Kitchen Chronicles

My kitchen- a remembrance of things past I rarely visited my childhood kitchen, it was a dangerous space. The gas cyliner was very close by and to turn on the stove the cook had to first turn on the gas cylinder and then quickly light a match and turn on the stove at the same time. If it was turned on earlier the flames leapt up and had to be controlled, if it was turned too slowly the match burnt. The kitchen tap was also always dripping and the cook had twisted cloth to tighten it. Often when we tried to turn on the tap we got a shock. So all in our entire kitchen area was a scary space. Next to the kitchen area was a pantry with red and white painted wood walls and screens letting natural light filter through. Here was where we baked chocolate brownies. Usually it was my mother, brother and me who did the baking. We used the joy of cooking, pg 654 and that page was easy to find, as it was covered in chocolate and flour. We made two batches one with walnuts and one without. I did not like too many flavors in my food. The best part of making brownies was licking the bowl after the mixture had been poured into the baking dish. Today my daughter licks the bowl with the same relish. Most of the food we ate was cooked by cooks and it was usually Indian and tasty. When we had parties my parents enjoyed organizing fancy duos, where the main theme was food and the layout of it. The Gujarat cabinet, an old wooden carved cupboard housed the alcohol. We started parties with snacks like namkeen and chips and homemade dip, where the yogurt had been hung on a malmal cloth the night before to take the water out it. Then garlic and onions were chopped into the creamy mixture along with salt, pepper and red paprika. Fresh chips were bought from the halwai with just the right amount of salt sprinkled on to them and fried in non-smelly oil. A good gazpacho soup followed this with ice cubes in it and then delicious pasta and a green salad. Desert was usually ice cream. In wintertime we light the fireplace within our exposed brick wall living room and sat around it stoking the flames through the night. Sometimes we grilled chicken in the fireplace or heated rum punch. Going to my grandparents’ houses was always memorable. My paternal grandparents held the grandest parties, especially on my grandmother’s birthday. She took days having the servants bring the best carpets down, pulling out her china and decorating the living room. The cellar usually catered the food and there were generous portions of soft kebabs wrapped in romali rotis, fish fry, tandori chicken and paneer tikkas. The drinks flowed generously and for us kids drinking unlimited quantities of campa cola blended with ice, was a treat. My maternal grandparents did not host the same grand parties, however we always had delicious food there too. The china was beautiful with small delicate flowers sprinkled on the plates and on small katoris for putting the daal, yogurt and meat curry. The phulkas that arrived were small and round and dipped with a chunk of white butter slowly spreading and melting on the hot phulka. Whenever we came to each of our grand parents house they always had a delicious store of snacks ready- from cookies to sometimes hot samosas, jalebis and pakoras from the nearby market on a rainy day. We also got Chai in fancy teacups. In summer it was kulfi in metal triangle cones where the tops had to be unscrewed and delicious mango kulfi popped out. In my paternal grandmother’s house it was apple crumble made by Bishan that was out of this world. Crispy and buttery on top and warm and soft inside. At home the treat was jelly. Where my brother and I fought over who would eat the bottom part. Now that we think about it we laugh at how we could have such angry, physical fights for probably the worst and most glutinous part of the pink jelly. People’s cooking reflects them. Right now I cook food that takes 8 minutes or less. I cook three meals a day for my daughter and I am happy when she says yummy and sad when she says yucky. I like to eat at places that remind me of home, maybe kabab king and Yemeni have the home cooked feel that is missing in the over processed food one gets in Manhattan. Food is also so much a part of Punjabi identity; a friend once remarked we Punjabis emanate food. As others emanate whiteness, disdain, arrogance, anger or peace and love. People’s attitudes towards food reflect them and the culture they have grown up in. Some scavenge for food and then hide and eat it and don’t share. In restaurants each orders their own plate of food and is limited to one flavor. How lonely not to be able to taste the variety, difference, subtle flavors around you. Once you are at peace with your food you are at peace with yourself. Denying oneself this or that, diets and fads come and go but tasty, delicious, spicy home cooked food is here to stay forever!