January 2006, Santa Clara, California.
It had only been a few weeks since I arrived in the US. While I was still waiting for job interview calls, I took this time to learn new recipes…over the phone, almost every evening. YouTube was still in its infancy; in fact, I had not even heard of it yet. That made my mom the only source of visually proven delicious recipes. I would cook my dinner with a tilted neck, phone glued to my ears to hear the exact ingredients, mom on the other side narrating the recipe as she prepared breakfast for dad back in India. Missing to hear one piece of vital information meant a complete disaster to the recipe.
It was a usual evening. My roommate Anyoso had just finished her part of the chores, that is doing dishes, and had picked up her book to read while I was doing my part, that is cooking delicious Indian dinner. It had been a while since I had relished upon one of my favorite dish of Aloo Tamatar Ki Sabji (The spicy soupy dish made of Potato and Tomato), and I did the usual. I picked up the phone and dialed Mom’s number.
“Good morning mommy dearest! What’s going on?” I greeted my mom as soon as she picked up the call.
“Preparing breakfast…what else? That’s what your dad married me for!” She loathed as she rattled the spatula on the cauldron even harder, probably deliberately to gain my sympathy. After all, I was the only other soul in the family who shared her misery of cooking; chopping onion played a major role. There is rarely a dish in my family that’s cooked without onion, and if by any chance she is spared the chopping part, onion rings are mandatory for salad.
“I hear you, mother. But look at the brighter side. Your recipes are undeniably the best! My roommate is already impressed with my cooking skills. And where do you think I get my recipes from?” I complimented playfully uplifting her to cloud number nine. She loves it when someone appreciates her cooking and the compliment sure helped to ease her on the spatula. The rattling sound had lowered.
“I’m missing your delicious tamatar aloo ki sabji and I need the recipe, now…so enlighten me, my dear mommy.” I continued.
“It’s very simple. Chop and fry onion, two garlic buds, two green chilies, add regular spices, add two chopped tomatoes, then two potatoes. Add water and boil for 15 minutes. That’s it.” She explained.
“Okay, I got to go. He needs his breakfast now. Tell me how it was when it’s ready.” She said and hurriedly hung up the phone as I heard my dad in the background almost pleading for his breakfast.
Thirty minutes later, dinner was served. Anyoso was already on the table ready to attack the cauldron. She had already nibbled on the sabji while I was still serving my own.
“How do you like it?” I asked with a smile anticipating praise. (Yep! I was confident in my cooking skills.)
“Mmmm…it’s delicious. I love it!” She was clearly having a foodgasm and that definitely widened my smile. I had already served my plate and took my first bite.
“Yikes! What the fuck have I made? This is disgusting.” I vetoed, yet diligent enough to react only in my mind and not utter the words since I did not want to ruin Anyoso’s foodgasm. I bet I’d have thrown up had she not been around. I continued eating anyway, pretending to be having a foodgasm just like her, but wishing in my mind that she already finished her dinner to spare me the torture. Her munching session lasted more than ten minutes and I had not even finished half chapati yet.
“Hey, you’re not eating. What’s wrong?” It took her complete munching session to notice that.
“Ah, …it’s nothing. I was very hungry in the evening and ate some junk food before cooking dinner. I guess I’ll have another round of dinner later at the night.” I replied.
“Make sure you do. Don’t miss on the delicacy or you won’t find it tomorrow if you saved it in the fridge!” She winked.
I was still wondering what she liked about the sabji. Was it the flavor of the spices or was she too hungry to notice anything? Because this was the worst I had ever cooked without a doubt.
As soon as she went back to her bed, I picked up the phone and called mom.
“Mommy, it’s a disaster! It is tasting horrible. Did you miss mentioning any ingredient?” I asked.
“Of course not! Did you miss hearing one?” she retorted.
“Did you put spices in the right amount?” She asked.
“Yes, I followed your recipe religiously.” I replied in affirmative.
“What does it taste like?” She had already started the root cause analysis.
“It almost tastes like Onion Tomato soup!” I almost wailed.
Mom went into silence for a few seconds, probably thinking hard on the technical aspects.
“How big are the onion and tomatoes?” was her next question and at that moment…she had nailed it.
“Goddamn it! It’s the size,” I had the Eureka moment “It’s the size mom, it’s the size!” I kept repeating.
“The onion here is almost the size of a melon mom…and the potatoes are…colossal!” I revealed.
“Even squirrels are giant! I bet if an American squirrel traveled to India and met its fellow Indian squirrels, it would be a Gulliver in Lilliput island moment. Everything is big in America.” I continued the revelation as we laughed together over the phone. We had figured out that the size had messed up the entire Math of proportions. Size does matter after all.
