An apple pie from “so long ago”
She forgets when she encountered it first – elementary or middle school. But it was certainly during thanksgiving, she recalls, that this apple pie used to be made and she learnt it from her Grandpa. In fact it used to be made at least twice a year.
It feels like it was so long ago, Sarah tells me. Read more …
Kaayas Have a Lesson to Impart
Measure is not only Vasu’s prerogative. When all set to cover her recipe story, Mahita represents quite the same sense of discipline – not in the way she cooks (like V) but in the “what” she prepares. The maker of the snake-gourd curry (poatlakaaya in Telugu) says that this dish was a penchant of her mother’s – this is “easy on the tummy,” what Mahita would call “comfort food.” Mahita would often crave for such comfort food back in India, she tells me. Read more …
Ham Barbecue at Aunt S’s, Heidi, and the Moon
Close to 5.30 pm, one day in July, in Morrisville, North Carolina – amidst sounds of Wild Wild West, Heidi, the dog’s incessant efforts to appeal to a side of me that knows how to love, an armchair that I keep wanting to steal, and the smell of sauce. Three dots
Before I even begin this story, I want to end it already with something that Aunt S (remember my affinity with first letters of names) says with regard to the barbecue sauce heating on the pan while I am at her house. She says: “The longer it sits on the stove, the better.” These words matter to me. They seem to be the only ones that do – to start with. The end belongs somewhere else, perhaps. Read more …
There’s something about “sheera”
While this thick, embalming, beige smell of the ghee reminds Vasu of his Amma’s making sweets in bulk during festivals back in India, something familiar has stirred in my memory. It has not come to me yet, but very soon I will reach it. Read more …
Pooris as Promised
Sugandha and I met at a bus stop in Raleigh. Information had been exchanged about banks at the time. It has been a year and a half since then. Today I have come to her house which she shares with Mahita and Abhilasha to see her cook, to document it, and to make some of that experience traceable through the words to appear here. Read more …
An Omelette, or an Omelette…
In a house in Raleigh, North Carolina: While I wait for the bottle-gourd curry to cook, choking uncomplainingly at the intense smell of the dried-red chillies – as feline as Dracula’s canines (just imagine them to be red and quite long) – which had been cut and added to the curry minutes before, the fascinating scenes of an already-twice-seen detective series plays out on the projected screen in front of me. Read more …
words&talesbyrb 