The technical chef

After each session, he would muse at the many ingredients and the variety of spices used.

On a rainy day, when I returned home late in the evening tired and cold, what I needed was just a hot cup of coffee instantly. Relieving myself of the shoes and the heavy handbag, I dragged my feet towards the kitchen.  The sight on the kitchen counter, with scattered utensils, tampered roll of kitchen towel and spilt food particles, brought a sudden  surge of anger in me and drained away my appetite for coffee.

I came to the living room and curled up on the sofa. Moments later, I heard footsteps coming down from the first floor which I chose to ignore, pretending to be angry at the person who had caused the devastation in the kitchen! I lay still to the sound of the clutter of plates in the kitchen. A few minutes later, my husband came up to me with a plate of onion pakodas, the smell of which made me stir up to a sitting position.

As we gorged on the plate of pakodas he explained how, in an attempt to surp-rise me with a nice snack, he had gone through an unimaginably tough time! He had dug out the old recipe book to figure out the proportions, rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for the ingredients and the teary, onion cutting ordeal had almost dissuaded him from continuing with the task. But his ego didn’t let him give up. Amid sweat and stress, he had completed the frying job. He had gone upstairs to freshen up before I returned, to cover up his struggle in the kitchen!

We both agreed that the taste was not too bad, which encouraged him to make coffee at which he generally does not go wrong. Sipping the coffee, he confessed that it is worthwhile to learn cooking, at least the basic things. He decided right then that I should teach him how to cook a few dishes which we regularly eat. After the most needed refreshments, I agreed to it and teaching sessions started the same evening.

Every evening, my husband would cook two items following my instructions. He would make notes of every dish he cooked. I should add here that his only demand during these sessions was for an apron, which we bought. He would wear it religiously and start cooking, adorning the look of a Master Chef! He perfected a dozen items, cooking under my able guidance. After each session, he would muse at the number of ingredients and the variety of spices used. This continued for about two months.

One evening, during the cooking session, answering my daughter’s phone call, I heard him say, “Don’t think cooking is easy. It is a technical job. It needs full concentration. One must know the correct proportions and combinations... Make sure to learn a handful of recipes from Amma when you come home next. It will be valuable. We must admire her skills. All these days, we happily gobbled up these delicious items without a word of appreciation for her and the amount of time she spent preparing these dishes.”

As I looked at him thankfully, he admitted that he sincerely meant every word of it. Now, I know if I am tired or bored or not at home I can always bank on my husband to take over the cooking. He takes it as a fun activity and is a specialist now!