yinyanging

There's been a lot of yinyang happening in my life lately.

When I bought these mugs from Mahaguthi this week, I had no idea that they'd be yinyanging with each other.

But now I see how they make a perfect pair. It almost seemed like they were teasing me. So I took this metaphor a step further. :)

harmony in my mugs of milk and coffee

There was a time when coffee used to make me sick. Many dark nights of my tender youth were spent chugging mugs of Nescafe, back before organic filter were all the rage. And then running into the bathroom to poop every twenty minutes. As soon as my first mug was gulped down, there would be a wild beating of the heart, accompanied by wilder thoughts. Essays would be finished with a touch of caffeine-induced brilliance. And there would be hours spent lying on the bed, facing the darkness, unable to sleep, weaving thoughts into more complicated thoughts, ideas into daring challenges.

But the post-coffee poop cravings vanished as my body got accustomed to the caffeine. Coffee no longer makes me buzz nor keeps me awake late into the night. But the waft of freshly brewed filter coffee stirs up old memories. 

yin

There was a time when the taste of milk used to make me feel sick. But I don't know when I grew into liking it so much. The trick, I've learned, is to drink it in its purest form, without diluting its taste with sugar or chocolate or Horlicks or Boost. With enough practice, I've learned to discern the subtle taste of milk, it's delicate sweetness.

yang

The whole family loves reading newspapers in the sun. Weekends are the only time when there's opportunity for such leisure. I take my copy of this week's On Saturday and try to read. 

I like my newspaper with coffee and some greenery

Getting distracted by sunlight, browning winter grass, still-green leaves on the guava tree, the start naked stark blue sky, white plastic chairs and the shadows of others reading newspapers in the sun (and perhaps forgetting to read myself) is part of the whole experience. 

lapsi ko achar

Oh lapsi ko fruit! You are the apple of my distorted eye!

Mummy makes the best lapsi ko achaar.

She tells me, "Hamro ghar ko gate baahira lapsi bechna lyaaechhan. Taile nai ta khaane ho. Man lagyo bhane kinera lyaa,"

As if she doesn't know how much I would love that. As if I don't know how much she would love to make some for me.

gorgeous, sexy, chic lapsi ko dallos

Mummy's hands dance with the lapsi ko bokra

the khursaani and jimmu le bejeweled achar being tamed by a daadu

Coffee and Orange

Morning sun

A mug of coffee

And an orange

Do the trick for me.

the most oddly beautiful mug in the world

orange and coffee and windowsill

can you see the steam rising from the hot coffee?

a chumbak dinner

Chumbak is Nepali for magnet. But, the way I mean it here, it's derived from Hindi and means very, very kissable. And that is exactly how dinner was.

So because by the time the sun sets, we've already prepared so many meals at our house, none of the ladies of the house are particularly thrilled about making dinner. And that is how I got trapped to make dinner.

It's not like I don't like making food, but much like anyone else (or anything else) I need something to kickstart me before I can transform all the potential culinary energy into kinetic energy. And I always get really excited if I can experiment with food and make something that we've never eaten before but when it comes to making the same old daal-bhaat-tarkari everyday, I turn into a sad little thing. Eating it is fun though - I have new found respect for my mom and her mom.

But today, Nana was being a nuisance. She said she'd help me by making some stir fry, but she turned her back towards the kitchen and began to watch TV. I loved playing the mom and was constantly yelling and complaining and being a total nautanki while she was completely distracted by multiple episodes of Hitler Didi. Balla, balla I got her to make her share of the food.

chop! chop! preparing everything from scratch is more fun
than having someone else prepare it for you

In all my experiences of cooking, I've come to realize that simplicity is the best ingredient for great tasting food. Often, keeping things raw is also a great way of cooking. When I was a kid, my parents used to make fun of me, saying how I should have been born a cow since I love raw vegetables so much. Even now, I try to keep cooking to the minimum.

All I did to make this pasta was take a handful of almonds and chop them up, then went to my trusted pot of basil (the only plant in my garden that I have a relationship with - basil is like a phoren version of tulsi and it has such an intense fragrance when picked fresh and chopped up and sprinkled on anything), plucked some wilted leaves (my plant is getting old, I need to save the seeds and plant a new one for next year).

Going with the feel is so important in food. My brother, who used to make great food from before I knew how to handle a spoon, once told me that you just know when to put in the next ingredient into the food. The way he nimbly chopped the vegetables, picked them up and put them in the frying pan, it felt like he was doing some sort of interpretive dance - without any worry about the result. The food he made had no name, culture or identity but whatever he made always tasted delicious.

Being intuitive - it seems - is the most important skill you can have while cooking. And cooking seems like such a great way of practicing our intuition.

this stuff tastes soooo yummmmmmmy!

My gut said, "Garlic!" and add I did. After whipping it in some olive oil, salt and pepper and tossing the pasta into it - ke bhannu ra. 

Whenever we make spaghetti at home and we're seated at the dinner table eating, Mummy (my grandmother) gives out this loud burst of a giggle. All of us look up from our plates, and we see her struggling to twirl the slippery strands of spaghetti on her fork again and again and again and again. She's barely done with half her dinner when the rest of us have cleaned up our plates. It's like it's a joke the universe is playing on her that she's still trying to understand.

So to spare her, we've started buying other kinds of pasta. And that is how we arrived at a meal that looks like this.

the chumbak plate (with some chinesey stir fry Nana made)
got demolished in five minutes
(yep I don't eat, I hog!)

The darkness in the picture must paint a somber mood to the dinner, tara batti nabhaako desh ma yestai photo matrai khichnu mildo raichha. But does that really matter if everyone was well fed with warm, happy bellies?

Stuffed!

We eat bread - the store bought kind, not homemade - most days of the week. Sunday breakfast is usually my responsibility and I like to make omlettes or pancakes but today I was just not feeling up to it. So I tactfully manipulated my mother into making us some chiura ko pulao. 

Nana's chiura ko pulao and salad and mummy's lapsi ko achar

My mother has the most awful taste in table cloths. We keeeeeeep fighting over it all the time. Her taste in table mats is similar. We have those ugly, plasticy, gaudy looking mats that curb all appetite. So I got out our special for-when-the-guests-are-home-for-dinner-mat to put underneath my breakfast plate. And, of course, my mother started screaming - Nanu!!! Najhikna!! And then I phakaosed phuslaosed her by telling her it's for my blog (but honestly, it's another thing eating in a place with ambiance).

Anyway, the food was so, so, so good. Hearty Nepali breakfast - and I stuffed myself. As did everyone else at the table. Ahhh, bliss!

Wishing for days with a better camera. But this picture isn't that bad, is it? :)

making wholewheat bread

Maybe beginning with an intro would have been more appropriate. But what the hell, when it comes to food, it's best to just dive in.

My friend D came over the other day and we made bread together. It looked beautiful, but didn't taste as good as it usually does (maybe I put too much yeast). Will make more and post as I relearn whatever breadmaking talent I've forgotten. I swear I had it though - my parents and grandparents will testify.

The truth is that good bread makes itself. All you need to do is lend your hands, literally.

Awesome photograph courtesy my awesome friend from Pluto

We also made a mess of the kitchen. And we made memories the color of gold. 

Please come again, D.