The Wannabe Masterchefs

The aroma of spices, with a delicate hint of chilli, filled the room as I served Palak Paneer to a hungry bunch of sibling and cousins. That was probably the first time I had ever prepared an ‘edible’ meal at home. The last time I made something with Channa Dal long long ago, Dad had to make trips to the bathroom all through the night. I know, such a lazy no-good daughter I am. 

But even more delightful was how everyday my husband prepared and taught my Mother and her band of sisters a variety of Marathi dishes – Thalipeeth, Baigan Bharta, Puran Poli, Balushahi, Dahi Samosa, Poha. Didn’t I tell you I returned back with an extra layer of tummy, well I wasn’t joking!! 

The amusing part was to translate Assamese Hindi and Marathi Hindi to Hindi. Yes there is a thing like that.

My mom seriously had no faith in my cooking and was always losing her hair worrying if we were eating right. Now that she saw her son-in-law dishing out delicious dishes one after another, she’s relieved that atleast we won’t die of malnutrition. 

My Dad was mighty pleased to sink his teeth into soft balushahi that he had been craving for three years. The ingredients were measured and added by my husband, Mom kneaded the dough, Mahi made small round balls while I fried and dipped them in sugar syrup (and ate them as well … you know just to test the softness, texture etc etc). The kitchen was always busy with a flurry of activities, while our clothes smelled like cloves and cinnamon.

We were a bunch of walking-talking Khana Khazana πŸ˜› But when all 9 members of the family prefer salt from the scale of bleh to sphygmomanometer breaking high and chilli from ‘none’ to ‘maar dala’ , well all sort of solutions need to be applied. It was like solving one of those Engineering aptitude tests. 

If A like spice of 0% and B like spice of 120%, then after how many minutes should a bowl of curry be separately kept before adding chillies so that A can eat without crying a river.

Boy!! Managing a kitchen is no phunny business. One wrong spoon of salt and people would be down with dizziness and nausea. I am pretty sure after we left my Dad would have undergone a series of health checks while my mom would have totally cut down non-vegetarian and sweets and salt and chilli and whatever that’s tasty. 

Now that I am back in Sydney, every time I sprinkle Jeera in hot oil I could almost feel Mom say ‘Kidney kharab ho jayegi’. {Don’t ask me how and why – Don’t Moms always tend to know some weird science} 

Ohh how I miss this crazy bunch of wannabe masterchefs.

11 thoughts on “The Wannabe Masterchefs

  1. Ahh lucky you. I wish my husband was half as good a cook. But then we make do with restaurant food which by no means is healthy! But these moments with family in the kitchen are so much fun no?

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