The Cho-Cha Returns!

Sometimes, I truly believe that when I have kids, specially a daughter, I won’t bother reading fairy tales to them. Not that I have anything against the Grimm brothers. On the contrary, their non-edited gory versions of the stories aren’t that different from my own writing (glass shoe full of blood because toes were cut off to fit the foot in…man!). But I do believe a large part of the dream of Prince Charming and happily ever after starts off at a very young age thanks to books like these. Growing up, Rom-Coms don’t help, and Bella Swan swooning over vampires and werewolves definitely takes feminism back quite a few years.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against romantic stories or happy endings, I DID read the entire Twilight series rather eagerly after all. But I do believe a lot of important things in life should not revolve around finding your Prince Charming. I hope you find your love, if that’s what you want, and live happily ever after. But I also hope that your own happiness doesn’t only depend on the ever after.

Take my love for American Chopsuey, for example.

American Chopsuey (which is frankly more Indian by now than American or Chinese) is one of the least liked dishes on a Chinese menu in India. The biggest reason being the fact that it’s sweet, and that’s rarely liked by spicy Indians.

On the other hand, it’s one of my favourite dishes.

But the biggest issue with the dish is the size of the serving, which is almost always too massive for one measly human being to devour. And thanks to that, I was always on the look-out for someone to share the dish with. While at home, my sister and I became best friends at the time of this meal and happily shared what no one else really liked. But once out of Delhi, I suddenly found myself Chopsuey-less.

And so it came to be… the random crazy belief that the one way I’ll know that a guy really is perfect for me, is if he also likes American Chopsuey.

Ya, go figure.

Years and multiple relationships (both Chopsuey-full and Chopsuey-deprived) later, of course this sounds beyond stupid.

And yesterday, having heard my sister recite similar Chopsuey-longing troubles (sans the silly Perfect guy theory, duh) it suddenly hit me.

I didn’t need a guy’s true love to be able to hog on American Chopsuey.

I just needed my own.

Sure I might not be able to finish it, but that’s what doggy bags are meant for!

Sure I’m about to gain weight.

And maybe give my sweet tooth an ache.

But I think it’s time to bring the Chopsuey Challenge back, no?

So whether alone, or with A (who will definitely be ordering something else!), or maybe with you, I’m gonna hog on a whole lot of American Chopsuey!

Know a place in Mumbai worth trying? Let me know!!

Sugar Talk Diaries

I grew up with an insatiable sweet tooth, something that demanded some relief post every meal of the day. And while on most days I would settle for chocolates or as a last resort a piece of jaggery, Mom for the most part did her best to put up something new every few days.

You see, my Mum happens to be a bit of a wizard when it comes to the kitchen, and especially with desserts. Something that the entire family (including cousins, near and far), have come to love and look forward to. And am sure it must’ve come as quite a disappointment to her, when I refused to even enter the kitchen, let alone show any signs of her sweet inclinations near the oven. She would take classes for strangers, and I would refuse to learn.

And now, when I’m sitting far away, in another city, I find myself sometimes (still rather rarely) inclined to make something sweet. Of course it never ever turns out the way her’s did, but my experiments till now have at least not been disappointing (except for one bad episode with Custard. Warning to readers, NEVER follow the instructions on the box!).

In fact, I had been looking forward to this weekend, after a rather tiring month, to do nothing but sleep, a lot. And that I did, all of Saturday morning, then afternoon. Suffice to say my day pretty much began at 5PM. And then I was wide awake. And hungry. And craving.

So I decided to bake some apple crumble (thanks to some old apples lying untouched in the fridge, which had been bought on the pretext of eating healthy)

And then baked some fruit cake.

And then some more.

Yes, it was all edible.

Yes, it didn’t taste bad at all.

No, it didn’t taste like Mum’s.

But it was good.

And chopping up apples to no end actually helped relieve a pretty bad mood I had woken up with. Stress buster identified.

So I figured I should finally take up what my Mum’s been trying to get me to do forever. Learn her recipes. Except sadly now instead of an in-kitchen live session, it’ll have to be an over-the-phone lesson and memories of how that dessert was supposed to be. Serves me right for being such an adamant kid.

But I’m kinda looking forward to it, you know? It’s like my very own “Julie & Julia”, except, my Mum is so much more than Julia Child :)

It's Challenge Time!!!!

So this has to be one of my laziest and most un-creative (is that even a word?!) patches ever! It has been forever since I’ve written, or felt like writing anything. And while it’s so easy to blame all the duties of life post marriage for lack of time, the simple fact is, me being the lazy person that I am, barely have any of these duties, and have an amazing hubby who does more than his share. And his share includes comforting me after I reach home drenched in sweat cursing the Mumbai gods and traffic and distance and everything under the sun.

So I decided it’s time to do something about this lazy patch. This blog has been my life for way too long to give up on it so easily. So here’s what I plan to do. I’m starting two challenges. Challenges for myself, and challenges for any of you who choose to indulge and jump in on them. I’ll make it fun, I promise!

Challenge 1: A Word A Week

This isn’t anything new, and I was inspired largely by FatMumSlim’s A Photo A Day challenge. So this is how it works:

• Every month I’ll make a list of random words, one for every week of the month.
• The challenge starts with a new word every dreary Monday morning.
• And then you have a week to do whatever you want with that word. A blog, a story, a musing, a poem, a photograph, a sketch, there’s no restriction. Use the word directly, or contort it to mean whatever you want it to. One word, every week.
• Just mark me on whichever medium you display it or give a link to, on Facebook or Instagram…whatever suits you, so I can keep track of who all are taking the challenge.

And if anyone apart from me actually takes this up, well, let’s compete :D

No, I don’t have a prize for you, whatever the hell happened to creative satisfaction!! Hmph!! But I will throw in a pretty cool badge to put up on your site :D

Challenge 2: The Non-Cookery Challenge

Now before getting married, I made it super clear to A that I don’t cook, and I have no plans to start any time soon. Then he was sweet enough to move to Mumbai for me, away from all his mum and my mum’s yum food. So out of feeling rather generous I promised him I’ll cook for him once a week, every weekend, just to keep his tummy happy. Because come on, cooking every Sunday isn’t really that big a deal now is it?

But as time went on, weekends seemed more useful to sleep in, and tummies were happy hogging on shawarmas from the various conveniently located Andheri joints, even if our pockets turned a little weepy.

And yesterday after long, I actually felt like cooking for the poor starved boy. No, I still don’t end up making daal makhni and butter chicken for him, but something is better than nothing, right, even if it’s continental?!

So here’s the next challenge. Cook one dish every week. Whether it’s just an appetizer or a dessert, as long as it's something in the kitchen made by your own hands. And while I know too many people around me who are experts and actually cook every day and I would love for them to participate, I’d especially love it if you’re one of those people like me, who doesn’t cook, and struggles, and needs a push to do it more often.

So this one has no restriction on what to cook or how. Just cook. Once a week, any time, take a pic, and tag me. You want to just put a pic with a title, go ahead. You want to share your horrifying / awesome experience, I’d love to hear it! You want to be generous enough to share the recipe of your creation, well, you truly are selfless!!

I’m doing this because publicly failing to cook might motivate me more than ignoring my husband’s pain filled hungry eyes (I’m good at not wearing my specs / contacts and ignoring faces).

So PLEASE join me, motivate me, and bloody help me cook!

Totally looking forward to seeing stuff!

And hopefully creating some stuff myself!

Will keep updating FB / Instagram with details.

Challenge Accepted!

Domestication

It’s a word that reminds me of an untrained dog, or something worse, like a cow running wild in the woods.

“Why is it doing that?” ask the bewildered villagers.

“Oh, it isn’t domesticated yet.”

And that really does explain it all.

Except that it’s a term that mum chose to use for me. Well, because, I’m 25. And a girl. And couldn’t be less interested in cooking.

I guess that explains it all as well.

So now that I’m back home, it was only a matter of time before Project Domestication was launched. It didn’t quite go in the direction either of us wanted, but we’ve reached a nice little compromised middle path with which both of us are rather satisfied.

So my dear future hubby, I might not be able to make daal tadka and ten types of veggies for you, but I should hopefully be able to appeal to your sweet tooth at the end of the ready-to-eat packet meal we’ll soon get used to devouring.

So that’s what’s new each weekend, and you know what, I actually look forward to it!

Last weekend was my Mum’s simple vanilla and two layered cake. You would be happy to know, that it wasn’t hard, it wasn’t burnt, and it wasn’t anything weird. It was, in fact, rather perfect.

The yum vanilla cake!

And the double layered cupcakes

Maybe I do have my mum’s baking genes.

Or of course, maybe it was simple enough for a monkey to cook, and with my mum watching over my shoulder and giving instructions, not much could go wrong.

But I choose to believe in the former!

Right now as I write this, there’s a lemon soufflé resting in the refrigerator. Fill you in on that one, well, once I figure out if it’s edible! Fingers crossed!