Top Chef Round 1

Richhpal heard that I enjoy cooking (unlike his daughter-in-law) and asked me to cook. This also happened at Harpal’s house, but I didn’t actually follow through on cooking Chinese food as he had asked. Apparently my Asiatic ancestry must mean that I know how to make Szechwan vegetables. I do not. Anyway, I was asked to make an Italian dinner complete with bread and “salata mixta”. This man has lived all over the world and speaks Italiano – I was going into kitchen suicide. A word of advice – if you are in an Indian home, or any “family oriented home” for that matter, most likely the woman of the house is an amazing cook (and if she’s not, she will be through a thorough and constant regimen of kitchen verbal abuse until her food is acceptable to serve at gatherings of high officiates). Another word of advice - one should be most sure of their recipe before serving it for dinner. I am still alive to write this, so dinner must have turned out all right.

I begin at 2 pm after eating a delicious lunch from Amrith. Great, I think. I need to compete with this? After consulting with Amrith, I decide to make a beet salad, eggplant parmesan, and Italian bread. Shishpal, the kitchen help, chops up the onions, garlic and boils and peels the tomatoes. I salt the eggplant and let them sit while I frantically search for a good bread recipe online. I just learned how to make chapattis and was told that the dogs wouldn’t even eat them; so making bread was more than a little nerve wracking. After breading and frying the eggplant, I make the bread dough and the beet salad. The sauce has been simmering for a few hours now, so I blend and season it. It is too sweet so I add some spice and hope that these Indians won’t know any better. Richhpal walks into the kitchen, looks at the clock (it is now 6 pm) and asks how dinner is. I tell him that the eggplant needs to be baked but I am waiting on the cheese, the sauce is ready for the eggplant, the salad is in the fridge and the bread is rising. He looks at the eggplant and asks why it’s in that pan and I tell him that I am going to bake in it. He raises his eyebrows and yells to his wife and she comes in.

I later learn that he yelled, “This girl wants to bake the eggplant in a fry pan! Get her the right utensils! This is why men always run kitchens and not women! Women can’t plan!”

He then watches me chop more tomatoes to make more sauce for the pasta that I didn’t know we were having.

“Didn’t your mother teach you how to cook”, he asks. “I am surprised – your mother is Asian and usually Asians teach their daughters how to cook. If you aren’t going to cook, then tell Shishpal what to do.”

I try to tell Shispal to mash the tomatoes using charades which leaves him laughing and Richhpal the same color as the sauce. I remember working for a terrifying boss and how he would yell at me and think how I survived that, and think that is nothing. I inhale, and exhale and politely take any suggestions Richhpal gives me, hoping that he will too remember that his wife also did not know how to cook when he married her. I then notice that he is not yelling or even criticizing me; he is just helping me in his own way. I appreciate him for that and gain a new respect for him.

As all this is going on, Cub walks into the kitchen from wherever he escaped to, hands me a box of ramen noodles and asks if I want to play badminton. I give him a blank stare and ask him “what do you think?” He looks around, gets the picture, and leaves. The boys go to play badminton, and I eat my dinner disaster with Amrith and Richhpal. Dinner is eaten in mostly silence as I gather a sympathetic respect for the chefs that serve their meals before a panel of experts.

Richhpal eats another bite and then gives his professional critique. “You shouldn’t have pureed the sauce – it would have been juicier if you just mashed it. The spices are good, but it’s too thick. Tomorrow I think you should recook the eggplant with more sauce.” He then looks at Amrith and explains to her how to fix the dish in Punjabi. As he spoons the ramen noodles, which are now in a noodle nest, he says, "these noodles are overcooked, don't you think?" Who eats ramen noodles with tomato sauce anyways?

“Yes, they should have been taken out sooner. I think Shishpal cooked them," I say ratting out the kitchen help. Truth is that Amrith had made them, but I was trying to save her. I should have not said anything instead of being dishonest because he then yelled at Shishpal who then blamed Amrith. Never blame your boss.

He then takes another bite of the beet salad and says its perfect. I smile and decide that I will make it again in the morning.

Cub comes home late and I hear him and Jaspal in the kitchen. I am sitting in a bedroom with Amrith and we are watching an Indian show. I walk over to the kitchen, glance in, and then walk back to the room. I decided to not disturb them since they were deep in conversation. An hour passes and I am tired so I excuse myself to my bedroom. Again, minutes pass, and I hear footsteps from the roof. Cub comes in and tells me that they were talking on the roof about some family matter. He tells me that the spaghetti sauce I made was amazing and I begin to tear up again. I tell him about the kitchen drama and we both laugh. At least there is that.

The next morning we wake up and Cub asks me to heat up the rest of the ramen noodles with the tomato sauce. Maybe he did it to be polite, but to me, it was perfect.