Monday, January 7, 2008

From where she was, Em could see her part of the world beneath her feet...dark silhouettes of buildings under a deep reddish black sky. The world seemed to be reduced to just four colors, the rust of the sky, the charcoal of land, the flashing white of the screaming trains and the glistening yellow from a street light. Em took one last lingering bite from the Bournville bar and slid her hands back into the sock puppet she had made years back for warmth. It was 11:15 yet and she could still hear faint traces of laughter wafting from her house. With preoccupied gestures, her fingers twisted the puppet's face and watched it move from tight lipped stare to a toothless grin.

Its just a night like any other for me but for Em, it means midnight culinary experiments, working around the kitchen with stealthy movements, hoping against hope that her handiwork doesn't turn into some great calamity. So when the girl descended down the stairs, careful not to wake anyone, she must have whispered a silent prayer to the saints to watch over the poor unfortunate souls who would be threatened to take what she cooked tonight. And...what? Oh, Em read this last line and emphatically disagrees. She is asking me to let her write this herself. I always mess up facts, she says. Fine, I pass the reed to Em.

" My mind is a little too preoccupied to form prayers tonight. I have to chop ginger, grind chillies, stop myself from tasting the tangy lemon drops, take dollops of curd and turn on some music for the silence is getting too loud. The recipe says 350 grams of gram flour and I say 200 would do to perfection. The recipe says stir one cup curd...with the flour and water. So I take my time to pour in the water little by little into the bowl as the flour and curd dissolve into each other. I twirl the paste with a spoon and lightly pirouette around the kitchen on the beat of a drum. But that splatters the batter on my wrist so I think I ought to sit on that cold slab there and calmly finish mixing.

Turmeric power, ginger-chili and salt to taste go into the thick rich paste. Keeping a weather eye open for any trouble, I take the steamer out. Its got all these appendages that you need to latch in place and baking dishes that you need to grease before you can change the song. Instrumental rock is just an earworm tonight so I let Yann Tiersen create his magic. Bm...D...one tsp of soda bicarb...A...G...one tsp oil...and lemon juice. And now that the concoction is made, recipe tells me to pour it into the greased pan and dream happy dreams till the steaming is done"

10 comments:

Noisy Autist said...

Tell Em that she should write more as she's just as good as Antigone. We want to hear more of her culinary experiments.

Antigone said...

Tell her yourself cuz I don't want to take the responsibility for more kitchen kitsch.:P

WHAT'S IN A NAME ? said...

I hope Em din burn it. :)

Antigone said...

@WIAN- seems like ur hopes are answered :)

Macadamia The Nut said...

And how did the culinary exploration go? lol!

Antigone said...

Fact that i am not thrown out of the house for my culinary 'explorations' prove that it was not so bad after all :D

Sayan said...

The success of this experiment was expected, at least I expected it, but once again it is unfair that you didn't consider me fit to be a part of it :-(

Antigone said...

offer to an expert like u? And lose all ur respect for me?:p

Amazing Greys said...

sigh, & i wasn't even invited for dinner. =(

Antigone said...

this week then? and no shak chaapa begoon, i promise :P