An AI in an EI Kitchen – Part VI: Learning to love Lonvas

Every true blue, dyed-in-the-blood EI knows his or her Lonvas.  My husband’s credentials were faultless and so, obviously, he loved his Lonvas twice a day, every day, if possible.  I, being a loving wife, resolved to provide accordingly.

The recipe book was helpful – the ingredients and method were the simplest I’d ever come across.  How mistaken!  First heat the oil.  Did that.  Now throw in the pods of garlic and smash them in the hot oil.  Well, that’s exactly what I did.  Have you tried smashing hard garlic in hot oil with the back of a spoon?  The garlic slipped and slid all around the base of the utensil and the hot oil spluttered and splashed (the numerous blisters I sported were testimony to that) and frustration rose proportionately.  Garlic conquered, I added the meat and stirred to let it brown.  Not too bad. Now add the bottle masala.  Not wanting to appear stingy, I added a ladle full. Now add the thin milk from a coconut.  I looked at the coconut in all its perfection.  How does one get thin milk? Called up sis in law.  She explained.  Came back to meat now browned to black.  Removed utensil from the stove.  Cleaned and scraped the coconut and extracted thick and thin milk as directed (thick comes first and then the thin!).  Added as indicated in cookbook.  Added  bottle gourd, skinned and diced (Right? Wrong! It needed to be cut to look like the brackets at the beginning and end of this statement) Tamarind juice and salt to taste completed the ingredients. Covered the vessel and allowed to cook till meat tender.  Opened lid after specified time and looked at an unholy curdled mess.  So much for a simple, can’t-go-wrong recipe!! How on earth did it become an unchallenged favourite?

What unlocked the memory?  An introduction to an EI who remarked, ‘So, you married an EI, do you know how to make Lonvas curry?’  And I replied with aplomb, ‘With both hands tied behind my back.’  Well that would be a stretch, but you get my meaning.  After all the years and having prepared hubby’s favourite at least three times in the week, I am definitely an expert.  I can, in my own estimation, turn out an impeccable Lonvas with its smooth creamy gravy and distinctive aroma.  I love to make it because, yes, it is simple and it lends itself to such a variety of combinations: shark fish dressed with a generous sprinkling of garden fresh coriander leaves; egg poached in the bubbling gravy, vegetables mixed as in a harvest festival, meat and veggies, prawn and veggies, lobster, crab.  I could extol the virtues of Lonvas till the end of time.

The funny thing is that while the EIs love it, others turn up their noses.  I can’t imagine why.

In my unbiased AI opinion, it is delicious! And yes, I could eat it twice a day, every day if possible!!

Food, Glorious Food (or, an AI in an EI Kitchen – Part V)

The real rite of initiation for a new bride is her first stint in the marital kitchen (and I brook no argument!). For one who has never stepped into a kitchen before, the trepidation in advance and the ordeal that follows rivals any feat of endurance. Think of all the weapons of mass destruction – fierce flames, hot cavernous ovens, sharp knives, choppers and skewers, heavy skillets, pungent and dangerous condiments (when you chop a hot pepper, for heaven’s sake, don’t rub your itching eyes – a very novice error!) If you’ve been there done that, smile. If not, look forward to it. It’s an experience you’ll never forget.

But once the first terror has been overcome, the rest is a rollicking adventure as you pick up culinary skills that are at once unique and fascinating. And you can chuckle at the goof-ups that made you cringe. Thanks to an affectionate and helpful mother-in-law I was coaxed and coached into learning hubby’s favourite foods - like all good EIs, he loved variety and quantity on his plate. The highest accolade I could hope to achieve was ‘just like Mother’s’ (I never made the ‘better than’ grade). I was often regaled with stories of feasts and festivities and special dishes which now reside only in memory and imagination (mine!). I stuck to the daily fare and left the fancy to the more experienced hands. Occasionally, I would slip in a few AI variations. Hubby would take a tentative first spoonful and then utter a plaintive, ‘What’s this?’ He knew authenticity when he tasted it.

Over the years, I find that I have a acquired a goodly collection of recipes – EI, AI, local and international cuisines - which embrace the instructions received from hubby’s mum and sisters and also those gleaned from friends, cookbooks and magazines. The books (yes, I have many) have been well thumbed and the firm favourites splattered with tell-tale smudges - relics of the working kitchen. And now that I’m a battle-scarred veteran of the senior citizen's brigade, it is my turn to pass on the folklore, the helpful hints and tips. This is why I have decided to embark – very ambitiously – on a recipe book. I doubt very much that the next generation will find it useful, but they can read and dream.

So, if I am absent from my blog, you’ll know the reason why.

An AI in an EI Kitchen - Part II

How do you cut up an onion? Let me count the ways!

Hubby’s Mum was making a curry. I offered to help. Asked to cut the onions, while an unexpected visitor occupied her time, I cleaned and chopped with a will. When Mum-in-law returned to her kitchen, she was presented with a neat bowl of onion chopped exceedingly fine. The exercise had been undertaken, slowly and precisely, using a very sharp knife (I was grateful that I could count ten fingers, all intact, after the achievement). She looked and said, “No, no! The onions had to be cut round.” Apparently, it was common knowledge that for that particular curry, onions had to be prepared that way. Unfortunately, I was not party to that 'common knowledge'. Fortunately, Mum-in-law was quick with the knife and we had onions cut in the round, in no time at all.

Onions are used at the beginning of most preparations. And, once fried, they disappear into the other ingredients which are added in their appointed order. Once ingested and digested, who would be able to tell which way the onions had been cut? But Mum-in-law insisted that it made a difference and, all her life, she would fulfill the demands of the dish by cutting up the onions exactly as required. So well did I learn the lesson, that even now when laziness tempts, conscience insists that I slice, dice, chop fine, cut round, half round or long as stipulated by the book.

Does it make a difference to the taste? I am not sure. I think the rule was created to instill discipline in the art, to keep attention focused on the job in hand and to add variety to what would otherwise be a run of the mill occupation.

What does make a difference to the taste is that ‘pinch of love’ that inspires perfection at every stage of preparation of a meal. An ingredient that you will find in every EI kitchen!

Life without water?

Let’s start with hands. Hands need to be washed. But now we can dispense with soap and water as herbal purifiers have found their way to market – all it needs is a drop from a bottle for germ free hands.

The face? Wet wipes should suffice. The body? How about a common bath in the swimming pool or pond, or lake? Did I hear ‘ugh!’? It looks like it is coming to that and soon. We’ll also need disposable clothes and household linen. Pity the White Goods market, washing machines will be obsolete!! Chemical, waterless toilets already exist outside our homes but maybe that’s where we need to install them, too. Soon, we’ll be one large Starship Enterprise – an earthbound one. Imagine, everything at the touch of a computer screen and no water required! Or maybe we should just shift to Rajasthan. They’ve lived without water for years.

Which brings me to my happy Ixora: she needs her water (pink for a girl and therefore the ‘she’). The water we receive in our taps is a muddy slurry replete with worms, dead insects and leaves. Certainly unfit for human or animal consumption. So, I have now invested in a row of happy potted plants who receive their quota of incidental ‘fertiliser’. And they are thriving. There is some justice in the saying that poison for one is food for another!

And one last thought to speed you on your day: life without water means time to blog!