How I finally learnt to cook in 2020
Short answer: Coronavirus/Covid-19.
Long answer: My cooking skills have largely been limited to making maggi, tea, boiling water and baking. The one time I tried to make poha, it was a flash in the pan.
Cooking is a life skill I could never acquire despite watching my mother do it for nearly three decades. Learning to cook didn't even feature on my list of resolutions at the beginning of each year. Even surya namaskars made it to that list, and that's saying something.
Coronavirus sneaked into India at the same time that I lost my job. Which meant I had a lot of free time with nothing but an abyss of mental agony. I took up an old hobby of embroidery to get through the day. And now with no cook or cleaning lady I found myself lumbering in the kitchen.
I decided to go against the grain on day 1 of lockdown. I was going to make Bhindi. I'm sure there is a medical condition associated with bhindi that scientists have not been able to unravel yet. Every time I eat bhindi I get a fever.
Achari bhindi was on the menu then. I got all the spices and quantities off youtube – coriander powder, haldi, red chilli powder, salt, mango powder, cumin powder, fennel powder, heeng, garam masala, mustard seeds, fenugreek seeds – and began the arduous yet thrilling task of making a meal.
Outrightly, I have to thank Nisha Madhulika. My mother could never teach me how to cook because she neither has the patience to deal with my puerile queries nor the skill to lucidly mention quantities (she's a bad teacher). Nisha Madhulika, though, began talking like she knew her audience couldn't tell namak from haldi.
I kept checking if my bhindi was cooked by tossing bhindi pieces in my mouth every 3 mins. By the time it was ready I had already eaten my share of the sabzi from the pan.
Nisha Madhulika's occult practices bore fruit and the bhindi turned out brilliantly. It was piquant and flavourful, both of which I'd never associated with bhindi before. My father-in-law remarked I made it better than my cook!
Since then I've made kaddu (that I didn't even imagine I could ever slice), rajma, chhole, vegetable masala pulao, capsicum aloo sabzi, dals and tinde. Tinde. Now maybe I would have liked tinde if they used an alias like lavender or something cuter like gogo. It tasted good but just the name has put me off it forever.
I don't have to go back and forth between YouTube and my kadhai to cook anymore. I know my masalas like I know ludo tricks. This lockdown has reaffirmed my belief that mothers are always right, I could be a wonderful cook if I put my heart in it. I also now know that my mother is an extremely lazy cook.
I enjoy cooking, but for the massive load of utensils piling up in the sink like the universe manifesting itself from nothing. I can't believe that for three decades I'd been living under the misconception that doing the dishes is easier than cooking!
Long answer: My cooking skills have largely been limited to making maggi, tea, boiling water and baking. The one time I tried to make poha, it was a flash in the pan.
Cooking is a life skill I could never acquire despite watching my mother do it for nearly three decades. Learning to cook didn't even feature on my list of resolutions at the beginning of each year. Even surya namaskars made it to that list, and that's saying something.
Coronavirus sneaked into India at the same time that I lost my job. Which meant I had a lot of free time with nothing but an abyss of mental agony. I took up an old hobby of embroidery to get through the day. And now with no cook or cleaning lady I found myself lumbering in the kitchen.
I decided to go against the grain on day 1 of lockdown. I was going to make Bhindi. I'm sure there is a medical condition associated with bhindi that scientists have not been able to unravel yet. Every time I eat bhindi I get a fever.
Achari bhindi was on the menu then. I got all the spices and quantities off youtube – coriander powder, haldi, red chilli powder, salt, mango powder, cumin powder, fennel powder, heeng, garam masala, mustard seeds, fenugreek seeds – and began the arduous yet thrilling task of making a meal.
Outrightly, I have to thank Nisha Madhulika. My mother could never teach me how to cook because she neither has the patience to deal with my puerile queries nor the skill to lucidly mention quantities (she's a bad teacher). Nisha Madhulika, though, began talking like she knew her audience couldn't tell namak from haldi.
I kept checking if my bhindi was cooked by tossing bhindi pieces in my mouth every 3 mins. By the time it was ready I had already eaten my share of the sabzi from the pan.
Nisha Madhulika's occult practices bore fruit and the bhindi turned out brilliantly. It was piquant and flavourful, both of which I'd never associated with bhindi before. My father-in-law remarked I made it better than my cook!
Since then I've made kaddu (that I didn't even imagine I could ever slice), rajma, chhole, vegetable masala pulao, capsicum aloo sabzi, dals and tinde. Tinde. Now maybe I would have liked tinde if they used an alias like lavender or something cuter like gogo. It tasted good but just the name has put me off it forever.
I don't have to go back and forth between YouTube and my kadhai to cook anymore. I know my masalas like I know ludo tricks. This lockdown has reaffirmed my belief that mothers are always right, I could be a wonderful cook if I put my heart in it. I also now know that my mother is an extremely lazy cook.
I enjoy cooking, but for the massive load of utensils piling up in the sink like the universe manifesting itself from nothing. I can't believe that for three decades I'd been living under the misconception that doing the dishes is easier than cooking!
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