Dear reader, the past few days have been full. I accompanied Izzy in a solo performance last night as well as a performance of her violin ensemble group. In other words, I've been practising the piano lately. As it so happens, practice really does make a difference (you'll note I stopped short of perfect). Anyway, it was fun. The ensemble played a very energetic tango.
Really, the tango. It makes me want to be a better woman. Lithe. Graceful. Coordinated.
Also, in case you are wondering, I have drawn a winner for the giveaway, but can't seem to find a moment to snap a picture of Caroline holding the name. Maybe that's not so important? Should I just say who it is?
But let's stop talking housekeeping and get down to what life is really about. No, this time it's not love. It's food. Or how about the love of food?
Now everyone is happy.
Would you like to jumpstart your existence? Would you like to find meaning where before there was a void? Would you like to breathe an aroma that will make you pant, possibly drool, and tremble with excitement? Would you like to feel whisked away to a land of exotic intrigue?
(Disclaimer: this campaign may not resonate with readers from India...you'll have to wait until next week when I talk about cheeseburgers).
Inspired by the lovely Amanda, I decided to fire up some chana masala.
Oh, Prince of Pondicherry! Why wasn't I born in your country? Why couldn't I live in your chocolate castle?
Oh, Life of Pi! Why did your dad have to pack up the zoo? Yes, Canada is a worthy pursuit, but you had India. And then all you had was that lifeboat.
I think this picture speaks volumes about the way I cook. Clearly my brother, the surgeon, is nowhere near this operation. But I'm pretty sure my chana masala tastes just as amazing.
Let me tell you something about that purist: he buys his spices whole and grinds them in a little electric coffee grinder. And he owns about ten mortar and pestles. One time, before he moved to Las Vegas and was here for a quick weekend visit, he insisted on buying me a coffee grinder just so he could use it for something he was cooking that night. I was all, "Tim. I have a vast array of powders up there in that cupboard. Are you sure you can't just make do?"
No, he could not make do.
And before anyone jumps to his defense and asserts the superiority of grinding one's spices...I already know all that. I hear about it every time my brother cooks.
My style is also authentic, though perhaps less worthy of emulation: I wore a cheerful apron, opened the windows, turned on the music, and pretty much rubbed garam masala all over my body.
Afterward, I found myself in a lifeboat with these two wild things. I held them at bay with chana masala as long as I could.
Meanwhile, I marked my territory at the other end of the table, hoping they would ignore me.
Oh dear. Oh Richard Parker! The hyena is getting restless...
Dear reader, I think I speak for headmistresses everywhere when I say being fanged by a single front tooth is not a pretty way to go. I have grave doubts as to whether HRH will join us for tea after this!
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p.s. I used this very manageable recipe from Smitten Kitchen and in case I failed to make myself clear, the chana masala was divine and my entire family loved it. Especially my little quasi-vegetarian sitting back there behind the attacking hyena.