You need to have had soaked some sort of lentils or pulses
the night before. You need to have taken them out of the packet, poured into a
bowl and added water. The next morning they will have become fat, drinking in all
the water. So add good water, not tap. Keep the bowl covered till dinner time. The
pulses may or not may sprout a tiny bit.
Say half an hour before you think you want to eat dinner,
add some water into the bowl and put it in the pressure cooker. Put in some asafetida
powder. While that is being cooked, while the water is running for your bath in
the bathroom, while you are finishing a phone call, you also ought to be
chopping salad onions. Something about women being good multi-taskers. Or some
theory like that. Salad onions are smaller than regular onions. Mother gave you
a bunch last time. They don’t make you cry as much as the other onions. So you
like them. You don’t also mind chopping a whole lot of them. Also, bunched up
and hung from a nail, they look good and very…oh well something…on your kitchen
wall.
You have another excuse to use your small new white marble mortar
and tiny pestle. It is not entirely white. There are lines that look like
cinnamon and cloves bits bled into its veins and spread their tentacles all
over. It is not perfect. That was what you were looking for, character. Perfection
never ought to be something to aspire for. So you get to use this again to make
tonight’s dinner.
Peel some big fat pods of garlic. Cut a few rings of fresh
ginger. Take a small handful of whole black pepper, then decide that is too
much, put some back in the pretty little glass bottle of which you have a set
of six. Add the pepper in. Decide against adding cardamom, despite how much you
crave for the heady smell of cardamom to permeate through the layers of skin on
your fingers when after you have peeled them. Cinnamon sticks, the real
cinnamon sticks you brought back from a trip to the North East, you don’t add
those either. For no special reason. You have decided not to use store bought
garlic and ginger paste and powdered pepper any longer, as far as possible. Your
fingers might be a little sticky from peeling the garlic. Before you wash your
hand in the trickle of cold water under the old plastic tap, bring them up to
your nose and breathe in the warm scent of Indian kitchens you have eaten in
and of pasta sauce made in Italian villages you have read about. Wash.
The garlic, pepper and rings of ginger with the peel on
them, because you like them on, are in the small mortar. Take the pestle and
start pounding. Careful with the pepper. Those fellows are tricky and one or
two will attempt to fly under places you can’t reach to bring them back. You will
have to stop after a bit, the garlic pods will be flattened by now, but
conniving with the ginger rings they will have slipped to the edges of the
mortar. A few pepper pieces will have escaped the pounding. You have to bring them
together at the centre. Start pounding again.
Slowly the garlic gives up the fight first and wrings out from
itself a warm breathe of scent that smells like a wintery Saturday afternoon
when you would be back from half a day at school and mother would surprise you
with steaming hot biryani. Next the ginger bleeds out a wisp of juice. You do
not give up on the pepper till each bursts into differently sized smithereens. They
smell harsh, sharp, angry, echoing the thuds you made when you pounded them. The
three allow themselves to become a mash of smells and textures. By themselves,
they are each heady. Together, they intoxicate.
By now the pulses are cooked and you will have taken the
bowl out from the cooker. You now have got to scoop the pounded spices out from
the mortar and add them to the pulses. Just that brief moment is enough for
those smells to leave their trace firmly upon your fingertips. The smell of
those fingertips will colour someone’s new memory perhaps. Then you add the
chopped salad onions, the ones that didn’t make you cry. Then you take the bottle
of turmeric powder and shake some out. You like a lot of turmeric in your food,
not just for its colour. Then some salt. Then you mix with a shiny big steel
spoon. That’s done.
Now you take down a ceramic bowl in cream and blue and serve
some pulses into it, along with the stock it boiled in. That is because the
water has all the nutrients now. Squeeze in the juice of one tiny bit of lemon.
Then you add three to four dollops of good curd, because you like curd, you
love curd. Then you step out of your front door and pick out a few leaves of mint,
fresh from the pot. That is your favourite part, picking out fresh ingredients.
You wash and add the mint leaves and stir it all one more time.
Dinner’s ready.
You can now sit down to eat with the new author you have discovered earlier in the evening.
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