Life is a river of experiences. As we sail down the river, we encounter adventures. For me, so many things are adventures. Take cooking for instance. Far from a necessary task, cooking is alchemy, cooking is magic.
The kitchen is a place of enchantment. I don’t have a big or beautiful kitchen. But to me, it is perfect. I love it best in the cold weather when it is so cozy and filled with light.
A few days ago, dear blog readers, my college kids went to Garba night, an Indian festival, at their university, and brought home a plate of food. This is the second one they have attended. They’ve always come home with stories of the splendid saris and lively dances and the funny fact that very few American students attended. Oh, wouldn’t it be fun for everyone if they got out of their dorm rooms and went to this festival of dance and food?
I was standing in the front hallway when the big kids arrived from their adventures. JM handed me a paper plate full of treats. I suddenly wished that I had gone, but alas, we still had a sick child at the time. All week long the idea of Indian food was following me around. So today, I cooked up a feast.
When we were in New York several weeks ago, we had a lovely outing with Taz and her mom. We went to the Fairway market up in Harlem and then had a picnic lunch in the sun at a park overlooking the Hudson river.I asked her mom in detail how to make her best curry. I took notes. I followed the steps in my head. Oh the result was delicious today. Just delicious.
Then, a few weeks ago, we had an almost surprise visit from Bud’s college roommate Jim, and his wife Maggie. They brought us this wonderful chutney with the instructions to let it sit for a few weeks more. We opened it tonight. When Jim and Maggie were here, we had a meal and told stories of all the years that have filled our lives. I was so happy to spend time with these special people. Old friends are midlife’s gold.
The Google Pakora, is inspired by the pakora that was brought home by the kids. I googled several recipes to become familiar with the process. The problem was that our stores did not carry gram flour, ground garbanzo flour. I had the idea that grinding my own would work, since I only needed two cups. So I took two Goya cans of garbanzos, roasted everything on cookie sheets to dry it all out, and then put it all through the food processor to grind it into powder.
Jasmine rice is Rosie’s favorite, so we have it every single night of our life. One of our rice cookers is devoted to jasmine rice. The other is for brown rice.
The cucumber/yoghurt sauce is a tip from my kitchen advisor, Kiko. My mouth was burning last week because I put too much Tabasco in my soup. He quickly brought me a small glass of milk. It did the trick and cooled everything down.
The Lentil Dal was easy and delightful to make. I started the lentils in a separate pot, and fried the onions, garlic and spices in another. Then, I recombined them. It took on a beautiful color.
The last thing on the plate was mint relish, which came from the International Aisle at the supermarket. Just a tiny dab in the mix woke the whole plate up and took it to another place.
I heated the oil up in a wok, and used a thermometer to check the temperature. The Google Pakora batter was dropped in by spoonfuls and rewarded me with an excellent sizzle. They turned a beautiful shade of brown before my eyes and tasted just sumblime especially with a bit of chutney.
My friends who have sailed with me through parts of this river, will know that I just love new cuisines and am eager to try everything. Cooking is an act of love. As a child I stood wide eyed at the kitchen door and watched the ladies give orders to scampering maids.
When I was widowed in 1982 I was twenty-five. I was invited to live by my friends in a student house in West Philadelphia humorously known as the Madhouse. We had a kitchen that was dominated by a table with two long benches. I cooked and cooked that year. We had dinner parties and we had a tape of “La Boheme” that played on a cassette player next to a little dim black and white television. We all took turns, but I helped all the time. It was something to do rather than talk. It was magical. The feeling of being together, the smells and the the tastes, the laughter and the stories all wove my heart back together and gave me a wonderful, unforgettable year. By the time a year had passed, I was ready to let go of these friends, and move forward with my own story.
Feeding people when your heart if broken is a palliative act. It takes you out of yourself, and you are doing an act of nurturing. Even if you don’t feel it, it makes you better.
After that year, I cooked my way through my fears of falling in love again, and right into Bud’s heart. I have a recipe for Chicken with Cashew Nuts that is from the Irene Kuo book, The Key to Chinese Cooking. That dish still makes him teary eyed when I cook it, and it was a birthday request from the children for years.
When my big girl moved to New York, I told her to feed people so she could feel at home at once, and grow her urban tribe. She did, is and she has a tribe.
In my own quirky kitchen, there is magic every day. And why not? We only have this day once. Children grow up too quickly, and before you know it, you are waving goodbye to them as they get on trains and airplanes with their hearts full of hope and their eyes full of dreams.
I always want to remember my life with my family. The smells, the cats underfoot, the hopeful dog, and Bud’s amazed face as he lifts the lids and looks inside the pots.