<p>Cooking is an art. But cooking for just two is pure mathematics. I am quite poor in this kind of math, and as a result, there are leftovers most of the time. Crows are the happiest because there is food for them early in the morning. I console myself saying that ‘lokah samasthah sukhino bhavanthu’ (May all beings everywhere be happy and free).<br /><br /></p>.<p>But in the days of inflation, I cannot help admire all those who manage to cook just enough food. Even on days when the family was in its full quorum, I could never prepare food for just the four of us. I can trace my ‘large’ hand to my younger days at my own home and also at my in-laws’. My family had six members, but there would be food to feed at least 10, anticipating unannounced guests. My husband’s was a larger family and almost all the relatives were a stone’s throw away. The surplus was not at all a problem since the extra would be used by someone within the family.<br /><br />My mother-in-law perhaps had the ‘largest’ hand. In summers, she would pickle as many tender mangoes as possible in huge jars, and would then start distributing. I now understand the pleasure she might have derived from this act. It was not making just enough that mattered; ‘make more and share with others’ was her motto.<br /><br />I often wonder about the present day obsession with frugality. I hail from Kuttanad and have heard my father say that in those days (or, nights?) the householders, especially the womenfolk, were only too happy to serve the leftovers to the less fortunate ones. This would have been possible only if there was that little extra. Modern amenities seem to have changed this mindset. With the fridge and the microwave, we never have to throw away yesterday’s fare. <br /><br />I never could master this art of making just enough. On the contrary, even at 15, my daughter was a good mathematician and a magician too. The reason was simple: she would not make much. My friends support this simple theory. They tell me that one has to prepare lesser quantity than required if one wants it to be just enough. If there are six mouths to feed, cook for just five and that will suffice.<br /><br />After several trials and errors, I have found a solution now. Based on my long experience, I have three sets of vessels with me now — ‘just enough’ for two, three and five. It is permutation and combination, but it certainly helps me tide over crisis after crisis. When it is only the two of us, out comes one set. When the children and their families visit, it is a combination. It works! <br /><br />At the end of the day, everything is wiped clean, and I have also turned into a good mathematician. But, alas, in my mind’s eye, I see my eager ‘large’ hand lying somewhere out there in one of those vessels, weeping inconsolably. <br /><br /></p>
<p>Cooking is an art. But cooking for just two is pure mathematics. I am quite poor in this kind of math, and as a result, there are leftovers most of the time. Crows are the happiest because there is food for them early in the morning. I console myself saying that ‘lokah samasthah sukhino bhavanthu’ (May all beings everywhere be happy and free).<br /><br /></p>.<p>But in the days of inflation, I cannot help admire all those who manage to cook just enough food. Even on days when the family was in its full quorum, I could never prepare food for just the four of us. I can trace my ‘large’ hand to my younger days at my own home and also at my in-laws’. My family had six members, but there would be food to feed at least 10, anticipating unannounced guests. My husband’s was a larger family and almost all the relatives were a stone’s throw away. The surplus was not at all a problem since the extra would be used by someone within the family.<br /><br />My mother-in-law perhaps had the ‘largest’ hand. In summers, she would pickle as many tender mangoes as possible in huge jars, and would then start distributing. I now understand the pleasure she might have derived from this act. It was not making just enough that mattered; ‘make more and share with others’ was her motto.<br /><br />I often wonder about the present day obsession with frugality. I hail from Kuttanad and have heard my father say that in those days (or, nights?) the householders, especially the womenfolk, were only too happy to serve the leftovers to the less fortunate ones. This would have been possible only if there was that little extra. Modern amenities seem to have changed this mindset. With the fridge and the microwave, we never have to throw away yesterday’s fare. <br /><br />I never could master this art of making just enough. On the contrary, even at 15, my daughter was a good mathematician and a magician too. The reason was simple: she would not make much. My friends support this simple theory. They tell me that one has to prepare lesser quantity than required if one wants it to be just enough. If there are six mouths to feed, cook for just five and that will suffice.<br /><br />After several trials and errors, I have found a solution now. Based on my long experience, I have three sets of vessels with me now — ‘just enough’ for two, three and five. It is permutation and combination, but it certainly helps me tide over crisis after crisis. When it is only the two of us, out comes one set. When the children and their families visit, it is a combination. It works! <br /><br />At the end of the day, everything is wiped clean, and I have also turned into a good mathematician. But, alas, in my mind’s eye, I see my eager ‘large’ hand lying somewhere out there in one of those vessels, weeping inconsolably. <br /><br /></p>
