Friday, July 24, 2009

rain makes me hungry

Waking to the pitter-patter of rain and a howling wind (one of the sliding windows does not shut completely) makes me ravenous. I, desperately desire, something oily, fried and hot - now!

Sigh, since I gotto do all the work, I channelise my thoughts and actions to boiling the milk and making tea - using all my will power not to make the slightest bit of noise. I have two left hands untill I have gulped down half a large cup of tea!

Oh no! have I run out of horlicks? after rummaging frantically and as quietly as I could, I find the Horlicks refill packet and am genuinely thankful while putting away the other packets of flour, sugar, sugar, toor dal, poha, channa... poha... (with a glint in my eye) perfect!

Saturday, July 18, 2009

a cake, a child and a story

There was a birthday in the house. My husband turned a year older and my daughter delighted in the anticipation of a cake and candles and celebration.

Both the husband and I were tired of the annual black forest cake ritual. As if on cue, my friend posted a picture of an apple cake on flickr and I rose to the challenge.

Challenging, because, I am just discovering the joys of smelling aromas wafting through the house. The recipe was everything but challenging, and healthy, too.

Four-year-old hands kept getting in my way and I am proud of the way I answered her queries while desperately trying to measure ingredients and follow instructions, though I did lose it twice, thrice, maybe.

"Hmmm," she said aloud, voicing my exact thought at the moment. We were staring at the cake that smelt deliciously of warm apple and cinnamon, but it didn't look very nice. Thinking just like a momma (we were made for crisis management), I set about mixing white sugar powder and the leftover cinnamon powder.

As she shook my steel seive and the white powder fell on the warm cake, the joy in her eye was what I lived for. It was her labour of love and oh, was she mighty pleased with herself!

She recited the entire recipe to her father as they cut the cake together. She gave due credit to me for teaching her, wow!

My touch, lol! I lighted a row of scented candles that I had been hoarding for special times when we might be able to linger on long after the meal was over. Today was special!

Sunday, July 5, 2009

rainy afternoon

It hasn't stopped raining the whole day. Little madam has been water-colouring. I am pleasantly surprised to see her colour preference deviate from pinks, peaches and oranges to purples and blues. Peering closely, I realise, it has more to do with the bleak skies and dark clouds that she views from the dining room window than anything else.

Chotte Saheb is getting restless and has more energy than ever and hardly any place to spend it with the onset of monsoons.

It is a Sunday, after all, and with the little ones gaping at their cartoons, I slip into my bedroom overlooking a wet balcony and a wetter park four storeys below. I sigh as I hold a fistful of rice puffs warmed in the microwave and the aroma of hot coffe wafts softly from a large mug placed on the desk.

I am tempted to stretch my legs and let the stress ebb away, but I don't want to break the languid ambience... lo and behold, there are paint stained fingers dipping into the bowl of rice puffs and sticky, tinier ones trying to secure his place on my lap.

Suddenly, the desk is cluttered with pages of water colour in various stages of dryness and ricepuffs are falling to the floor not unlike snowflakes, but messier!

oh well! the two minutes of quiet were well-worth it!

Saturday, July 4, 2009

pangs of hunger

Come Sunday and it seems like I am cooking in the kitchen every two hours. Sometime in the evening, had to concoct a snack. So, I sliced leftover idlis and deep fried them. Delicious and crunchy, perfect for cloudy afternoons.

languid saturdays

... are for hot pancakes floating in golden syrup and melting butter :)

in a pickle

The first batch of mangoes arrived in the market. After smelling them, eating them raw with salt and chilli, I had to pickle them just the way my mother did.