Food & Me

I am an average height fat woman. Yes, I repeat I am a fat woman and I love food. I love food and yes good food. “Good” doesn’t really have to mean, the latest in town like an international food chain where you line up for hours to get a piece of chicken wings paying hundreds of rupees or some expensive exotic restaurant which opens up in the most pose areas. We celebrate every occasion with food. Whether it is birth, death, wedding, promotion, travel, success or failure. No occasion is complete without good food.

I started cooking at the age of eight. The first thing I ever cooked was parathas and omelets. It was winters in some small town in India where I was visiting my aunty. She is my first cooking teacher. Every morning I packed food for my uncle, which was off course paratha and omelet. He never complained in fact he always bestowed me with comments like “next time put a little less salt in the eggs” or “you want to try cooking egg in some other style” or “you mind taking the egg cells out properly tomorrow, it just ruins the lovely taste you give to the omelets”. It was a starter for me into the elephantine world of food. I burnt a lot of cakes, over cooked chickens, hopeless desserts and so on and so forth. But it was all a learning process for me. Food actually got into my mind. I never looked into it as a profession or career but it was something I always loved doing.

One important thing I learn in the progression and also told by one of my late grand aunt (may her soul rest in peace) is that your emotions are the most important ingredient in cooking. And with my experience I agree with it completely. My mum always told me that the best food I ever cook is the food I cook for my brother and my friends. And I know the reason as well. It is the love and affection I have for these people that I blend into my cooking. Simple fried rice will taste awesome or a quick chicken chilly will taste totally Chinese coz of the effort you put into its making. Not only love, a lot of times it is your anger, your frustrations and complains you add on to your food.

Recently one Saturday, like a typical Nepali, I was trying to cook some meat and I happen to ran into an argument with my brother. I was really angry but I had no choice and I had to continue my cooking. Like always I did what I had to. All the ingredients were same and the cooking time was accurate. But to my surprise the food was burnt and the smell was awful. What was the extra thing I put in there. I pondered and I knew the answer. It was no love this time. It was my displeasure I put in the food. I felt guilty.

For me cooking is an art which can only be completed with the last ingredient, Love. Without which it will always be the substance for survival only. Now I make it a point to add a little of love and a little of affection every time I cook. Next time you cook an omelet, try cooking it in butter and yes the most important ingredient Love.

(Published in NewsFront Weekly in 2011)