Stewed

-
This afternoon, I got back from a short trip to Panchgani. It was nice, sort of.

I don't get the deal with short getaways and brief stints anyway. I had planned this one because I was really eroded by work and some other goings-on at home and hearth. So when A visited, I thought it would be nice to venture somewhere briefly. Frankly, I like long holidays. In fact, more than holidays, I like sabbaticals. Smaller holidays seem like such a dash of desperate escapism. What can you sort out in 2 days away from routine that you can't by switching off your phone for 4 hours on a Monday evening? In fact, with this trip I realized that when I am frazzled, I need to be in my familiar surroundings to be soothed. Being agitated and taking short trips just really wears me out. Because here's the thing. I like being treated with tenderness when I am stressed. More than compassion or kindness, I need tenderness. Soft voices, soft footfalls that are mindful that I am trying to sleep, soft words (not harsh advice). Lately, though, it doesn't seem to be happening. I find myself going hoarse explaining what I want, why such and such is hurtful...but it doesn't seem to make any difference. It's easier to handle such apathy in my own zone. In a new place, it's just too awkward and messy and I will undoubtedly be really hurt about something but then I don't want to ruin the mood so I will crib about unclean napkins instead. (Which, by the way, you must be careful about if you are headed to Panchgani.)

This is exactly why I prefer sabbaticals. Take 6 months off, Take a year off. I would rather do that, replenish myself in a more wholesome manner and then return to regular programming, so to speak. Short trips only come in the way of any real progress and wind me up even more. When you need change, why settle for distraction?

Anyway, that was a rather large prelude to what I am coming to. 

I got home today, somewhat pleased but also a little miffed and bruised at certain things. In fact, I was so upset that I willingly took a nap. (Apparently, deep anger brings out the sloth in me.) When I woke up, I decided to cook. (I'll take a moment here to reiterate. I...decided to...cook. COOK. Which involves one to  be in the kitchen for some indeterminate amount of time, handle utensils, chop veggies, dispense vegetable peels, etc. I decided to do all that voluntarily. Just points to the fact that I was out of my mind with some deep gnawing worry.)

Anyway.

I made cauliflower stew. It was a simple stew with lots of onions and garlic softened in a mix of olive oil and butter. To this were added cauliflower flowerets, tiny slivers of ginger, cumin powder, salt and hing. Then I added a lot of water and let it boil on slow flame. Meanwhile, separately,  I dissolved some Maggi coconut powder in warm water. Here, I didn't follow the instructions correctly. For thick milk, I had to dissolve 3 heaped tablespoons in one cup of water. Instead, at first, I dissolved 3 spoons of powder in 3 cups. But since I like a strong coconut-milk base in stews, I increased the amount to 6 heaped spoons in 3 cups water. Then I added that in slowly to the stew. I loved that pinkish hue that slowly spread across the thick white base, making it slightly sweet, creamy and flavorful. Finally, I finished it off with a strong dash of pepper. 

It was really nice.

Given the increase in sullen moods now, I think I'll be cooking more often.

Comments

Ashwin N said…
Have you tried goa, actually if you were a guy goa would be nice (read: oggling at girls in bikinis)
12:35 PM
Mukta Raut said…
:-) i've tried goa
9:12 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Check (the) mate

-
My cousin, who was born sixteen hours before me, got married recently. I am expected to follow her footsteps soon. Thankfully, I have been granted more than sixteen hours to do that. My father’s health has taken a turn for the worse. My mother is completely exhausted. Rationally, points 1, 2, and 3 would be distinct from each other. But in my family there is no such thing as ‘rationally’. Therefore all these points are inter-related. Strangely, here, we believe my marriage to be an antidote to mortality and fatigue. I happened to be sitting in my parents’ room while Ma looked through Papa’s blood reports. They didn’t look good. Ma was worried and Papa didn’t help matters much. He kept talking about Sourav Ganguly and why he deserved better. Ma got further agitated and after flinging the reports somewhere inconvenient to retrieve (I should know), she snapped, “So what? There are many like him.” Papa doesn’t believe that and would have no one in his family believe that either. He went to
Read more

Not the same, all the same - Rang de Basanti, being a Hindu, uniform civil code, and Hostage – in that unrelated sequence

-
I watched ‘Rang de basanti’. That, however, is not the point. Everyone now wants to go to Delhi and cruise around in jeeps at night. And that too is not the point. I need to say something. That, really, is the point. ‘Rang de…’ is a good movie but frankly, I’ve seen better. I’ve seen ‘Yuva’. It is creditable, though, that the movie could say what it did without using the ‘sage on the stage’ (as we say in Instructional Design) approach. The movie does have a couple of ideas that I have been besotted with for a long time now. One is the life of a story. There is the germ of an idea about men who go to their deaths cheerfully. There is fascination about what could inspire such courage in ordinary people. That story lays inside a diary for a long time. How long? Long enough for history to play itself out and begin the process of repeating itself. A nation goes the ‘Animal Farm’ way – humans out, pigs in. The story lays untouched – fermenting in latent vigor. Then someone discovers it. She
Read more

Save the Indian (male) child

-
This isn't exactly a feminist tirade, but this is written by a woman, and it is written in annoyance. You raise your girls to be sweet, strong, and independent. (Wise parents teach their children to listen to opinions and discard or heed accordingly. The other ones just teach their kids to bullshit everything that everyone says. Still others bring up girls to be on guard and forget that spine so that everyone thinks well of them. I am not sure which is worse, but I detest people shoving their opinions down other people's throats in a show of liberation, so I'll lean towards the former. But only slightly.) As the gender construct of being a 'female' is pushed even further, you teach your daughter complicated activities – driving, perhaps, sending them off away from home, wearing a sari (those freaking pleats!), cooking and de-veining prawns for added advantage. At the end of that, you have a person who genuinely dislikes blending into anything, doesn't like bei
Read more