Expect the unexpected

Did you read the title and think I used Bigg Boss Tamil’s tagline?

This story is about my relationship with the kitchen. Growing up, we did not have a huge kitchen space unless we visited our grandma’s place. In fact, the area was super kind to us and accommodated 1 person at a time and that’s asking a lot out of it.

I also remember being told repeatedly that I need to cook well to get married, growing up. I did not want to get married and I thought if I entered the kitchen and actually learned to cook, that would mean I was ready for marriage. More like a sign to my relatives that I was ready. Fudge no!

This however did not stop me from being the, quoting my grandmas(plural), “long tongue” girl, a phrase used to describe a picky eater and MAN WAS I PICKY?!

I was also a very brazen critique(critic seemed mild to what I was). I would tell my mom, who was learning to cook, that she needed to do better; told my grandma to learn from the neighbor. I am not doing a great job painting an image of myself here but you get it! I liked my Maggi, a very specific way. If it did not meet the criteria, I would become the Gordon Ramsey minus the accolades.

Oh, I also despised tomatoes. Just hated them so much! The way they burst in your mouth, ugh! Why!!! (this deserves an entire rant blog but okay)

I had kickass cooks, sorry, parents who loved to try different recipes and I guess I could call myself pampered. It is normal to call your parents when you board the train after work and say “your time to prep the paneer starts now” right? No? Okay!

Cut to the day I moved to Philadelphia to pursue my Masters. I made friends who would express their pity on me with a side head tilt and say “OH YOU ARE VEGETARIAN!” and boy did I find out why.

I lived on frozen paranthas, Maggi(thank god for this addictive elixir), the infrequent Dal rice. At school, we had these amazing food trucks and I always had the one thing I needed to get on with my life: Coffee. I did not need anything else. Alarming amounts of black coffee that I consumed like fuel. I am going to take this opportunity to shoutout Wawa! ❤

Anyway, I moved to Virginia for my internship, a place with no food trucks. A place where people ate salads for lunch, might I add happily? :O Now, I had no other option, clearly eating the salad was not one.

I made, for the first time in my life, Paneer Butter Masala *this is the place in my future to-be made biopic where they would play a peppy bgm*

I followed the recipe I found online, thank you Tarla Dalal, measured exact quantities, etc and I felt like I had unlocked this level in a video game. The power-up portion where you cook the mushroom Mario bumped on to make a curry out of it! Might I also add, this resulted in a photoshoot, Instagram story, WhatsApp video calls to parents (who were beyond annoyed that it was their morning but also a little proud). It was glorious. Period.

I slowly started replicating recipes, with pre and post photoshoot of course, and I started liking what I was making. I was absolutely the Gordon Ramsey with self accolades and that was huge! The food I cooked made me feel good. A little excess pepper added that kick and I would keep thinking about it the entire day. (I have to add that I was vehemently bored and single, or maybe I don’t have to add it)

I moved back to Virginia for work and the prospect of having my kitchen (not the shared dorm one) was very exciting. I was comfortable making the quick fix avocado toasts and the elaborate Sambhar for times when I miss home, desperately wishing I hadn’t said “who will eat the same sambhar every day?” ME. I WILL EAT MY PARENTS’ SAMBHAR every day. (don't tell them though)

2020 was not kind to a lot of us. After losing my job, I saw myself drawn to cooking, even more, staying in the kitchen with my AirPods and blasting “how to peel an egg” videos. I baked. I frigging baked a pie.

“It was not bad” — Merry Berry, The Great British Bake-off

I felt like a cook and I would be lying if I said I did not act as if I was in a cooking channel, describing my recipe out loud. We have all been there.

I also had motivating friends who would suggest recipes, spend time cooking with me and it became a ritual eventually, one I enjoyed. I guess I have to summarize my thoughts now:

I learned to cook to avoid the dreaded “salads” (it has the word sad in it), I wish I had learned to cook in India, Maggi and I are on a break, cooking for myself to suit my “long-tongued” craving has been fun, be nice to your parents, karma blah blah, still not married, hoping to enter Masterchef to befriend a chef, eventually get eliminated because I can't stand tomatoes.

STILL HATE THAT TOMATO ISHHHH *sig*

Thanks for reading!