pour your sugar on me

i'm not a fussy eater because i couldn't afford to be; we've had some very lunatic people cooking for us. first, my grandmother who was the sweetest accessory after the fact an accident-prone eight-year-old could have, but she used to make something truly vile with overripe bananas. first she'd mash them up and really, do you need to hear more.

then we had shoba who was an amazing cook but she believed in feeding me till i could eat no more. and that is no mean feat. i would come back from school, she'd sit me down and make rotis/dosas, transfering them hot-hot to my plate. endlessly, as in with no end. and i ate because as someone threw into a conversation yesterday, food is love. yeah, baby.

then there was radhamma, who was a jesus freak. when my mom was out of town she would sleep on a mat in our room and wail a prayer of gratitude at the sky for about an hour before she fell asleep. i was scared of her, but she was a great cook and friends still remember her kheema samosas.
then shoba came back and continued to stuff my face. and then she left and we had a succession of mental people who weren't in this for the food.

i don't even remember them because they came and went so quickly. but we ate things that went a long way in shaping my current philosophical disposition; the atrocities included sweet fried balls of idli-pindi (as entrees), dals of various hues, consistencies and potencies that nagamani liked to serve in a pressurecooker, and everything that could be boiled, plus a good many things that did not want to be boiled. ketchup was my only friend.

and, of course, there's my mother, who really is very good, especially with the naadan mutton fry. but she's a fussy cook, so she doesn't do it often.

i cook too and i like what i make. but this does not mean it is good, i will not have you thinking that.

ok, now that i have had my yap, the list of food things that rock my world.
1. that thimble-sized dollop of nutty trufflely creme in which the hazelnut gooes, at the centre of a ferrero rocher. this is the optimum way to snort the stuff: nibble off the outer nut-choc layer. take the wafer cups apart and collect creme in one cup. pick hazelnut and eat. leave the cup, with the creme, in a patch of sunlight for about 5 minutes. scoop out with tongue. heaven is the clogging up of all senses woth chocolate
note: if you eat rochers in one crunch, instead of taking it apart in layers like a normal person, you are sick and unfit to vote.
2. pepperoni pizza with garlic sauce. making pepperoni with chicken, beef, lamb or anything that doesn't oink is also disgusting.
3. cupcakes. all kinds of cupcakes. some people call them muffins. i have nothing against these people.
4. dal rice because there is no better cure for homesickness of the soul. whether your home is an igloo or a walking distance away.
5. fish fry with hot rice. butterfish is good, black pomfret is best, and sardines you can crunch down whole are perfect.
6. qubani ka meeta with cream. i love mumtaz khan's tart, luscious, whole-qubani version, but i also like the synthetic liquified gloop they serve at weddings. they all have the right to live and be eaten. just like you and me.
7. shikampur kebab. also by mumtaz khan, mistress of hyderabad's spices. the only minced meat kebabs i like because they don't dilute the meatiness, while providing a moist flavourful experience every time. jai hind.
8. guavas. this has been my favourite thing to eat while reading since always. a guava doesn't interrupt you with annoying pips or peels that must be peeled. a banana may be a better bookmark but a guava never got accused of unsolicited phallicness.
9. biryani. i hate wasting a whole place on the list for this because really is there any need to state the fact? and nish (who remembered) is right, you do get the bestest kinds at weddings. but i once had a transcendental biryani experience at a restaurant i won't name now because that stroke of brilliance turned out to be a fluke. but oh my god, there were such visions.
10. cup noodles, tangy chicken. there is a wonderful democracy, a factory-processed love about instant noodles. it's like being gently chuffed on the chin by a large peice of machinery.

food is love. and love is sweet poison. so it all works out in the end.