make some amends to my existing lifestyle. At best, it’s a personal experiment bordering on being a social one.

I
Skip the morning alarm (and snooze):

From tomorrow, which is a holiday here, and a perfect day to wake up to make-believe coffee from the hills of South America and smell the fuckin’ roses, I'm going to start my morning without being assisted by an alarm clock. Yea. You don’t need a godforsaken blaring alarm to remind you that you have a day ahead of you. Your body is enough for that. How does that make things better? Well, for one there’ll be no snoozing the alarm so you’re up the moment you open your eyes. Of course, I can’t go back to sleep, no matter what. I don’t know how this will pan out but we’ll see.

II
Find A Sleep Schedule

Which obviously means that at some point during the week, I’ll also figure that I need a somewhat consistently boring sleep schedule. I'm kind of a night owl cos my me-time begins after my daughter is safely lodged in her slumber land. So I won’t be forcing myself to go to bed early. But I won’t be stifling yawns to watch late night TV. Instead, I’ll read a slow-moving classic at bed-time cos I don’t want a gripping one to ambush my sleep-centre.

III
Stop With The Micro-Managing

My nerves may be jumpier than usual. So we need something for the nerves. The good ol’ letting the controls run loose. For the first few days, I’ll have no fixed human/super-human goals or food menu to achieve or errands to run. I’ll conquer the day as it comes. That can’t be good for the nerves you’d say? But I think there is a natural way to finding your rhythm and the first step to doing that is assuming you don’t have one. It can’t be from following the habits of most productive people cos well, everybody’s mind and body work differently. Sure, maybe I’ll figure that some things are not working or worlds are falling apart or I need more caffeine than usual.

IV
Control Caffeine Intake

Which brings me to the fourth part. There’ll be controlled caffeine consumption. What! I might as well give up on this whole bizarre Namaslay mumbo-jumbo, right? See with this death sentence right here, I don’t quite know if I'm going to make it through the week. But all I'm basing this on is some tenets of good living. I cannot, as a matter of habit, give up tea/coffee altogether. But I can get it down to two cups a day. The first cup of the day can be any time I choose but the second one will have to be before 6 pm. I could however flirt with other hot, sugarless pseudo-tea imposters in between meals like say cinnamon tea or lemon-grass tea or spearmint tea. (When I say tea, I mean hot water here.) I am more of a hot-beverage person so this may actually bail me out.

V
Eat And Hydrate

What will we be eating for the day? Anything at all we feel like along with the recommended eight-ten glasses of water. We’re more or less on the track of healthy eating already. We try to eat a balance of everything, including fruits. I don’t eat fried food. I don’t eat processed foods much. Serious. I don’t even like mayo or ketchup. I make my own dips and salad dressings and pasta sauces. Sometimes, I cheat with Maggi noodles but that is once in a blue moon when I don’t feel like cooking. I'm down to two small squares of chocolate in a day from wolfing down an entire bar. So I am leaving the pantry open for the sake of my sanity and with the blind faith that I don’t have an eating disorder... For the first few days, we won’t follow a set meal-schedule. I have a feeling we will arrive at the most optimal one in time.

VI.
Amp Up Exercises

Now, I'm assuming with all that, I should be able to gain back lost time to binge-watch the shows I've missed on Netflix or go on spontaneous dates with the hubby. Wishful thinking that. So what are we doing with the extra time? I'm going to try and amp up my exercise routine. Right now it’s about twenty minutes of yoga. So to that, there will be an added routine of moderate cardio and skipping. I’ll go slow and see if it makes me super-human any time soon — I’d settle for a smiler version of me. And I hope that the extra endorphins translate to more quality human interactions.

VII
No Gossip, no slander:

But socializing comes with its own cautionary levels of slandering and mean gossip and ill-founded comparing and spiralling into negatives. I have noticed that most of my conversations of late have revolved around that. As a result, my poetry is grim. So I'm introducing a curb. Whatever is going on in the head rarely translates into reality. Your worst fears have not yet happened. Your empty head is just killing time by drawing irrational conclusions. Unfortunately, I have no control over what happens in my head, only my words. So for this week, there will be no gossip or slander. No “He did what?” or “What was she wearing?” Unless it’s really gnawing at me from the inside and occupying all of my mind. I'm going to try and channel my free mind-space into creating something or discussing ideas or writing more poetry. I'm also going to try and explore the much-fussed about “good in everyone”.

I'm drinking my second cup of tea as I write this down. In between laying the table for breakfast and getting off the phone with an old friend. My mind is surprisingly still cos I have this seemingly genius plan to reset my mornings and my lifestyle. Everything seems perfect.

And yet, there’s a new dawn to dread, when it all really begins.

Stay with me to know how I made it through this week. And if at all, at the end of the road, I'm going to find a morning person :).

If you enjoyed reading this, please slam some motivational hearts back at me :).

XOXO
Shalini

The Day When Secret Stashes and Green Zombies Rose From The Graves

The eve of 8th November 2016 was a memorable one. As residents of India, wherever we all were, whether at a raving party or sitting quietly tucked under a rock chanting our way to the non-material, there came a turbulent wave of anxiety (of a very material nature) that shook us to our cores. I was at a dance class at that very moment sitting with four other ladies when one of us announced, "Ladies, check your Whatasapp. What is this announcement that Modiji has just made?" I looked at her a bit puzzled. Why would I check my Whatsapp for a political announcement? Well, that goes to show the power of word of mouth. As social media isn't quite immune to hoaxes and uncalled-for, nation-wide pranks, we instead turned to our wider LED screens to confirm.

Our grim-faced prime minister emerged on screen, dead-serious and unapologetic.

"Brothers and Sisters,

To break the grip of corruption and black money, we have decided that the 500 rupee and 1,000 rupee currency notes presently in use will no longer be legal tender from midnight tonight, that is 8th November 2016. This means that these notes will not be acceptable for transactions from midnight onwards."

Demonetisation was something I had read about in my textbooks years ago, on a dreary afternoon in an uninspiring Economics class. Is this really happening? Right here, right now? Am I witnessing history being made so dramatically that the roaring sound of it could be heard in every drawing-room, at chai-wala tapris and stock market rooms alike.

It felt unreal in the beginning.

But slowly began dull murmurs between us. Hushed-up calls were being made, secret congregations were happening in dingy, isolated hide-outs... Everyone had emerged from their houses to queue up at ATMs. People had stopped thinking straight. While standing in the ATM queue, a man asked my husband if he would trade an obscene, undisclosed amount of money for half its legit amount. It was hard to tell from his face if he was serious or joking.

The last four days have seen the urgent rise of pink-faced zombies and money stashes that could build lost civilizations from six-feet under. Wherever I walked, I saw people being worn down by a celestial spirit, the likes of Betal, wearing strings of 500-1000 currency notes around his neck, asking them the one stumping puzzle, "What will you do now? Pray tell." It was a question far-reaching and far from righteousness, but riddling nevertheless.

What had remained a murky mystery till now was out in the open. And I'm not even talking about black money here. No, I'm not talking about an irrational sum of corrupt money stashed away to evade taxes.  I am talking about the hard-saved secret "tijori" of women that had been cleverly hidden in kitchen jars, saree folders, lingerie and many other unimaginable safe havens and lockers that were hitherto unknown. "My husband gives me an allowance every week. I don't have to spend all of it. So I've been saving. A lot.", one of my friends confided in me.

I, being a freelancer and having an irregular income, had also got in the habit of maintaining a secret stash. But fortunately for me,  I'm also an avid shopper and cannot resist new shoe leather and hardbound leather alike. Thank God for shopaholicism! I had only 500 Rs left in my secret wallet, which I've now laminated to show my future generations what shagun before 08/11/16 looked like.

If you had a sleepless night on 08/11, the morning of 09/11 brought its own domestic confusion and catastrophes. My maid walked in, panic-stricken and heaving, "Bhabhi aap log ne hi toh diya tha woh paisa. Ab humko jail jana padega kya?" [Bhabhi, you had tendered to me 500-1000 rupee notes for salary. Now would I have to go to jail for drawing salary in cash?] Apparently all the fearmongering through Whatsapp and their own circles had got them thinking they were criminals. I sat her down and explained to her the procedure for exchanging her real-life money- that was now about as valuable as fake Monopoly cash- for legitimate cash. She still looked restless. I gave her money to make it through the day.

But calming the f-down seemed a shore too far in a country where money was being flushed down the toilet and being used as fuel for bonfires.

It's been four days since the fear of God struck the country. People are washing their hands off capitalism and embracing socialism by taking to the streets to distribute money to the poor. And for once, you witness the beggars guarding their katoras and bargaining, saying that they will accept Rs. 10 with showers of blessings but not anything that even remotely looks like 500-1000 currency notes. "Humko bhi raat ko sona hota hai saab." [We too have to sleep at night Sir.]

09/11/16 - a day when justice was blanket-delivered, when corruption began to lose its far-reaching grip. But for kitty parties and domestic India, it was the day that the most popular adage went abruptly out of style  - "Nope. Don't save it for a rainy day. Not in kitchen jars, at least."

Image Courtesy - Quartz India

Perfect Weekend Take-Out Food - Does It Exist?

Dear Readers,

As I may have already established through the rather alive-and-kicking 'Food' tab on my blog, I love to cook! For family and friends, Pammi Aunty's cats even. Unfortunately, I am a hit-and-miss sort of cook hence, for general good, I'm not in the catering business.

That said, there are days in my life, once in a week definitely (OK, it’s Friday) that I don’t want to please anyone but myself. When my mother’s home-cooked plain dal khichdi with mango pickles and papad trumps my own, hand-pulsed, spicy saag paneer. Naturally, since I don’t have access to my family in Mumbai and am not sadistic enough to torture my husband to venture into wearing a floral apron after a hard day’s work, I turn to the thriving business of take-out food to appease my senses of personal catering.

Now, I could just get myself hand-measured, pre-curated kits of frozen foods or ready-meal kits to give me the exact sense of nourishment for much less in just about a couple of minutes. But no. That won’t do. I won’t go near a steel cauldron or a cooker. Just give me meals in a box that I merely have to provide half-a-minute of heat to and set about laying on the table seductively with wine glasses and fancy blue china.

And that is exactly why, in my quest for the perfect take-out, I stumbled upon these fashionably suitable, build-to-your-palate, wok restaurants that are all of the rage in Mumbai at the moment.

I had been waiting, with bated breath, for something that will have me eating Chinese out of a cardboard box to arrive in Mumbai ever since I started watching The Big Bang Theory. The idea is delightful, right? All you have to do is receive your food and tip your delivery man — who’s all healthy smiles with just the necessary amount of cheese — handsomely. Also, very encouraging is the fact that they give you forks and everything so no need to bring your cutlery to the party. The only accomplishment that these hand-delivered meals will have you feel is that YOU get to build your own flavours. Yes. Whip out your little Masterchef scribblings. Figure out what protein goes with Kung Pao and coriander and what veggies would subtly pack a punch without being too stringy or clingy. That’s really all there is to it. And if you can’t even get yourself to do that, just consult the most popular choices on the web and play it safe. You get to order your personal wok so no need to negotiate with your partner about just how much broccoli needs to be in there. I mean what’s a romantic meal for two where one of you has to make big sacrifices for the other? Just order what you like and you can fork off as you please. (There’s an unintended pun in there, I’m sure.)

Alas, as rosy as this picture seems, this story doesn't have a happy ending. When I started ordering these take-out woks, I was mesmerized. I tried all the flavour combinations, however ridiculous it sounded to my husband. He called me a mad scientist and stuck to his better-safe-than-sorry Black Bean wok. I, on the other hand, liked playing this game of cooking food on-line, rising up to the adventure of exploring new, tongue-twisting menu items. Who's to say, they may potentially have an equally-satiating effect on my tongue as the joy of calling out their exotic sauce names on the phone. I told all my friends to try it out. Saying things like, “Oh, it’s so convenient!” or “You get what you ask for!” or “Try something-something Bao!” No, I am not making animal sounds. For the uninitiated, Baos are the latest sensation to hit the Chinese food market in Mumbai.

It took about six drunken seasons of Game of Thrones, one of Stranger Things and another two of Scream to awaken me to what my scorched taste buds were trying to telling me.

They all fucking taste the same.

Well, not quite though. There will be at least three categories of sauces in there ranging in the level of hotness-quotient mystique. One will be soy — salty, beany, slightly bitter for those of you who can’t handle any peppers other than the bell pepper variant. One will be posing as a full-bodied sauce — tangy, sweet, coconutty, mysterious, with hits of spices that’ll have you hold you a glass of water within your reach. The last one will be a no-holds-barred spicy sauce that’ll not give your palate enough time to look out for other flavours as it’ll get burned out before you try to go all, “Hmm…I get star-anise.”

So that’s talking about the sauces. You ordered protein in it too, remember? Since there are now only eight planets in the solar system (or is it nine again), you’ll get only those numbered quantities, in tiny, dried-out chunks, orbiting your portion of wok. (Serves you right for ordering a personal wok.) With each iteration of order, we’ll take one away. (Cos it’s fun that you still haven’t figured out how we’re ripping you off.)

Oh, also since you want an entrée to go with your main meal, what are you going to order? Sushi right? Sushi at your doorstep, so why the hell not? Well, here’s a run-down on how to order your sushi. Don’t take it away! And if you do take it away, you’ll have to drown it in soy sauce and dabs of Wasabi to have it do its fair bit of artsy-fartsy talking. Even then, it’ll give you nothing to speak of…except a foul-smelling barf.

That brings to imagination the desserts and beverages offered along with these largely-institutional meals. Well, they are no more carefully-curated than your local grocery’s can of Coke. So don’t jump in there with high expectations, please.

And finally, that brings me to a wider spectrum of thought. Why do we eat take-out food? Granted, you don’t want to step out and you don’t want to sweat your pantry muscles out. But when we do, why would we choose something seemingly-synthetic and gelatinous out of a cardboard box over Shetty Anna’s special, layered Hyderabadi Biryani or your trusted Chinese Dragon’s chowmein that your cute Nepalese sous-chef tosses right in front of you and that does satiate all your greasy, unhealthy cravings? Why would you not, instead, go to Ramu Kaka’s halwai and pick up that tried-and-tested Ragda Pattice that’s been simmering in ghee just for you? At the end of the day, they’re equally calling out to your taste buds, promising you a dinner date to savour and a morning volcanic upheavel to remember.

For me, the wok restaurants charmed me with their option of personalized menus. Considering the principles of a good Chinese meal being followed — the right amount of stir-frying, crispy textures, soy, garlic and ginger and an appropriate Indo-Chinese reinterpretation, there’s got to be win-win in a personalized wok. You get to say ‘No’ to crackling spinach and pak choy and ‘Yes’ to roasted cashews and burnt garlic.
Except for the fact that what I had was far from good Chinese cooking. It was far from good cooking.
For beginners, from what I have read about Chinese food, they consider the meal staple as the rice or noodle. Everything else is a side-kick. The last wok I ordered gave me noodles running chewy and dry.

So that was pretty much the jolting click of finality to me.

We live in a world where time is scarce, waiting-lines are long and convenience is key. One of the perks of living in a big city like Mumbai, I’d say, is woman, you’re never short of grub! Whether you’re looking for something spicy and satisfying or brothy and nourishing or greasy and err…greasier, you wanna make sure that you enjoy it thoroughly when you do (even if that possibly means that you’ll be waking up with burning regret.)

And on that count, I'm bidding farewell to build-your-own wok restaurants.

What are your favourite take-out options? I’d love to know more about what you’re eating this weekend. Especially, if you’re eating from the suburbs of Mumbai. Pray do tell :).

The Dreaded Dhokla Chronicles

One of the ambiguous pleasures of being a mum to a morning-school going toddler is having to fix her breakfast tiffin. I don't necessarily think that going to the kitchen the first thing in the morning before even addressing my camel breath is a mood-kill. I love cooking, so in a way being Ambrosia-like even at seven am gives me joy at some masochistic level. But get this. It was Thursday. Which spells the dreaded words D-H-O-K-L-A on her weekly menu. Nahin!!! Ye dhoka hai. 

Like Seriously...what's your secret?

For those of you who've never gone for high tea in an Indian household or have managed to overlook the savouries in a desi mithai shop or still haven't found their calling to take the great Indian train yatra to just about anywhere in India, let me paint you a picture. Dhoklas are light, airy, yellow savoury cakes made out of chickpea flour and semolina. Spiced with a bit of chilli, tempered with popping mustard seeds and curry leaves, garnished with coconut, soaking in a bit of sugar syrup for a mysterious angle, they're the most irresistible of street snacks.

Since even the street-corner chai waala seems to serve these airy delights with a breeze (pun not intended), I thought it only makes sense to open my somewhat-deft hands to them - well the pressure of cracking them seemed immense considering it now featured in my kid's weekly menu. Peer pressure in a nutshell y'all.

Let me just say that I've had my fingers burned, literally and figuratively, in the quest of making my Gujarati sistas proud (or just have me sit at their table.)

The curtain raiser to every one of my dhokla attempts started with my house-help talking about magic spells and secret ingredients (Did anyone whisper Eno?) and swishing of wands - aka - whipping spoons. I thought to myself, "Hmm...there's too much dependency on voodoo going on for a savoury delight that's as ubiquitous as the "I've got kids" hairdo at school drop-off." But whatever. I did everything diligently, with my nimbu mirchi on the side, and a prayer in my mind. Alas, it didn't rise. The first time. Or the second. Or even the third. I had to get my house-help to do it and it rose to the rooftops, like a surgically-enhanced bosom, shining in all its sun-kissed, velvety sheen.

I don't get it. Am I not giving it enough space? Is my dhokla relationship crumbling under the weight of pressure? Am I the cursed one?

Making instant dhoklas in the kitchen has been like living  in my own self-raised hell, for reasons I can't even begin to understand. But today something had changed. You see I put the dhoklas in the steamer and went to get dressed and just out of the blue, I got a strong whiff of smoke. I raced back to the kitchen waiting for a brand new disaster to greet me this morning. I opened the steamer.  Et voila! Amidst the mist of smoke, I could see the dhokla batter revealing itself to have risen perfectly! Tears of joy stream down my eyes as I attempt to unveil the pillowy magic on my plate. But no....wait! Let me do the tempering first. In a ruse to add the Jamnagar to  my nerve-jamming production, I temper it with mustard seeds and curry leaves and decorate it with coconut strands. 

I do a flip like the way the cooks on Masterchef do it, in my head the tense drumbeat ushering in uptempo flute-cello in the background. 

Wait, change that to an anti-climax music score. It was stuck. Even though it was perfect and airy outside, it was all gooey and mushy on the inside, much like me on Dhokla Thursdays.

With quivering lips, I gather it all up in crumbs and stuff it in Saanvi's tiffin. It's a gloomy Thursday. We're walking down to the rickshaw and I ask Saanvi to watch out for fresh dog-poo on the side, before staring at it for a good twenty seconds to appreciate the uncanny resemblance of it to her dabba contents.

Well, as Matt Preston would say, it's the taste that counts :).

Have any memorable cooking disasters to share? Nothing to be ashamed of, people!

We're Not Moving...Yet Again (And Why I Think I May Be A Cat)

The month of May is especially a promising one for my family. It's one that hurls in a lot of changes in our vanilla existence, in terms of vacations, family bonding, foreign travels, exotic soirees, you know the works of social media prosperity. But there's one seemingly annoying upheaval that we find ourselves dealing with as we approach May. No, I'm not hinting at wedding anniversaries or the idea of being an old-er married couple. Anniversaries packaged in a travel diary are indeed one of my favourite things. To be able to see each other without gunky pores and crazy hair, in a brand new context, in a cleaner aura, is probably why marriage takes an exciting turn for us this time of year (well, at least for me).

May, as it happens, is also moving time, the biggest and baddest of beasts. The year-long lease for our apartment in Mumbai expires in May. We get an awkward yearly visit from our landlady who probably, for the life of her, cannot understand why we choose to stay on year after year in an apartment, which has been slowly crumbling into a shamble. It all started when my stiff-lipped, compact, two-bedroom house also added to its repertoire, inartistic clouds of seepage on the ceiling in various places. The grim clouds of peeling cement loomed over us as if hissing "It's time to let go." And in case I forgot to look up and cringe at the horror of it all, I was showered with some rather ill-timed concrete droppings on my freshly-shampooed hair every now and then. So, except for the lovely cross-ventilation that makes you feel you're standing on top of a cliff, there's no reason to continue living in this house really.

Nevertheless, we sort of developed a pattern of moving away from house-moving in five easy steps.

I. First was a step towards a new house, a fresh start. We start by loathing everything about our current situation - the damp patches, the over-crowded rooms, the lack of storage spaces... Add to that a visit from Liz the lizard every now and then and I was ready to move in with my neighbours that very moment.

II. The second step was proactive measures to look for a house. Telling brokers, friends, gatekeepers, Saanvi's four-year old friends, the lady with cats who looked like she could swing a knife at us, to intimate us about a "prosperous" house that we can potentially move into.

III. The third step was making it official. Telling everyone we know, including our house help (you know, to save her from the inconvenience of turning up one day and figuring out that we've moved to a new location) that we are indeed moving out. Soonish.

IV. The fourth step was the first giant step back. It was like a sudden infatuation  - you know the temporal state of falling irrevocably in love with someone and realizing no other person, however well he/she orders his/her wine, is good enough. So either the other prospective houses were not high-rise enough or the direction wasn't right or they came with their own set of baggages or absurd statutes.

V. The fifth one, the one that got us to renew our lease with the "I couldn't give a shit either way"  landlady, was a combination of nostalgia and well, the fact that moving is a huge pain in the you-know-what.

And so we renewed the lease to our apartment yet again. 

And as wise and insightful that decision may have been, it also woke me up to an alarming discovery.

Oh my god, there's a teeny-tiny possibility that I'm a freakin' cat! Sidenote: I hate cats.

OK, I realize this is going a bit off-track. I don't mean it like "Hey I'm a cat trapped in a human body and I'm going to get fake whiskers and oh, I'm also going to start meowing and purring." You see, staying away from home for almost a month made me really think about why I may have strong feline traits. Even though I still strongly maintain that cats are manipulative jerks. (And I think I'm still miles away from level 'pure evil'.)

Here's the thing. I hate moving. Sure I could be lazy. But I'm pretty territorial. So even in my house, I have my very own Sheldon spot. It's this corner with floor cushions that gets fresh monsoon breeze and has got a lil side-rest and a wide view of Saanvi's playroom positioned in such an angle that I can see what she's up to from an askance glance while watching TV.

And here are a couple of other reasons why I may be a cat (If you're still reading):

 A. I have mood swings (Like really dopey ones)

Yea, one minute I'm in so much love with you that I'm following you around everywhere, even on Instagram...The other minute, I want to literally tear you apart (or shave your head). I can't explain it. And from what I gather (from Garfield and friends with cat pets), you don't want to rub 'em the wrong way. Unless, you want some voodoo glances thrown your way with under-the-breath chants, "Die...just die!"

B. I am lazy (Du-uhh)

I mean sure, I am managing to run a house and stopping my baby from jumping out of my high-rise apartment and feeding my family four-square meals. And let's not forget, I am still writing. But I need naps to get through my day. Ask me to sacrifice one and you know, you're headed back to dealing with A. Yea, at least five days of the week are about hitting the snooze button and curling up in a ball with my tail between my legs. Figuratively. 

C. I like being pampered and doted over unnecessarily

Yea, sure I find the "beholden to nobody.", "I can get the door myself, thank you" ideal very inspiring and I am still striving to be that kind of woman in real life. (Must learn driving.) But I like it when someone offers to carry heavy things for me. I live for breakfasts in bed. I love people washing my hair for me or getting a back rub from my man. And from what I hear, cats need a lifetime of belly rubs and vain fussing-over and even then they'd look like you had the entire slice of chocolate mud cake in front of them without offering them a bite.

D. I am a wallflower

I am a cat married to a dog. My husband lights up at having company (even though he has obnoxiously high/weird standards.) Dogs are sociable, right? I mean if you throw them a ball, they'd throw it right back at you and nudge you to go on. They'd stick their tongues out in roaring laughter. They'd circulate at parties, sharing tried-and-tested dog humor and cool one-liner comebacks that gets everyone cheering them wildly. Cats? Not so much. You'd find them sitting in a corner at a party with someone safe...probably another cat. When cats like you and they wanna say they miss you when you're gone, they'd probably pretend nothing's changed when you get back. Or show you an awful temper. What they're not likely to do is throw you a surprise party.

And I totally get that.

So, to conclude, we're not moving. And from my self-psychiatric analysis, it looks like while I call myself a dog person, I am a cat. A self-loathing one moreover.

I have to say it is not looking very promising.

Image Source:

Gemma Correll Illustrations

Andertoons

Love, Blossoms And Butterflies - In a Bowl of Pasta

If shoes, romance and opera weren't the first things that came to your mind when you heard the word Italian, it's fair to presume you were thinking straight from the gut. (Football lovers...no offense.) The thing that came to my mind (before pizza and Italian hotties) was pasta.

Sure, I may be reading the room wrong here but maybe it's time to profess my love out loud. I LOVE pasta! In a million ways. I love it to every chunk of tomato, every velvety string of mozzarella, every crumble of pesto and to every splash of wine! Let's face it. There's something in it for everyone. Kids love it for cheese. Adults love it for healthier versions of flavor-bursting sauces (and cheese). And cooks... May I speak for all cooks when I say there's no greater joy in cooking a memorable pasta? There's not a single cook I know who doesn't have a go-to pasta recipe. I can cook Arrabbiata on auto-pilot. I can cook a Jain version of it with pantry basics and fresh tomatoes and it'll just taste as great.

Of late, however, I have this inexplicable wanderlust which is leading me to kitchen experiments like never before. So, in an attempt to take my bowl of pasta around the world, I thought of playing a little cupid and getting a bit of Moroccan 'swag' to my red sauce. I mean, it should be a marriage made in pasta heaven. Italy and Morocco are both Mediterranean in essence, right?

So how did I bring a twist to my pasta sauce to tone down that fiery rouge and give it that rosy 'first love' kind of blush instead?
I may have given the answer away, you know.

Farfalle in creamy rose-harissa sauce with pine nuts, sun-dried tomatoes and feta cheese.

This sauce combines the flavors of grilled smoked chillies, ripe tomatoes and rose petals to give you a wonderfully balanced, unusually refreshing flavor. The thing is I make harissa regularly, the lazy cook that I am. Harissa happens to be this inventive North African dip that goes with everything - bakes, grilled veggies, pan-fried fish. And this lovely rose petal harissa, inspired by a Jamie Oliver recipe, is one that elevates even your plain-jane grilled something-something to a smoky, swanky delight.

So I thought, you know, what's the worst that can happen if I swirl it into a bowl of pasta?

And it blew our minds! Butterfly-shaped pasta immersed in a sauce blended with ripe, juice tomatoes and fresh fragrant blossoms of rose petals with spicy, smoky hints of chilli. I reinvented it with cream and feta cheese for a pinker-looking sauce. Besides, the creaminess of Feta mellows down the fiery temper of chilli. Add to that the earthy crunch of toasted pine nuts and the playful, tangy notes of sun-dried tomatoes and you have yourself an irresistible recipe. There's butterflies, there's blossoms and there's cheese. Coupled with a glass of sparkling wine, this one's sure to make your hearts flutter.

OK, maybe I'm overselling it a tad. But if I've piqued our curiosity enough, here is the recipe. Feel free to control the heat level to your delight.

(Note: You can stock up on the Harissa and store it in the refrigerator to be used later. It stores well for up to two weeks.)

Farfalle in Creamy Rose-Harissa Sauce with Pine Nuts, Sun-dried Tomatoes and Feta Cheese
Serves: 3 (Preparation Time: 1 hr 30 minutes.)

What You Need:
300 gms Del Monte Farfalle pasta
Feta Cheese - 1/4 cup grated
Fresh Cream - 1/4 cup
Sun-dried tomatoes  - 1/2 tablespoon
1/4 cup Pine Nuts - toasted till fragrant (You may also substitute with walnuts)

For the Harissa Sauce:
4 ripe tomatoes, quartered
6-7 fresh red chillies (broken)
4 cloves garlic (unpeeled)
Olive Oil - 5-6 tablespoons
Sea Salt
Coarsely ground pepper
2 teaspoons cumin
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1 teaspoon paprika
A handful of rose petals, washed
4 tablespoons rose water
2 tablespoons caster sugar
A splash of red wine vinegar
Extra Virgin Olive Oil

For Garnishing:
Rose Petals
Parmesan Cheese - slivered
Parsley - chopped

Method:
I. Harissa Sauce Preparation
1. First, make the harissa sauce. Preheat the oven to 160 degrees C. On a baking tray, spread the tomatoes, cut side up, along with fresh red chillies and unpeeled cloves of garlic. Drizzle generously with olive oil and sea salt. Roast in the oven for an hour.

2. After an hour, remove from the baking tray and set aside to cool. De-seed the chillies and peel the garlic. I already de-seeded mine before putting them in the oven to control the heat.(You can also place them under water to get the seeds out.)

3. Blend together cloves of garlic and chillies until roughly chopped. Now toss in coriander seeds, cumin seeds, paprika, salt and pepper. Blend until smooth.

4. Then, add the tomatoes, rose petals, rose water and sugar. Pulse briefly so you get specks of tomatoes and rose petals in your sauce.
Note: Roses are in plenty, no doubt. But you want to make sure your roses are chemical-free. I got mine from an aunt's flower pot. Opt for edible dried rose petals otherwise.

5. Transfer to a bowl and mix in a splash of red wine vinegar and extra virgin olive oil. Your harissa is now ready.

Special Tip: For more fragrant, deeper flavors, make it the night before using it for your pasta.

II. Pasta Preparation:
1. Bring a large pan of water seasoned with a generous amount of salt and two tablespoons of olive oil to boil. When the water reaches boiling point, drop Farfalle pasta into it. Cook according to the pack instructions until al dente.

Note: Al dente really means you want to have a soft texture when you bite into it but it has to meet with an ever-so-slight resistance when you chew. (As opposed to just melting away.)

2. Drain onto a colander and refresh immediately with cold water. The reason you do that is when your pasta gets to this immaculate state, you don't want the heat to cook it any further. Drizzle with olive oil and leave aside for five minutes.

3. In a wok, heat some olive oil. On a moderately high flame, add the harissa sauce. Stir in cream until it turns a lovely coral orange. Blend well.

4. Now toss in farfalle with sundried tomatoes and toasted pine nuts and grated feta cheese. Toss vigorously on high flame for 2-3 minutes until the cheese starts to melt and the sauce is well-infused.

5. To serve, finish with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and a garnish with parsley. Decorate with rose petals and slivers of parmesan.

If you like this recipe, you're going to love a host of innovative, lip-smacking pasta recipes as offered by Del Monte on:

https://www.facebook.com/DelMonteIndia

Bon Appetit!

Moveable Feasts - In Paperback

Cooking gives me great joy. So does reading. No wonder then that I have always found an odd sort of comfort in reading about food descriptions in novels, as a kid and now as an experimental home-cook. I can still feel the hunger pangs of little Heidi when she came to live with her grandpa and she can't help gushing over a slab of cheese that he fire-roasts till it was sun-kissed golden. Or even Cassandra's undying lust for fresh bread and eggs that make them seem as indulgent as caviar in I Capture the Castle. Or who can forget that abundant start-of-term feast in the Harry Potter series prepared with nothing but good imagination and a flicker of a wand? I'd give anything for a seven-course meal to conjure from thin air like that!

For a burgeoning cook like myself, I can spend hours reading blogs and stories about food, mesmerized by the pictures and the underlying stories that get brewed alongside every author's personal concoction of happiness.

Food has a way to evoke any powerful and potent feeling that you've ever felt consumed by.

Nostalgia. Remember that stash of your favorite desi ghee laddoos that mum made before Diwali, and then tucked them away onto the topmost shelf out of your reach? And you stood there looking at them pitifully, whimpering like a hungry pup...well until you devised an awkward tower of chairs that'll reunite you with your beloved. 

Infatuation. That desperation and hope and the urge to win over somebody's affection...with every artifice known to man/woman...with expensive dresses and make-up and arty-farty talk and exotic dinners. And you'd do anything for it. But hey have you craved for a slice of chocolate mud cake, post midnight, when even elves are too busy sleeping to oblige you? Nothing else could incite a similar feeling of despair, I'd say!

So without furthur ado, I present to you these epic, mouthwatering word feasts collected from my favorite novels. Hope you're hungry.

Disclaimer: You may be an epitome of self-restraint with your 'Keep calm and ignore junk food' posters and herbal-tea diets but these forbidden fruits will have you wanting to eat out of, uh well, any hand that offers them :).

1. Charlie and The Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

"Mr Willy Wonka can make marshmallows that taste of violets, and rich caramels that change colour every ten seconds as you suck them, and little feathery sweets that melt away deliciously the moment you put them between your lips. He can make chewing-gum that never loses its taste, and sugar balloons that you can blow up to enormous sizes before you pop them with a pin and gobble them up. And, by a most secret method, he can make lovely blue birds' eggs with black spots on them, and when you put one of these in your mouth, it gradually gets smaller and smaller until suddenly there is nothing left except a tiny little DARK RED sugary baby bird sitting on the tip of your tongue."

And you can sure count on Mr. Dahl to make the most absurd fantasy seem real and accessible. This sugary baby bird is something that, I can vouch, will catch the fancy of the purest of puritans (as well as dentists.)

2. To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

“An exquisite scent of olives and oil and juice rose from the great brown dish as Marthe, with a little flourish took the cover off. The cook had spent three days over that dish and she must take great care, Mrs. Ramsay thought, diving into the soft mass to choose an especially tender piece for William Bankes. And she peered into the dish, with its shiny walls and its confusion of savory brown and yellow meats, and its bay leaves and its wine and thought, "This will celebrate the occasion…”

The delicacy in reference is the famous boeufe en daube. As intimidating as the name may sound, Ms Woolfe went to great lengths to marinate this beef stew with words that melt in your mouth. Ironic isn't it that she had to battle with food nearly all throughout her life and even her generous words failed to coax her to succumb?

3. Like Water for Chocolate - Laura Esquivel

"When nobody eats the last chile on the plate, it's usually because none of them wants to look like a glutton, so even though they'd really like to devour it, they don't have the nerve to take it. It was as if they were rejecting that stuffed pepper, which contains every imaginable flavor; sweet as candied citron, juicy as pomegranate, with the bit of pepper and the subtlety of walnuts, that marvelous chile in the walnut sauce. Within it lies the secret of love, but it will never be penetrated, and all because it wouldn't feel proper."

Like Water for Chocolate is a book that'll make you either very hungry or...well the other thing...

Either way, it will have you craving.

4. Five Go Down to The Sea - Enid Blyton

"The high tea that awaited them was truly magnificent. A huge ham gleaming as pink as Timmy’s tongue; a salad fit for a king. In fact, as Dick said, fit for several kings, it was so enormous. It had in it everything that anyone could possibly want. “Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, radishes, mustard and cress, carrot grated up – that is carrot, isn’t it, Mrs. Penruthlan?” said Dick. “And lashings of hard-boiled eggs.” There was an enormous tureen of new potatoes, all gleaming with melted butter, scattered with parsley. There was a big bottle of home-made salad cream. “Look at that cream cheese, too,” marveled Dick, quite overcome. “And that fruit cake. And are those drop-scones, or what? Are we supposed to have something of everything, Mrs Penruthlan?”

The only 'proper' way to celebrate this high tea menu is to have Julia Childs read it out to you. Only if life were an Enid Blyton picnic.

5. Chocolat - Joane Harris

“I select a dark nugget from a tray marked Eastern journey. Crystallized ginger in a hard sugar shell, releasing a mouthful of liqueur like a concentration of spices, a breath of aromatic air where sandalwood and cinnamon and lime vie for attention with cedar and allspice."
"I take another, from a tray marked Peche au miel millefleurs. A slice of peach steeped in honey and eau-de-vie, a crystallized peach sliver on the chocolate lid."

Oh woman, JUST stop there. Don't disturb the peace in my cavities, will ya? But if truffles and marzipan birds and "long twisted marshmallows that dangle from the stalls of sweet-vendors on carnival days" are your thing, get this book!

6. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - J.K. Rowling

"He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs."

I don't get it. All that she did was list down different kinds of food, half of which I don't even care for. But I'm ravenous!

7. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

"Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready before­hand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah !"

Oh, forget the grace Timmy! How can you not dive in mouth-first.

8. A Moveable Feast - Ernest Hemingway

"As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans."

And if anybody's looking for scientific evidence that oysters are a gloriously happy food, that's IT.


Got any literary food cravings? I'd love to hear from you.

A Summer Feast to Remember

A Summer-themed Feast

Last weekend, we were invited to a friend's house for dinner. This is a story worth regaling as there were so many lessons worth keeping, not just for the munificence of the feast we had but for how organizing a dinner in summer can be so glaringly simple if we can manage to skip the frills with grace. The key to doing that is to plan a meal using hand-picked ingredients that get along famously to release fresh, sublime flavours without much effort on your part.

Our gracious host, Vidya Nath, was kind enough to offer us a delightful peek into her kitchen to learn the secrets of her divine cooking. Like a seasoned host, she set the tempo of the evening, jiving effortlessly from one culinary wonder to another, while also swaying to some good old hip-hop and bhangra numbers and keeping us entertained. Peaches, my daughter, had a ball of a time gorging down bananas one after the other; the anticipation of good food with all the heavenly smells coming from Vidya's kitchen was playing havoc with her otherwise bird-like appetite.

Speaking of appetite, I don't have much of it during summers. You know how it gets really tedious and overbearing to see through the preparation of stove top curries in this oppressive summer heat... By the time, you finish cooking and get to the part where you can go 'mmm mmm' and pat yourself on the back, you already feel full. You head for a cool shower instead. And if you're from Mumbai, add frizzy hair, nausea and delirium to your state of affairs :).

Our hostess and chef for the evening led us to her beautiful kitchen, where she orchestrated her mid-summer symphony. It was a homey, organized space adorned with plants and stacks of fresh green herbs and fruits and vegetables in a refreshing colour palette. I guess just the look of it brought the temperature down a couple of notches.

This was a summer-themed platter of food that she had carefully planned using exotic herbs and fresh fruits and vegetables; light, airy flavours evocative of the Mediterranean. Each dish that she created was unique in its own right but it also blended so well with its accomplices that we had to take multiple servings just to revel in all the glorious possibilities.

I can go on raving about the food and the company and the simple fact that kids and adults ate and digested at the same time—that, my friend, is a rare phenomenon in my home :).

Without any further rants, I give to you a breezy, romantic summer platter as prepared by the multi-talented chef, Vidya Nath, served with a dash of imagination and dollops of love.

I. The Sides:

Yoghurt Dip with Beetroot and Dill

Yoghurt Dip With Beetroot and Dill

Serves 4
What You Need:
500 gms Hung Curd (left in a muslin for an hour)
2-3 garlic pods (peeled)
Dill - 3/4 cup (finely chopped)
Pepper - to taste
Salt - to taste
4-5 tablespoons Beetroot Puree (we used shop-bought)
Olive Oil: 1/3 cup
Lemon Juice: 2 tablespoons
Chopped Parsley

Method:
1. Place the garlic in a mortar and pestle with some salt and mash it. You may even finely dice the garlic pods.
2. Combine the lemon juice, olive oil, and salt with it. Whisk in the hung curd.
3. Now add the dill to it and mix well. Add freshly ground pepper.
4. Layer it with the beetroot puree. Garnish with chopper parsley.
5. Refrigerate till it's time to be served.
6. Serve with bread or lavash.

Tip: This dip can serve your family for 2-3 days if kept refrigerated in an air-tight jar.

Seasoned Olives

Seasoned Olives

What You Need:
2 cups black olives
4 tablespoons light olive oil
2-3 garlic pods - minced
2 tablespoons lime juice
1/4 cup parsley leaves - finely chopped
Chilli flakes (optional)
Freshly ground pepper to taste

1. Combine olives, lime juice, garlic, oil, pepper, chilli flakes and chopped up parsley in a bowl. Stir it well. Cover with a foil and refrigerate until it is to be served.
2. Serve with pita bread, lavash or any italian bread.
Tip: For extra tang, add some lemon zest to it. This can be refrigerated and used for up to 2-3 days.

Asparagus Spears with Lemon-Caper Butter

Asparagus Spears with Caper Butter

Lemon-Caper Butter
What You Need:
4 tablespoons butter - melted
1 tablespoon capers -mashed
1 lemon- squeezed
Salt and Pepper to taste

1. Melt the butter in a pan until golden.
2. Remove it from heat. Add mashed capers, lime juice, salt and pepper. Blend vigorously with a spoon until the sauce is foamy and thick.
3. Transfer to a bowl and serve with asparagus spears.

Asparagus Spears
What You Need:
6-7 Asparagus Spears
Water
Ice Cubes

1. Stem ends of the asparagus together and cut off one inch off the stems.
2. In a large pan, bring some water to boil.
3. Add the asparagus spears to the water and let it cook covered for no more than three minutes.
4. Drain them in a colander and refresh with ice cubes.
5. Serve immediately with lemon-caper butter else they'll go limp.

Tip: Asparagus can easily cross the line from being perfectly cooked to overdone. Make sure you give it your full attention while cooking it.

Herbed Cous-Cous (Tabouleh Style)

Cous-Cous Tabouleh Style

What You Need:
2 cups fine cous-cous
2 maggi stock cubes
3 cups water
1 tablespoon roasted sesame seeds
2 tablespoons pomegranate seeds
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon roasted coriander seeds (optional)
Coriander to garnish
Parsley to garnish

1. Add maggi stock cubes to water and bring it to boil.
2. In a bowl, toss the couscous in with the olive oil.
3. Slowly, pour in the boiling hot water, stirring vigorously to let it fluff. You can fluff it with your hands too to avoid lumping.
4. Stir in the lemon juice and roasted sesame seeds.
5. You can also season it with chilli flakes and mixed herbs for flavor.
5. When the couscous is all fluffed up and soft, garnish with pomegranate seeds, coriander and parsley.

II. Mains

Summery Watermelon Salad with Parmesan and Mint

Watermelon Salad with Parmesan and Mint

What You Need:
Watermelon cut into 4-inch triangles and deseeded - 10-12
Parmesan Cheese - grated 1/2 cup
Olive Oil - 1/2 cup
Juice of 2 lemons
Thick Curd (or Greek Yoghurt) - 1 cup
Mint sprigs - 1/2 cup
Salt - to taste
Pepper - to taste
Toasted pumpkin seeds - 2 tablespoons

1. Prepare a salad dressing. Mix olive oil, yoghurt, pepper and salt. Blend well.
2. Add grated parmesan cheese into it while stirring continuously.
3. Arrange watermelon slices on a plate. Drizzle the dressing profusely on to the watermelon triangles.
4. Tear mint spigs or put them whole as garnish.
5. Sprinkle the pumpkin seeds on to the slices.

Tip: You may also use Feta cheese instead of Parmesan for a creamier dressing.

Black Grape and Rocket Salad

Black Grape and Rocket Salad

What You Need:
2 cups Black Grapes - halved
4-5 shallots (peeled and thinly sliced)
1 cup Rocket Leaves (torn)
1 Cup Red Wine Vinegar (or Balsamic Vinegar)
 Small Parmesan Slivers (to garnish)
Salt to Taste

1. Soak the thinly sliced shallots in red wine vinegar and salt. Let stand for 10 minutes.
2. Dice the black grapes into halves.
3. Mix the two generously letting the pink juices from the shallots and vinegar seep in.
4. Add the torn rocket leaves and mix.
5. Cut small wafer-thin slivers of parmesan and garnish them on top of the salad.

Caponata

Caponata

What You Need:
3 large Aubergines - cut into large chunks
3-4 Red Chillies - deseeded and cut long
1 and 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano
10-12 small button mushrooms - whole
2-3 garlic pods - peeled and finely sliced
8-10 whole unpeeled garlic pods
Pepper - to taste
Sea Salt - to taste
4 tablespoons Olive Oil
Basil leaves - to garnish

1. On a pre-heated, greased baking tray, spread the aubergine chunks with deseeded chillies and whole garlic pods.
2. Mix in the seasonings and salt and pepper.
3. Pour olive oil in and mix well.
4. Bake in the oven at 180 degrees C for half an hour.
5. Season mushrooms with garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper.
6. When the aubergine is done, add the mushrooms. Bake for an additional ten minutes.
7. Garnish with torn basil and keep hot till it is time to serve.

Honey-Glazed Roast Chicken and Bacon

Honey-Glazed Chicken with Bacon

What You Need:
5-6 Chicken Legs
6-7 Strips of Bacon (minced)
4 tablespoons Light Soy Sauce
2 tablespoons Honey
1 tablespoon Garlic - minced
3 tablespoons Lime Juice
Salt - to taste
Pepper - to taste
Chopped fresh tarragon (optional)
Basil leaves (torn)

1. Using your fingers, mix together the chicken legs and bacon strips in a bowl.
2. Add soy sauce, honey, salt, pepper, garlic and lemon juice to the meats.
3. On a pre-heated baking tray, spread the chicken legs coated with bacon and seasonings and drizzle the remaining juices from the bowl on to them.
4. Pour a dash of oil and pop it in the oven. (Baking chicken doesn't require much oil as it cooks in its own fat.)
5. Let it bake on 180 degrees C for 30 minutes.
6. Adjust seasoning and garnish with torn basil or chopped up tarragon.

Phew...Can you imagine eating all of that for one dinner? To top it all, we had a home-made kiwi and cucumber mint sorbet for dessert.

I don't think I'll be able to reproduce the same symphony from that night even if I tried. But I hope these recipes will lead you to the incredible summer feast that we savoured, without driving you out of the kitchen in a heat stroke.

The Chef and All Her Helpers

Thank you Vidya, Purnendu and kids for a wonderful evening! And thank you Ajit for being such an enthusiastic co-learner (and ofcourse, for the lovely pictures).

The Power of One Is to One

There are times, when you're sitting by yourself in an over-crowded restaurant, that you can't help being dragged into a small crust of other people's lives. I won't call myself an eavesdropper as such but I won't deny, on certain occasions, I've sat silently with my husband at the dinner table, gesturing him to listen on to what other couples have to say to each other. One of my uncles had once casually observed during a dinner conversation - that you can tell a lot about the age of a couple by the way they order a meal. I was blissfully single back then and that statement struck me as odd, like one of those vague, pseudo-intellectual observations one makes at a party in a happy-high state.

What do I think now? Well, still don't know a squat about that, but I do think ordering a meal inadvertently brings out one of the most significant aspects of a couple's relationship - power dynamics. A conversation I happened to pry on made me think in that direction.

My husband and I sat down at our dinner table, uncomfortably close to another couple who seemed downright jubilant to be in each other's company, lighting up at the slightest remark and holding hands from across the table. We were having one of those days when we didn't have much to say to each other but sure, we were beaming at each other at the prospect of being in a swanky restaurant on a weekday. And dining out still had its special-occasion sheen for me, more from the fact that I get to wear a dress and I don't have to cook. Anyway, so as usual, we're mocking the names of entrées in the menu list and giggling hysterically, when suddenly I overhear the husband/boyfriend/fiancée from the other table saying, "You know, I'm really not that hungry. Let's split something."

Now I've been in this interesting predicament several times before. I don't know but there's something about splitting a meal that naturally brings out the push and pull of a man-woman relationship. So again, I gesture to my husband and for the next five minutes, we decide to be that obnoxious couple who dives their ears straight into other people's conversations; you know, just for fun.

This is what I recollect of the conversation:

Man: You know I'm really not that hungry right now. You want to split something?
Woman: Oh! Well, if you're not that hungry.
Man: Anything you want my love!
Woman: You want to split..you decide.
Man [looking furiously into the menu card]: Ok, how about some aubergine parmigiana?
Woman: Ha! Baingan. Predictable! Like we don't have enough of it at your mum's house. Get over it...
Man: It just sounds interesting. Ok, your turn.
Woman:  I'm sick of deciding meals. Give me a break today na, baby.
Man: Fine.  How about your favorite pasta and a soup?
Woman [pursing her lips]: Boring, vanilla pasta! OK, how about some Fois Gras de Canard?
Man: Ya! Pick the most pretentious sounding item on the menu and cough it out loud. Do you even know the meaning of Blah Blah?
Woman: Your ****!
Man: That's all yours to have, baby. [smirking]
Woman: You forget that I took French in school. Besides they have descriptions. See! [gesturing to the menu]
Man: Ohhhh....Miss "I was born French"...Let's be safe and just get some pasta and soup.
Woman [launching into a speech]: So just cos I asked you to decide, you take the easiest choice and shove it on my face. Should I give you dal rice everyday and be done with it? Why should I take the pains to think up a new dish everyday?
Man [ looking utterly confused]: Huh? But I was just....
Woman: Pasta in red sauce...Fine I'll choose. We're going to have Fois Grad de Canard and Risotto di Zuccha. There you are!
Man [looking defeated]: Alright, alright..Either way, I'm not that hungry. I'll just get a soup.
Woman: Oh, don't be such a bore. You'll have what I'm having. And you'll like it!
Man: Mommy?
Woman [smiling]: Waiter!
Man: Hey, I want soup!!!

All this while, we sat with our heads buried in the menu pretending to make some light conversation and giggling to ourselves. You may think this is such an inconsequential, overblown argument but you'll be surprised at the number of times you've been there before, neck-deep in the battle of power over who resigns first. Over who does more than their share of contribution to domestic chores than the other. Over who makes the infallible mistake of checking Facebook in the middle of a conversation. Over who succumbs into letting the other watch what he/she wants on TV and many such mundane, on-the-surface trivial power struggles that take up a good part of coupledom. I recall the first year of my marriage, where I dished out the silent treatment to my husband probably way more than I should. The first year felt like Groundhog Day; we were having the same fights, tugging at each other's personal space. We took turns to being a stuck-up nag or an overgrown goofball, for seemingly no legit reason at all (OK, sometimes reasons took the shape of biscuit crumbs on the couch, wet towels on the bed or new dresses.)

The thing about marriage is that you see each other everyday - when you're having a bad hair day, when you're sick, when you're feeling blue. Even when you're gritting your teeth, cussing like a sailor while downloading a movie on a slow connection. It sure gets difficult to see each other in the perfect context all the time.

It's no wonder that we're tempted to reform the other. Sooner or later, you start resorting to some harmless power-play indulgences that may start with a passive-aggressive "You can't wear this to my boss's dinner". However, you don't realize that they come with a disclaimer. They can take a pretty ugly turn, spiralling down fast the vile path of pointing fingers at each other, layering arguments with counter-views, working up your individual emotions to a point where the other will be cornered into saying, "Fine, I give up. You're right." But it doesn't stop there. You brainstorm other age-old manipulation tactics to have the upper hand in the relationship. You blow hot and cold to test your partner's devotion to you. I know of couples who withhold intimacy to get even with their spouses. Some delay responses to urgent texts deliberately. And let's face it. Haven't you ever felt tempted, maybe in vexation, to use one of your partner's pet peeves, say wearing an old raggedy tee, merely to exert your pester-power over him/her?

To have power in a relationship is a heady feeling. We vow to share our lives with our better halves in eternal happiness but at times, we also feel the need of fending for our individual desires. At any cost. We defend our interests with all our might. We play the victim, we throw snide comments and we scheme.

And of course, we try in vain to reform the other.  Is it OK for you to try to change the other in a relationship if you're doing it for the greater good?

Maybe. But sometimes it's that tug of 'you vs me' that makes you miss the bigger picture - one that many older, wiser couples talk about. That you're on the same team. That it's not about winning or losing.

This year will be my fifth year of marriage. I can't say I am an expert on the subject. But if there's anything I've learned about marriage in these years is that whether your power-play tricks are aimed at winning an argument, getting TV control, or making your spouse feel guilty, the victory is only short-lived. So the next time you're tempted to try out your genius little schemes into getting your way, try this instead.

Freeze your grey cells right there. Give in. Lay down your weapons. An hour later, it's not going to matter who won.

Take one for the team.