There is evidence to the contrary. There were the omelettes I whipped up for five people out of an otherwise empty fridge one night in Queens. The mysterious baked eggplant and penne dish that my aunt still raves about. A white sauce (Just one. Its cousins were underachievers) with pasta.
But alas, there are a lot more bricks in the other half of the scale. The lumpy nacho sauces, which persisted even after I learned that cheese sauce isn't born out of microwaving a slice of American cheese into a cup of milk. The soulless macaronis (who invented macaroni? Why? What purpose does this absurd noodle serve, besides glumping into a mash every time it's immersed in hot water?) The "stir -fry," which somehow managed to be both stirred and fried and yet oddly crumpled. The Ramen noodles, which I thought I'd dress up with chunks of boiled potato because I could swear my host mother in Spain made the exact same recipe when I visited Madrid ten years ago.
Being "bad" at something is liberating, albeit limited. The standard is immediately lower, but people begin to expect improvement, and improvement requires effort.
In America, there's something a bit nouveau-feminist about being a lousy cook, although this effect really only applies if you don't care about cooking. I care.
In India, there is some embarrassment attached to being a bad cook, particularly a bad female cook. Not because it's such a feminine chore, but because all other girls seem to know how its done. Cooking, like multilingualism, is for dummies. (Indian men can't cook to save themselves from starvation, and probably wouldn't bother even then. If there is one thing that Indian culture seems to celebrate, it's male laziness)
But unlike the other things I'm bad at (violin, classical dance, organized sport) I can't just forget my uniform and/or lose the flyer on the way home from school. No! Because this past year, I've found myself a guest in so many familial homes that I have lost count. Culture prevents me from bribing family members with monetary gifts, so instead I find myself offering the one talent I don't actually have - cooking. (It might be kinder to arrive empty-handed.)
Having now cooked for at least six or seven different Indian families, I have the following advice to offer (don't take it too seriously. Today's macaroni - damned gluten! - was more of a porridge)
1. There is no such thing as the "right amount" of spice. Indian woman are notorious for never writing down or following recipes, and now I see why. Every time I make a dish (particularly spaghetti) at least one person at the table will be weeping from the pepper, another will be sniffing loudly, and the third will be adding Tabasco and wondering why the rest of the table is having a breakdown.
Nonetheless...
2. Add more pepper. And more garlic. Indians have been eating spices since Europeans were carting their dead off in buckets after the Bubonic Plague, so we have a high tolerance.
3. While you're at it, add more oil. Indians like their food to swim. (Yes, even the vegetarians) Since I have come here, every single woman I've met has told me that she uses "very little oil." I
have been told this by women whose lentil soup could is so full of oil it might qualify as biofuel.
4. Breakfast cereal is a snack, not a meal. Don't put out a bowl of cereal and say you've "fixed" breakfast, unless you're a man. If you're a man, they'll erect a statue of you in the President's garden, labeled "man who cooked" and future generations will think of you as a mythical creature, like a pegasus.
5. Put in lots of vegetables, but cook them until they start to cry. I once read a Zadie Smith novel in which one of the characters says to his Indian friend, "My friend, in your country it is also customary to cook a vegetable until it falls apart. That does not mean it is a good idea." As the cook, it's not your place to judge. Smoke those veggies till they've lost the will to live.
6. Fresh food is fresh food. The house I stay in now has absolutely no pre-prepared food in it, except for a bunch of bananas, half a tin of cookies and a Snickers bar mysteriously labeled "Bangalore." Oh, and a spoonful of peanut butter. Indians find leftovers insulting and possibly even unhygienic. I once made the mistake of telling one of the maids in a friend's house that my mother made the batter for Indian bread and kept it in the freezer for a week, thawing it and
using it as needed. "A week?" squeaked the girl, like she'd been singed. This is a girl who views hand washing as optional.
7. A brief guide to vegetarianism. "Pure vegetarian" - no eggs, no meat. "Vegetarian" - no meat. "Nonvegetarian" - eats eggs, probably also eats chicken. Gujarati - no eggs, no meat. Panjabi - no meat. Jain - no eggs, no meat, no root vegetables, no insects (even by accident) Bengali - no beef, not much pork. Christian - all meats. Muslim - no pork. South Indian Brahmin Hindu - no eggs, no meat, no garlic, no onions. Northeast - no beef, yes pork. Parsi - all meats.
Got that?
8. A brief guide to booze. Gujarati, Muslim, Brahmin - no thanks. Marwari, Panjabi - yes, on the sly, especially if it's expensive. Bengali, Parsi, Christian - the more the merrier. Northeast - I have no idea.
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