The blame game

I read this at MSN India: The bitter feeling

This seems like such a harsh judgment to make on an (at best) unwilling partner in a heinous crime.
The poor woman must have been traumatized by the knowledge of everything that was happening around her. Hardly likely that she was left untouched by the criminal activity. She may well have remained depressive and ineffective therefore in doing something to thwart or hinder her husbands plans.

Glazes, aubergines and cheese

It seems like it has been a while. Other things seem to have taken precedence... and my food trails have been running cold.

This weekend has been a catching up of sorts-- breakfast was a simple upma made right with just a hint of vegetables. Lunch was rotis with the left over pandhi curry. Dinner was a long time planning. Sushi-- maki rolls with crab meat. T's white wine (Chenin Blanc) was the perfect accompaniment. Smoked salmon was the starter. The momos were a bit of an experiment (owing to some laziness) and the rice paper seemed to lose some spring in the steaming. lessons learned and stomachs full, we set out to Sunny's for a dessert. Some sinful chocolate followed. And it was time to call it a night.

Breakfast was a bull's eyes accompanied by sausages with the tomato cheese melt over fried mushrooms and onions. Delicious. And filling.

Lunch was a quick glance in the fridge and a unh huh!!!

And preparations for dinner began right after a short nap.

The evening began rather early with hastily brushed memories of baking bread and a good large ball of dough kneaded and set aside to rise. The long pending pineapple upside down cake (this was a stupendous spectacular success!) followed. It was a luscious sweet treat. The rum glaze added a triumphant twist to this sweet (and pretty) concoction! Some encouragement (lots, actually) and a quick take on the method and we flambeed the glaze. Some pictures should follow.

Chef made a pepper chicken. I insist that the onions add value. But I am vetoed out! Fairly good. Could be better (its the sweet onions hon!). The dough has been shaped into rolls and croissants and set aside. A is making a moussaka, complaining about the fullness of his stiomach the while. A fairly rich curry of lentils have also been set aside.

Preparations are on in full swing. We plan to spread out a small cheese platter with the moussaka and watch Duplicate over dinner. Let's wait and see how that turns out..

And then its time to take on the world after a quick nap again!

Dinner- Asian

Sashimi (salmon and tuna), pickled ginger and wasabi-- a lovely start to a great dining experience.

Throw in some good (foodie) company-- and you have the makings of a great evening!

That was how it started.

Warmed up quickly with a glass of the house red.

Followed it up with a couple of plates of sauteed "field" mushrooms (wood-ear and shiitake rock!), golden fried prawns rolled in sesame seeds with garlic sauce, roti telur (this was the only part that I deemed miss-able) and a sizzling barbecue of pork ribs! Delicious. Followed by two rounds of fortune cookies.

When skating on thin ice, your safety is in your speed. (Er... OK?!)
Be satisfied with what you already own. (Hmmmmmmmmmmmpfh!)

OR (depending on whose fortune you pick!)

Your sweetheart may be too beautiful for words but not for arguments.
your smile makes everyone realise that the world is a lovely beautiful place.

And topped off with coconut rolls with honey butter sauce. Yummmmmmmmmmmmm!!!

5 X 2

I watched this surreal french film by Francois Ozon. (Ironically) it left me gasping for breath.

(What is it about French movies and full frontals?!)

Valeria Bruni Tadeschi and Stephane Freiss set the mood as a middle aged couple very civilly parting ways-- signing the divorce papers after agreeing on the terms read out by a stodgy lawyer.

The (as yet) unvoiced bitterness and the anger forms a silent undercurrent.

The film moves chronologically backwards from this point to capture for us four other instances which are the "big moments" in this couple's life.

We see a patient Gilles as he handles their child and we see another darker side of him in a dinner converastion with his gay brother and his lover. Marion glitters through this scene as she entertains them after a long hard day at work.

We move backward through the agony of Marion alone in a traumatic childbirth, silently chastising the unrelenting Gilles as he passes zombie-like through the motions of a regular day.

We see Gilles and Marion united in holy matrimony as they mouth the (we already knowthis to be untrue) words-- until death do us part.

We see Gilles distracted by Marion's appearance as he cavorts on a beach with his girl friend.

The film forces us to consider these moments in reverse chronology and makes us wonder if things could have been different.

The pace remains slow and ponderous. The nudity seems excessive. All in all, it leaves one wondering why this story needed to be told this way. However, it also leaves us feeling like we have been throught the bitter parting of ways ourselves. And it feels like a series of snapshots in an everyday life...

In vino veritas

Succesion... and bequests

Life looks a little different if you are the next in line... or so I think...

C'est la vie... quest que vous faite!?

I am sitting at home wondering about one of my favorutes... who is in love with somebody I like... Easy to say it is being handled. But with a couple I know being in discussions for decades now, it has a new meaning. Shoud we decide on immediacy?

I don't know how to answer this!!!

Wodelouse rocks!!!

On a relatively blue morning, when waking up and taking on the day seem a drag the one thing I can depend on to pick me up is a Wodehouse.

Transported as I am immediately to a world of eccentric "peers of the realm" who look like "dying ducks" and are bullied mercilessly by observant nieces hiding in the shrubbery playing not so mute witnesses to the indiscretions of older relatives; or larger than life sisters with commendable memories and "bellowing voices" who bully these same older relatives into doing their bidding, the cares of the day peel off and I find myself smiling again and ready to take on whatever the day has in store.

Bring it on!!!

Holes in the ozone layer and other things that need immediate attention

I do not read the newspaper. I do not watch television. And I do not track the news.

Dramatic as this may sound, this may be true of many more people who would be hesitant to state this.

I am a “reader” with a voracious appetite for the printed word. And I am rather indiscriminate in my reading. I do have very strong opinions about the things that matter to me. And I am willing to admit (and accept) that other people can (and usually do) have very strong opinions of their own that are divergent from mine.

I enjoy a good argument—as much as the next person who is interested in looking at things differently would. And I am willing to cry myself hoarse and lose my voice over something that I really believe in.

And I am willing to accept a different point of view, if you can convince me.

Having had a rather long day arguing over trivialities that included what actually constitutes “theft”, on what is a better operating system, on whether Microsoft is actually the evil Satan that the (leftist IMHO) open source league makes it out to be.

Does this affect my life? In reality, I think not. Do these questions really shake the world? Or are they tools in the hands of some crafty marketing guru who has plugged it into a campaign to woo the world and wag the dog?

On whether I can contribute the creating (or not therefore) the hole in the ozone layer: I believe I do not affect this.

The earth (and the other planets… as also a variety of systems that parallel our solar system) has existed for aeons. In fact I believe that we as a race have a limited understanding of what exactly constitutes these systems. We have made significant progress in understanding some aspects of our past and our evolution. However, to accept this as complete (going by the contribution to better understanding this universe by luminaries including Galileo and Newton and Einstein and Hawking) would (IMHO of course) be a disservice to the future Hawkings’, Einsteins and the rest of their ilk that are lurking in the shadows as they theorise and throw light on aspects that were less understood today (and yesterday, therefore).

To accept the body of knowledge that we have today as complete seems to me therefore to be limiting.

In view of the cycles of warmth and cold that I have read about, this planet has been moving along a course that has resulted in a species like us taking the forefront and we like the other dominant species before us, seem to be heading towards extinction. In fact we seem to be hurtling towards this at an alarming pace. Should this worry me?

As someone (marginally) interested in anthropology (and also as someone interested in examining my viewpoint on this issue yet again), I believe not.

Yes. We may be looking at a different earth in a few million years time. But, to actually attribute these changes to a species that occupies so little space is to me self aggrandizement of the worst sort. I (and I use this term loosely to represent the human race as a whole). As I have heard it said, the earth was not what it is today just that many millions ago either. And we humans were not around in these numbers to help it along its cycle. But cool it did. And then it burned. And froze over again. And entire species were wiped out each time around. And every time, the dominant species formed a large part of the species’ that was wiped out. I am sure you are literate and understand the basics of probability. What’s the chance of that happening? Huh!

I believe that this preoccupation with the self and with the idea that we matter so much in the entire scheme of things is rather dramatic. And futile. I do not believe that we can change the course of this planet. And if we do manage that—I am of the opinion that it shall not be of lasting impact. What are a few billion people going to do to something that has created and sustained them for millennia? Go ahead—convince me otherwise. I am willing to consider as many viewpoints to the contrary as you can throw up. But be warned—this is no illiterate opinion or rant. There is research material (that is rather controversial no doubt) that stands me in good stead as I take this stand. (The University of Berkeley has some information that you may find illuminating— but don’t bother if you are one of those that goes around with a pre-formed opinion that cannot be changed!)

Media circuses and India

The Lead India campaign is becoming more of a "show" and less a serious effort to create leaders ground up. The frivolity of the first episode aired on national television was astounding.

Subsequent efforts have been more substantial. However, a certain something-- je ne sais quoi-- is still missing. That critical piece which will take this out of the realm of a media circus and into that of an initiative to groom the future leaders of India.

It must be said, definitely, in its favor, this is a step in the right direction. But at this stage, what we as a country need are multiple such (baby) feet marching in tandem to propel us into the future ahead of the pack, as it were.

The utterly incredible spectacle of Shah Rukh Khan sharing centrestage with Dr. Manmohan Singh as he was feted as the "Leader of the year" with a multitude of celebrities including Rahul and Priyanka Gandhi, Rajnikant, Barkha dutt et al looking on... the nature of the questions addressed to the "Leader of the year"-- are a significant indicator of the malaise that seems poised to hit India mid stride, as she prepares to take on the world.

Yes- we need champions who can take the lead in saying no to the very many things that have been holding India back through the past few decades since our freedom from colonial rule. But we need some inspired people who can share the stage unobtrusively with the real leaders-- those that must make the change to make this difference.

While a Karan Thapar with his hard talking can serve to expose corruption or other ills in our society; while the media can aid the soldiers in a vigilant fight for justice as in the Jessica Lal case; there must be some checks and balances that allow for the wielding of the power without this in itself becoming an end. We are today at a frightening stage in our societal development where the media seems all set to don wig and robes and become both judge and jury. We seem to be wowing the setting up of a parallel judicial system.

While the media must indeed be watchful and flag discrepancies in the system and workings of the legislative and judicial arms of the state machinery, it is rather limiting to try and recognize the Indian media itself as a system that effectively replaces the parliament, judiciary and legislature in India.

The inefficiencies in the existing system are more about the people and less about the system. What we need is a watchful media that flags every instance of corruption (and misuse of power, of course) and decay while standing by and letting justice take its course. Of course, as responsible citizens we must all do our bit to help justice hurry along this course. But along the way, we must also recognize that the setting up of a parallel judicial system will be counterproductive (in the long run) as power does indeed corrupt— and that it would be a disservice to democracy at large and the Indian democracy in particular if we subvert justice to serve an end today—however noble the intent and however blameless the deed itself— because it will (of necessity) set a bad precedent.

This is not to doubt the earnestness of those that have jumped in and joined the fray in their eager quest to lead India into the next decade... But the hype and the hoopla from the media have served only to craete a gaudy halo around the entire exercise.

Monday morning blues

I struggle to make the time to keep this commitment. But, I fear I am fighting a losing battle. Work has taken over my life in the way no jealous lover ever could beore. I am consumed by the long hours this relationship requires. The infantile demands on my time drive me to despair. I count every moment till the weekend and then-- blissful sleep. Hours and hours of it.

But other demands clamour for my attention and shout out that they have to be met too. Relatives and friends mingle into a kaleidoscope of clashing, jangling brilliants-- as I swoop from one to the next in a blur of social activity. The whirl leaves me in a swoon on the cluttered Sunday bed. A heap of tired muscle and screaming sinew that has no choice but to ready itself for the onslaught of the ignored infant.

The rooster crows. Another day has begun.

Bleary eyed, I tear myself out of the warm cocoon, and stumble around picking up the pieces. I paint my face back on, and go through the motions of reclaiming myself from the nether realms rather nonchalantly. I bundle myself into my skin, and throw myself into the act of waiting for the monster that will tear through the foggy morning, as it trundles along inexorably closer to the hungry day.

The gears clang loudy and the horns blare as I droop on the seat in the wilting brown bus as it lurches its unsteady way in on the Monday.

Another week begins with me trying hard to quieten the fledglings' cries for attention.

TIOL and other miseries...

The Inheritance of Loss was a book that left me feeling a faint unease and left me wanting to read more… to arrive at a conclusion.

The prose itself was fluid… lyrical even, in some parts. The narrative was unsettling in parts. The uneasiness I referred to earlier was perhaps a manifestation of this character of the writing.

The “main” plot itself seems practically non-existent, where sub-plots abound. The cameos of Biju as an illegal immigrant, or Panna Lal as the thieving, scrivening cook who thinks nothing of cheating his old benefactor are poignant reminders of our legacy of colonialism. Gyan and Sai’s romance, Lola and Noni’s incessant old woman chatter, Mrs., Sen’s garrulousness—all these strike the right chord. The bitter old judge, caught up in his own miserable world—unable to embrace life, except in his devotion to Mutt, as it were—captures our attention. We laugh at their follies and smirk as they totter in their grotesqueness. This book is like a patchwork quilt—but the fabric of the quilt itself is missing. What perhaps is missing is the “fabric” of one storyline that holds all of these together.

There seems to be a self critical vein running through the entire narrative as it were, causing the post colonial Indian reader to pause and grimace as each well described barb hits home. Every nuance rings true and leaves a gash of a wound that feels too hard to fill. This seems to be the only common thread—a bitter, potent, and sometimes furious self recrimination that feeds on itself through the book.

The characters themselves inherit this limitedness from the plot. They come centre-stage and capture our attention and stop suddenly, stunted by the limitations of the story. There seems a sort of hopelessness and humiliation that are inherent in the narrative which the characters acquire and embrace.

The writing is fluid, beautiful… It flows to embrace each little crevice of emotion it portrays. It seems contemporary almost in the issues that it seeks to expose. It encapsulates and presents the dilemmas of modern day living in a painfully real way.

A rude awakening: the assassination of Benazir Bhutto

There comes a time when even the most determined fence sitter has to opine (at least from the confines of the erstwhile comfortable armchair). The assassination of Benazir Bhutto has been just that trigger for me. For someone who has determinedly stayed away from forming lasting opinions on the polity of this sub continent, and who has shown a merely cursory interest in the governing of our hostile neighbour, this is a major step forward.

The fact that she follows an illustrious line of the various leaders from this sub continent that have actually paid with their lives- nay their very blood— for standing up and leading from the front is the probable cause for the rather abrupt awakening from the stupor. There has been a blood bath from the various corners of the subcontinent and the islands that surround it over the past few decades – and it has been a constant war for me to keep abreast of the gory newsbytes.

Born in a land where democracy rules rather despotically—where the likes of a Modi and a Gandhi rub shoulders as icons of their times — I have found it hard going, if not ethically impossible, to form a lasting or singular impression of the body politic.

This to me is no longer about political ideologies or differing agendas. This is an unleashing of a vile form of controlling terror that actually caused me to immediately check on my far flung family to ensure that they are all in safe places — away from the potential carnage that a misplaced backlash against this demonic act could unleash on the unsuspecting masses in the not so little pockets of minority strongholds across this country.

The disturbing thought that the call of a muezzin punctuating the evening could be misused to unleash a torrent of hatred is a thought at the back of my mind. Although, I must admit (in their favour, of course—admitting that they have never owed me an explanation for living their lives according due respect to a different ideology and ethos) that none of the Muslims I have known in my life so far have ever given me cause to worry in terms of their humanitarian values (Sabeels and Khaleels of this world notwithstanding).

The unleashing of the terror of death at a political rally is not news. Not where I come from. Nor is it news that terror is being used as a weapon by forces that seek control at any cost-- completely oblivious to the fact that they are wielding a double-edged sword in the hands of a fickle fiend. The current political climate in the subcontinent has seen enough of these mangled deaths to remain unruffled as another spasm takes hold.

The condolence messages are pouring in from across the world even as Bhutto’s political rivals point fingers at each other over the bloody wreckage.

The toll since her return is over a hundred and fifty lives. This should be enough to awaken the powers that be to the bloody dividends of the monster they themselves have created and unleashed into their very homes.

For those that live by the sword, they say, shall die by the sword.

When is it ever going to be enough? And who is it who shall decide?

Green pepper chicken

A strange restlessness has taken hold. And my mind is in a frenzy.. activity and thoughts collide in a careening kaleidoscopic mix. The psychedelic shapes barely form before they rapidly disintegrate for the next set. I am yearning to let the words tumble out. And I am longing to wield my brush again... And the urge to cook up a storm will not abate...

I sit in the eye of the storm. calm and composed... Buddha-like in my inactive stupor. The ennui of the last few weekends, my complete inability to look at anything except in focussed parts reminds me of my replica... my little angel- who as the night deepens focuses more and more closely on the keypad of my phone... the glaring blue light fascinates her and she talks contentedly to the handset while it tinkles back at the touch of her fingers.

I have decided to make pork dumplings in braised cabbage leaves (something akin to the more rustic momos...). Although, in reality- there is no plan for me to cook for anyone. A complete inability to rouse myself enough to wander out of the house is probably because of the cloudy drab sky outside. I want to stay closeted at home in the warmth of my bed, tucked cosily under the blankets, with a warm cup of cocoa in my hands. And I have so much of work to do. Mrs. Dalloway beckons- as she sets out to get the flowers herself. Meryl Streep. Bunches of delicious flowers. And what were those that she chose finally. I cannot remember. But I remember thinking them gorgeous. Peonies? I have never seen peonies.

I will pick up some flowers and I will call some friends over... Maybe I will cook something. Or perhaps we will order in. Some lovely red wine... some jazz... I want to buy some music... There! I have said it. And that perhaps is what I will do.

I have promised to make pita bread for lunch. And I will walk over to the store and buy some hummus paste... And I shall grill some chicken too... We have just discovered the joys of using the Real Good mixed boneless chicken... Delicious kebabs in minutes... Hardly any cleaning and cutting... I could almost do it myself. And maybe I will.

Here's last night's recipe:

Green pepper chicken

500 grams chicken (boneless)
50 grams green pepper corns (pickled/ preserved in brine- about 60 corns)
1 large onion
1 pod garlic
1 bunch fresh coriander

Coarse grind the above ingredients with no water. The onions should be chunky- not fine ground.

2 Eggs
1 tsp Salt

Add in two eggs and beat well. Add salt. Let stand for half an hour.

Add oil into a warmed shallow 9non-stick) frying pan/ skillet. Add in chopped/ diced onions (optional).

Add in the chicken mixture. Cover and cook for about ten minutes on a low flame.

Open and fry on low flame until the chicken pieces are well browned.

Serve hot with rice and rasam or chapathis.

Weekends

Another weekend is gone past...

I seem to be living from weekend to weekend... treating each as if it were my very last!

The last one was fairly eventful.

Decadent chocolate mousse, Exotic Yafkali Pilafi, Awesome Chicken Tagine, the old favorite: Banana Cake, and Rum Caramel sauce- which turned into a desolate toffee marked the passing of this one!

I melted the chocolate with a dash of dark rum and mixed in some whipped cream. An unplanned blending in of stiff egg whites followed. the result was a well set mousse- which IMHO could have been lighter.

The chicken tagine followed with a doubtful look at the strange lack of chillies or peppers. Very doubtfully, I decided to stick with the recipe telling myself I could add in some chilli if required.

The amazing Eggs Benedict! Accompanied by colorful stir fried veggies, they made for a filling start to my sunday.

The warm banana cake was everything I have come to expect. Moist and rich- every mouthful feels like another binge!

The rum caramel sauce bubbled away invitingly and I have a huge blister to show for my curiosity!

The Yafkali Pilafi was unexpectedly nice. The single spice flavoring seemed to be inadequate. And chef (who hates pastry shells!!!) sabotaged my efforts at lining the yafka... The result was an aromatic pilaf with the unexpected textures of squash and eggplant in a woefully inadequate pastry shell- which IMHO could have baked longer (to a crisp!)! Suffice it to say that the dubious house help went to sleep on an empty stomach and paddy laughed all the way home!

Freedom in August

Or that was what my desk calendar proclaimed for the month! And so it went- the words were said, the deed was done, and I won my freedom!

Well... partly...

I am currently among the ranks of the unemployed. And... what is more- I am happily so!

I have spent the past two days in a daze.

And that my friends was the least of it! For since early September I have been on the fast track- and in a race not of my choosing. I feel breathless and the oxygen is pounding in my head... The word I was looking for was exhilarating... The mad rush in my head is for real! And... I am lovin' it!

Fiction... scraps...

...Sometimes, I astound myself with the severity or acerbity of my observations. Many a time I feel that I could have held back or left unsaid those hurting words. And many barbs that wound deep I feel could have been left in my quiver. Even I quail at the look of fright when such a barb hits home and the wounded person before me reels back, a look of utter disbelief on their faces bearing mute testimony to the unexpectedness of the onslaught. I have the ability to withdraw my sympathies when the person before me has most need of it and has approached me only due to the many assurances of shared woes in the past.

It follows that I am no reliable shoulder to cry on...

FICTION

... So is this what childbirth feels like? Unbidden spasm after painful spasm- where the meaning of what is spewing forth eludes me... the grossness of something inside of me rushing forth with many pairs of expectant eyes devouring every minute drop...

I want my privacy. I want to be left alone to grapple with this thing inside me that wants to come out into this world.

The process of creation fascinates me. And the horror of it all is driven home to me in this moment- when strangers eyes are peering into my soul. Dare I bare it all? DO I have a choice? I feel that this piece has chosen me, and not I it.

The creation of this being has begun.

And was begun much before now. Maybe tomorrow it will be beautiful... or it may be grotesque... And all I shall be left with is the euphoria of the one spasm that will bring it forth into the world.

Shall that then be my claim to fame?

Will I feel responsible for it? Through the years when it takes form, I shall watch it with owning eyes. This was something inside of me. And when strangers come into my life on its behest, I shall watch carefully to see signs that my owning is melting away... the skin of my possession shall be torn from mine... rent with the pain of this moment.

Can I not begin that dissociation now? Can I not relieve myself of the pain of that parting by standing away? I shall distance myself from this my fiction... and leave it to the wanton pairs of eyes to rate...

Surprises!

The last few days have been tremendous... hectic does not seem to communicate the speed at which things have been happening.

As new orders emerge, Ive rued the fact that there has been no time to take stock.

The bulbul has abandoned his perch on the balcony bamboo. However, I have discovered more joy in the other- not so colorful friends that visit the balcony every morning. My abiding dislike for the cooing pigeons continues!!!

With my combined first and second sem exams looming large, the near future seems more dismal than ever. Chef has put together a challenging (again- this word seems inadequate!) schedule for me to complete my 12 assignments and exams. In my usual commitment phobic fashion, I have gone ahead and taken the plunge. Deep water, I say- can be refreshing. But then, it is early days yet... the rest shall be faithfully retold.

Chef has been chuckling away as he makes plans for yet another sunday extravaganza. But this time, the menu is to be a surprise even to me! I have made suggestions- owing to the paucity of time (I have 4 assignments to complete this weekend... and I have not even opened the books yet!) I shall be sitting this one out... although chef in his generous fashion has invited me to join him for dinner. ah! I dont know what I would have done without him!!! :-)

My suggestions (in the interest of lower/ distributed time and labor) are biryani, stir fried chicken (he said prawn- and that may well be it!) and more. I am on stand by- waiting to be amazed!

Today I have yet another get together with the Jet bunch... DivX called and set things up last evening. The high point is that Alisha will do a belly dance in a surprise appearance! More about this later...

Sharing spaces...

I have just returned and am looking forward to the restful night ahead. Life has seemed a bustle today... I've felt like I was in the thick of a swarm of bees rushing hive-ward... not necessarily pleasant... it could have been a lot worse... and everything around me was positively humming with activity!

Lunch was a double dhamaka- with rotis and my chicken sukka (it was really very good!) followed by the burra kebabs from Treat, biryani from Plantain Leaf and black forest cake from Cake Walk- in honour of the "pri-ji's birthday". The biryani was eminently missable- with large chunks of half cooked mutton and mildly flavored rice. Chef distastefully swallowed a few mouthfuls- and graciously offered to finish up with the starters. The burra kabab from Treat was a treat... and I swiped a couple of chunks of the paneer too.

The venue was Pista and Navs newly done up flat at Thippasandra. Ethnic artifacts and decor were complimented by (she was right- it really is!) a bright red wall. The space was airy and the lot of us did crowd it up a bit... but then there was a lot of us there! By the time we arrived with the cake the party was in full swing and everybody was looking (and sounding) positively happy. We rushed through lunch and the cake as I had loads of other things to catch up with later...

All in all the company made lunch tolerable.

Back home food was really the last thing on my mind... However, I had a dinner invite at Rose- something I should have looked forward to all day if I had enough time to think about it!

Veg pulao- mum ish-tyle... chicken curry in a peppery onion gravy, yummy fish cutlets, date and lime pickle (the fresh dates...), the flat pale green beans poriyal (uncle said it was seasonal), mixed veg sambar... all in all a delightful home cooked meal! Right in the middle of it all I had a call from the office (strange for a weekend!)... and I was distracted through the after dinner conversation over a fresh fruit trifle... aunty 's fish cutlet wa slght and fluffy- definitely something I need to learn from her!

And now... finally... home... and tucking in!

On coming of age

My culinary journeys today have led me to the firm belief that eating out in general, and the food industry in Bangalore in particular, has come of age.

I can see some heads nodding sagely- or is that just the last bit of energy expended nodding in satiety? I wonder...

I ate at two restaurants today that are perhaps the epitome of what the catering industry would term super specialty niche eateries.

At one end of Banaglore, in a relatively green and airy neighbourhood, at the end of a yet to be tarred road, nestles Kanua. Currently housing/ hosting a family of raucous mynahs, this eatery brings together the old world charm of an informal setting with an almost homely feel and, the fine dining experience that one has come to expect of any new world eatery.

The Mangalorean food is a treat for the senses. However, the food I would recommend is the chicken- and NOT the fish! The ghee roast was visually a rich red- but surprisingly mild, perhaps in honour of the almost permanent set of expatriates I have found there. Alcohol is not on the menu- this being probably one of the reasons why this eatery seems to always have a table at hand. Texturally I have found the food here superb- every dish having been seasoned exactly right. The odor of the crisp curry leaves and the spluttered mustard with the crisp red chilli waft tantalisingly in the air every few minutes. Visually every plateful seems a treat... although the ghee could seem overpowering to more conservative souls. The flavors could improve. The fish is surprisingly bland- with the batter fried dishes I have tasted offering you a perfect experience of the crisp shell and soft innards you mght have learnt to expect only from the most experienced hands. The chicken biryani is clearly the south indian version- and the flavors are well balanced. The desserts have left me dissatisfied... the ghee fried banana fritters winning hands down in this area. They offer sugarcane juice- a definite must do!

The other eatery I visited today was the South Indies. A tad disappointing in that they seemed to be running a full house. Surprising that a veg eatery was that full- on a weeknight, as Pads pointed out! A corner table outside was the best they could do at short notice. The ambience again is a smart, fairly up market eatery. We started on a variety of the papads and their three chutneys. The green (my favorite) mint n coriander, a sweetish red onion and the standard white coconut. Lovely! Then came the Kuzhi Paniyarams- soft and fluffy. (Just like what you would get back home, if only mama knew how...) The Vadais followed in quick succession- and I can tell you this is where the regular Vadai eater who is too scared to sample roadside wares will be heading. My stomach was already begging for respite- while Pads was debating on whether we could follow up the main course with dessert. Deferring the decision till post main course, we settled on Mambazham curry and steamed rice. ANd that was where it all ended for me this evening!

Interesting- and definitely inspiring... I am going to be making variations on all of these in the weeks to come. Keep coming back- my recipes shall follow!

Of chilly and spice and everything nice...

It seems like it has been aaaaages since i last logged in... I have been in a very different world. Books have been keeping me busy. Not the kind of books I would necessarily recommend though!

Sushi has been on my list of things to do for the last few weeks. And my trusted sushi buddy has not deigned to give me company. Hmmm.. We shall wait! In fact my food buddy has not been willing to go out and forage for a while. Methinks something is amiss!

However, on to more pressing matters.

The most intense power play I have ever been privy to occurred this weekend. My little one year old angel held mum n me enthralled for two days straight- both when she was present and in absentia. She was all we spoke about...

The little miss pointed and we scurried to and fro- literally at her beck and call. Mum missed her afternoon nap- and plodded around- exhausted, but not willing to give up right until the little miss left.

Ah! The vagaries of the young! And she does not even speak intelligibly yet!

The meals at Nandini have oft been recommended to me. I have always come away dissatisfied. I have found that the meals are way too spicy to be considered palatable (forget terms like delicious!). Last week, I discovered the reason why I had such a disparate view. My jaunts had been limited to the "Traditional Andhra" section- which in a way explains the extra dose of chilly. However, having had access to the best of Andhra cuisine in all its furiously spicy glory- I beg to differ on the authenticity of this version. The fare upstairs- for the "normal" Andhra meals was palatable, if undifferentiated. The podi was missing. The gongura pachidi was slightly (strangely) musty. The rest of the fare passed muster. The missing fish fry- my favorite accompaniment to the Andhra meal- was a little disappointing. All in all, a moderate Andhra experience.

Nagarjuna still rules. Bhima's, Maharaja's and Amaravathi stay untainted by the Nandini experience.