Friday, January 2, 2009

Dad on a mission

I'm sitting in my room tackling some homework and my dad comes up to me.

"Let's make some chicken. And I want to do something different. Not the same old curry."

"Um, ok. What do you want to make?" I ask.

" I dunno. Any suggestions?"

"Hmmm..... how about making some rolls?"

"No, not rolls. Lets make some chicken pulao"

"Sure" I nodded away. What was the point of asking?

"When do you want to make it?" I asked.

"I dunno. Maybe over the weekend"

3 weeks later.

I'm sitting in my room tackling some homework and my dad comes up to me.

"Let's make some chicken. And I want to do something different. Not the same old curry."

"Um, ok. What do you want to make?" I ask.

" I dunno. Any suggestions?"

"Hmmm..... how about making some rolls?"

"No, not rolls. Lets make some chicken pulao"

"Sure" I nodded away. "Are you having an odd sense of deja` vu?"

"No, why?"

"Forget it" I must have dreamt it. I didn't want to sound stupid.

"Ok....So I'm going to make it right now!" he said with full enthusiasm.

"I'm just going to be a spectator and watch." It was best to make my intentions clear. I was NOT going to help.

With undaunted zeal my dad started checking out recipes online. Looked through a couple and came to back to the room.

"I'm going to make this my own way"

My mom just had to intervene. "Why? The recipes too complicated for you?" she asked innocently.

"No, they just have lots of ingredients which I don't think we have right now"

"Let me check it out"

My dad shows her the recipe.

"But we have everything on the list. What are you talking about?"

My dad, "I'm just saying that we don't have to follow the recipe word to word."

"Why? We have everything on the list!"

"Fiiiiine. We'll make it like the recipe."

At this point, I give up with my homework and join my dad in the kitchen. My mom started getting all the masalas together and poured hot oil in a vessel.

"So should I put the masalas in?" said my clueless dad.

"Not yet! Wait till it's hot!" said my mom while grinding the garlic and cutting the chili. Multitasking is one of the many things my mom is an expert at.

10 seconds later.

" How about now?"


5 seconds later.


"It's called patience. You're getting on my nerves. Stop."


My mom gives one of her phenomenal glares and the atmosphere changes radically. Utter silence in the kitchen and then the oil starts spluttering.

"Now. Put all the spices in."

One by one he started putting the spices in the boiling oil and started frying it.

"Add the onions."

He added the onions.

"Should I add the tomatoes?" he asked, cluelessly, to my mom.

"Wait till the onions are golden brown."


After some random mixing of some more spices, my dad decides that he should add the tomatoes. And of course, he thinks he's an ultra cool chef so he starts sprinkling the tomatoes like oregano all over the masala. Suddenly there was a loud splutter and my mom runs towards the vessel.

"What did you do?"

An entire box of tomatatoes was in the gravy.

"All of it just fell! It's not my fault! The gravity! Blame the gravity!"

My mom rolled her eyes and tried to fix the red blob spluttering away.

"Great. Now your going to have tomato rice because your dad didn't listen to me. Have fun with it. I'm going to be having my sweet corn soup." she walked out.

Of course, I'm rolling all over the floor holding my sides and trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing.

"It's good that she's gone now. We don't have to follow the exact recipe. We can make it my way."

And wasn't that a great idea.

My dad decided that the recipe wasn't that important. He threw in some other random spices in the red blob and watched it splutter away.

15 minutes later

"I'm going to add the marinated chicken now." he announces.

"Why are you looking at me? I'm no better at this stuff than you are"

"I'm not looking at you. I just made a statement."

"Whatever you say" I roll my eyes.

I walked out of the kitchen to get back to my homework. 15 minutes later, I walk towards the kitchen to see the progress with our dinner. I lift the lid of the vessel and gasp.

"You added all the chicken??? That was, like, a whole packet of marinated chicken! You were only going to make half of it for dinner!"

My dad, rather sheepishly, "Well I though we could just finish the whole thing instead of leaving it over for next time."

That's it. We needed damage control. "MOM!!!!!!!!!!Come here! Now! Uh, please come here, I mean."

My mom walks into the kitchen regally.

"What now?"

"Look at the chicken."

She looked. She raised her eyebrows. She grinned.

"What did your dad do?"

My dad, at this moment, was at the other counter, oblivious to the situation.

"He added all the chicken. He ruined it. We're going to starve tonight. Blame him." It felt good to taddle on my dad.

"Well, it's obvious you can't make the pulao. There's too much chicken. No room for the rice. You're gonna have to make a curry out of it."

My dad suddenly comes closer. He pauses.

"A curry?"

"A curry." my mom confirmed.

She added some water and mixed a lot of other things together and then, finally, came up to my dad. My dad, whose expression, was still frozen.

"Leave it for 10 minutes. I put the rice on the other gas. It should be ready in sometime. And stop gawking."

She walked out. I shook my head and turned to my dad.

"We're just going to be eating a normal curry? I wanted to have something different!"

"Stop cribbing, dad" I said. "It's still gonna taste awesome. Mom cooked it."

"But it's just some normal curry! This is not fair! I wanted something different! See? This is what happens when your mom interferes...she always does this........." He went on ranting about it while I tuned it out. Suddenly, I could smell food. Good food. I turned towards it and started tasting it. It tasted Good.

I grabbed a bowl and put some "normal chicken curry" and rice in it and started hogging. I noticed that my dad was still in the corner mumbling about something. I grabbed a bowl and served him. He took it. Tasted it.

"It's good."

"Isn't it?" I said, while stuffing some more in my mouth.

"Don't tell your mom that."

"My lips are sealed." Technically not. I was still eating. But why quibble?

My dad returned to the living room. With the chicken rice. He started ranting about it only because my mom was there but then kept quiet when he knew that both of us were rolling our eyes.

And Zat, my dear readers, was the story of the "Normal chicken curry". Thank you, thank you very much.

PS- Due to excessive exaggeration, I'd say this is about 80% true. Over and out.