Being A Mum . Cooking
Cooking like Mummyji – I Wish!!
On January 9, 2016 by Speranza
One of my key ways of cheering myself up involves eating, making or reading about Indian food. (Often, all at the same time).
I also enjoy a nice outing to the Indian grocery store; I do my best when I’m there, trying respectfully to use the right words (atta instead of flour and never referencing a ‘curry’ since this is a crass Anglo-misnomer) but I’m also cringingly aware that they may think I’m pulling a “Food Channel-Poseur” and will be holding themselves up at the counter, screaming with laughter behind the Bollywood dvds as I leave …
(I do prefer to believe that my sincerity is not in question as I have been the recipient of more than a few whispered best-ways-to-do-this during my visits …)
Indian mothers throughout the world – Mummyjis, if you will – you have my utmost respect and admiration! I applaud the sheer time and love it takes to make just one Indian meal and the skill that is involved in making everything come together at the right time. We often joke at home that it takes two days notice just to make a proper Indian lunch – never mind dinner! (And to Son #2, no I still don’t think it’s necessary to rub the chickpeas through a sieve to remove their skins and this will not be happening in my world …)
Cooking . Recipes . Someone's Mum
Someone’s Mum’s Cinnamon Buns
On November 7, 2015 by Speranza
I don’t care for the commercial grade, overly hefty cinnamon buns.
It’s what my mum would call “too much of a muchness.”
It’s just not okay to me when a bun looks as though it’s been carved away in the style of a Chicago Deep Dish pizza; it’s too much on the plate, the icing texture is reminiscent of toothpaste and no matter how tantalizing the smell is at the time, ultimately, there will be disappointment and a broken plastic fork.
If you can relate to any of this, you will be very happy with the following recipe.
Cooking
Fear of Frying
On October 21, 2015 by Speranza
Like many people I’ve always had a cast iron fry pan in my repertoire but I only drag it out a few times a year for certain recipes and usually afterwards I am lamenting that I didn’t remember how badly it sticks and how I should have re-seasoned it. Then, I generally leave it out for a while to remind myself before finally getting tired of seeing it and back it goes to the dark side of the cupboard. This is a cycle as regular as the seasons yet like many things, I am ashamed to say that it seems less tiresome to slope into my car, drive to a store and purchase yet another non-stick pan once the current one starts getting that sun-burned skin going on in the middle. Disturbing! But lately I feel guilty and a bit queasy when I recall all those things about not having any kind of caged bird around if you use non-stick (how can THAT be okay?) and then there’s the entire health concern and environmental piece.
So, when I recently unearthed a truly ancient cast iron fry pan that had belonged to The General’s mother – the appearance of which was both endearing and alarming – I was inspired afresh to make things right.
Cooking . Someone's Mum
Someone’s Mum’s Rotisserie Chicken
On August 31, 2015 by Speranza Everyone has those recipes that they have been going back to and relying on for years but no one is really quite sure of the recipe’s origin! I am not alluding to misplacing a link to the Food Channel now or that really cool thing Jamie Oliver did with, well, anything really but rather,
Being A Girl . Cooking
MadMen Allusions No Illusions
On June 1, 2015 by Speranza
No one has captured an era more effectively, more poignantly and frankly, more truthfully than the creators of ‘MadMen.’
I won’t make this into a thesis paper – even though I am tempted and could go on and on with psychological examples – but the way that children were treated back in that time slot especially resonated with me.
Consider the following conversation circa 1965 between myself and my perfectly lovely mother.
ME: “When Daddy leaves the car running, I get really scared. I know you can’t drive and I worry that the car will drive away on its own. What would happen?”
MUM: (Lighting a cigarette and snapping open the newspaper) “Don’t talk daft. Now, are you peeling the carrots?”
You will notice the distinct absence of any heartfelt “When you say, I feel …” conversations, no one-on-one explanations and certainly no therapists were consulted.
And you know what? All I wanted was a practical answer like, “Hell, we’d pull the car key out” or how about “I know where the hand brake is!” I continued to fret for YEARS about this and have since relegated it to simple childhood anxiety although truly, I was just trying to find out if ANYONE would know what to do.
It’s not that unreasonable!