Today, April 7, 2016, ordained an assistant cook by wife Rama at 10 a.m. in the morning. It happened this way. Rama flew away to Bengaluru to be with Mythili, Mala and Hari leaving me to mind the house: drop smelly clothes in the LG washing machine, dry out the final products; turn into an untended kitchen with a notebook of cooking notings, Rama version; sambhar, mor kushambu, safed bhopla kuttu, bhaji with dry newspaper thin papads; me was liberal with the papads to keep down the tension of cooking a good story; rice in the cooker; cooked with precision and passion in the evenings for dinner with son Ganesh, usually 10 p.m. Started the proceedings, lighting the gas oven, every day with a Rama, Krishna, Hari of Kabir and Tuka; that gave me the good luck and concentration to stare at Rama jottings in the note book; arranged the cut vegetables, done by me, in the morning... bhendi, beans, safed bhopla, Madras onions and of course potatoes. Gunpowdered potato bhaji made for the common denominator with the rest forming the surroundings. On the first night it was mor kuzhambu, beans curry, rice, potatoes and Guruvayur papads. Son Ganesh spread the manufacture on his plate, dipped a finger in the mor kuzhambu, sucked it with a Wow...mobiled the dinner to all ... and put me on the way to ordination. When Rama landed home to rush into the kitchen, son Ganesh told her to wait and added a spicy: 'Did not miss your dinners'. Rama gulped as if she had lost forever, her kitchen power; it is not a dictatorship nor a democracy, something beyond. Ahead of boarding the Mumbai flight, she phoned up the menu for a elavan kuttu - 'I am eager to have it,' she said, me do not know how as phones show no faces. The order came at 10 a.m. and elavaan was not on sale in Yogi Nagar; took an auto to the Borivili market to land up on a 500g slice of elavan; that day elavan was absent as Vashi market was shut. Did not know elavan has a tough green skin; me had to battle with it, cut my finger, yet made it; slicing raw banana is easy; and then started on the elaborate job of shearing a tougher coconut. When Rama landed in the evening, offered her fresh filter kapi with creamy milk from Shree Jain Dughdhalay; that rested the Lady; she had started at 10.20 a.m. from her Bengaluru home, an IndiGo flight as usual late, was at home by 6 p.m. and they say air travel is time economical. The coffee revived her to dash the kitchen to taste the elavan kuttu. She beamed, she laughed, she blessed. Set aside a portion for Dakhi, Chinnu and Chiyu -- super she told Dakhi. And Dakhi slipped into it as she slips into everything. Son Ganesh had a party to attend. At 10 p.m. Rama and me sat and ate, well what all do during dinner. With roasted papads, life became a journalist scoop with a byeline. With the bio data getting impressive, me was ordained an Assistant Cook. Somewhere getting nearer to a dear old Thiruananthapuram uncle, a reputed cook, a chamayalkaran of Pazhavangadi.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
An ordination
Today, April 7, 2016, ordained an assistant cook by wife Rama at 10 a.m. in the morning. It happened this way. Rama flew away to Bengaluru to be with Mythili, Mala and Hari leaving me to mind the house: drop smelly clothes in the LG washing machine, dry out the final products; turn into an untended kitchen with a notebook of cooking notings, Rama version; sambhar, mor kushambu, safed bhopla kuttu, bhaji with dry newspaper thin papads; me was liberal with the papads to keep down the tension of cooking a good story; rice in the cooker; cooked with precision and passion in the evenings for dinner with son Ganesh, usually 10 p.m. Started the proceedings, lighting the gas oven, every day with a Rama, Krishna, Hari of Kabir and Tuka; that gave me the good luck and concentration to stare at Rama jottings in the note book; arranged the cut vegetables, done by me, in the morning... bhendi, beans, safed bhopla, Madras onions and of course potatoes. Gunpowdered potato bhaji made for the common denominator with the rest forming the surroundings. On the first night it was mor kuzhambu, beans curry, rice, potatoes and Guruvayur papads. Son Ganesh spread the manufacture on his plate, dipped a finger in the mor kuzhambu, sucked it with a Wow...mobiled the dinner to all ... and put me on the way to ordination. When Rama landed home to rush into the kitchen, son Ganesh told her to wait and added a spicy: 'Did not miss your dinners'. Rama gulped as if she had lost forever, her kitchen power; it is not a dictatorship nor a democracy, something beyond. Ahead of boarding the Mumbai flight, she phoned up the menu for a elavan kuttu - 'I am eager to have it,' she said, me do not know how as phones show no faces. The order came at 10 a.m. and elavaan was not on sale in Yogi Nagar; took an auto to the Borivili market to land up on a 500g slice of elavan; that day elavan was absent as Vashi market was shut. Did not know elavan has a tough green skin; me had to battle with it, cut my finger, yet made it; slicing raw banana is easy; and then started on the elaborate job of shearing a tougher coconut. When Rama landed in the evening, offered her fresh filter kapi with creamy milk from Shree Jain Dughdhalay; that rested the Lady; she had started at 10.20 a.m. from her Bengaluru home, an IndiGo flight as usual late, was at home by 6 p.m. and they say air travel is time economical. The coffee revived her to dash the kitchen to taste the elavan kuttu. She beamed, she laughed, she blessed. Set aside a portion for Dakhi, Chinnu and Chiyu -- super she told Dakhi. And Dakhi slipped into it as she slips into everything. Son Ganesh had a party to attend. At 10 p.m. Rama and me sat and ate, well what all do during dinner. With roasted papads, life became a journalist scoop with a byeline. With the bio data getting impressive, me was ordained an Assistant Cook. Somewhere getting nearer to a dear old Thiruananthapuram uncle, a reputed cook, a chamayalkaran of Pazhavangadi.
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