Humour: Kitchen experiments of a recipe atheist

Not all culinary mavericks are recipe-following Masterchef enthusiasts

There’s this game I play with the cleaning lady, Sudha. I leave her minimalist sculptures in the kitchen sink made up of neatly stacked dishes. She replies with installations of washed dishes that tilt as tantalisingly as The Leaning Tower of Pisa, yet never quite tipping over. I like to call this genre Kitschen. It’s about as much art as I have ever created in the culinary area. From pasta sauces enlivened by Limca (I thought the sauce needed some zing) and zeera aloo missing zeera, I’ve done it all. My “cooking” has been called “tasteless, colourless, odourless” by heartless siblings. Rejected unceremoniously by exacting partners. Even shocked me by its insipidity. Yet I soldier on, armed with an appetite, confidence and a cavalier rejection of recipes.

For many, the kitchen failures lie mostly in the execution area (Photo imaging: Parth Garg)

Double, double toil and trouble

I can trace the origins of this culinary gaucheness to early successes with Maggi. In that ethos, you can bravely marry mismatched ingredients and expect compatible results. It’s been years since I’ve had Maggi, but the two-minute snack has had a lifelong impact on my kitchen instincts. Away from home and craving ghar ka keema, I attempted an unsupervised rendition in a Goa kitchen I shared with friends. While reaching the end of the self-styled recipe, I suddenly got insecure about the flavour. Out came jars and bottles with wares as various as ketchup and wine. In they went in a secular tumble. Here’s what I learnt from that particular adventure: looking up recipes might not be the worst idea in the world for an amateur cook. Radical.

The other day, I told the cook to Eno to help the pakoras rise. Not only did they rise, I did too ...

I recently heard of a far more disturbing kitchen experience, involving soup. The lady of the house instructed the cook to open up a sachet and pour out the contents into the pot to add flavour. When she peeped into the kitchen to see how the broth was doing, she found the pot bubbling over prodigiously, reminiscent of the Song of the Witches scene from Macbeth. In a classic kitchen mix-up, the cook had emptied the contents of Sunsilk shampoo into the broth. The lady, in this case, doth protest adequately methinks.

Antacid pakoras

In my younger and more ambitious days, I’ve even attempted a cake. In a most unchristian manner, it refused to rise. I was left with a semi-edible frisbee and a bewildered recipient. (A quick flash of my even younger days when I thought pedhas were a result of sweetened milk being left in the freezer.

Yes, I imagined individual pedhas. To make up for this and other embarrassments, I shall leave my body to science.)

I must, however, admit my kitchen failures lie mostly in the execution area. I regularly offer advice to Maria the Cook involving combinations, preparations and even rescues. Just the other day I displayed a fine scientific sense by suggesting she use Eno to help the pakoras rise. Not only did they rise, I did too in Maria’s estimate. Quite apart from its rising properties, it is reassuring to have an antacid as an ingredient in my food. It makes me feel like I’ve cheated the system.

Flattened rice in a colander

It would be wrong not to mention a dish that I feel I’ve mastered, and have been seconded by at least one person in that claim. Poha might be the breakfast of runners-up, but it does require a basic set of skills. Just the thing to get my confidence going after all those debacles. Whenever I feel life is slipping away and I need to take charge, I soak some flattened rice in a colander. That doesn’t make for much of an aphorism, I’ll give you that. But once the potatoes have softened, onions browned, sugar sprinkled and peas added, I put on the lid, lower the flame and revel in a sense of balance and order.

I’ve been toying with an idea in my head, but haven’t had the courage to say it out loud until now. Here goes: my success with poha has emboldened me to make a biryani. What’s more, I’ve resolved to make it without Limca, Eno or ketchup. Though I still think recipes are overrated.

From HT Brunch, November 4, 2018

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