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.

Bad-minton

RIP Badminton Court, Jan 2009 - Jan 2009

I woke up to loud voices in the courtyard. Richhpal takes two glasses of beet and carrot juice and prefers to drink them in the warmth of the morning sun while speaking in a loud tone that bounces off the courtyard walls and into my ears. A lovely way to wake up, I thought. He invited me to sit and drink some tea with him. I then spent the afternoon watching TV while Cub went out for what he said would be 30 minutes. 6 hours later Cub shows up and tells me he went gun shopping with Jaspal. I later find out that Jaspal bought an American rifle from 1917 costing 2 Lackh Rupees ($4,000 USD). Cub tells me that a good watchdog is a few hundred dollars. Seems like a better choice to me.

Later in the evening we go to Remy’s house to play badminton. I came along not to play, but to leave the farm. I had been to this home before and enjoyed that there was a room away from the court with comfy beds and a widescreen TV and two boys that would cook me whatever I wanted (or so I was told). Not any different from being at Cub’s house, but this way I could spend time with Cub, without actually spending time with Cub. When we reached the farm, my plan of eating French fries in a warm bed while watching an American movie, were shattered when we found Remy sick. Instead, we watched croquet – Sri Lanka vs. India – and I reached an all time low of boredom. Watching a sport I have no interest in, in a language I do not know. We were then served dinner and desert. I suppose 2 bowls of scevie – a dish sweet milk dish of noodles – makes up for the last few days. I meticulously took note of the events of the day and decided to later to use them in verbal battle case I decided to get upset with Cub.

Brownies

I watched the beginning part of the presidential inauguration with Richhpal and excused myself to see if I could help with dinner. Richhpal does not eat dinner with the family – he eats a healthier meal in his room around 7 pm everyday while watching the news. It was 9 pm and I was starving. I walked past the kitchen and heard Amrith, Cub and Jaspal talking, so I grabbed a plate and sat down. I was a bit confused why I wasn’t told dinner was ready, but sat down hoping that they would be excited to ask me about my travels through the mountains of Nepal. The entire dinner was conducted in Punjabi and I had no eye contact from anyone. Being left alone most of the day, this made me feel very alone. I slowly ate my meal, trying to make eye contact as to instigate spontaneous English speaking, but had no luck.

After I was done, I sat politely and waited to be excused. Since this didn’t happen and I felt tears fill my glands, I excused myself, went to my room, and cried. I then wiped my face, put a smile on my face (something I have become good at over the years) and walked across the courtyard. I walked over to Richhpal’s room poking my head through the door, hoping he would pat the side of his bed motioning me to come in and sit, and he did, so we continued to watch the inauguration.

A couple of hours passed and Amrith poked her head in the door as to hint that it was her bedtime. I was sitting in her bed, after all, so I thanked Richhpal for the company and went to my room across the courtyard. I peeked in the kitchen and didn’t see Jaspal or Cub, so I went back to my room. A few minutes passed and I heard loud footsteps coming from the stairs that lead to the roof. Cub walked into my room and I began to cry again. He felt so bad and consoled me and promised to not leave me again. I felt emotional and needy and I hated it. He then told me he would go into town to get all the ingredients for me to make brownies.

“You like brownies, right?”

Roles Reversed

The gang has split for a few months. Bonnie is in Morocco, Anthony and Jamey are soaking up rays in Goa, and I am back in Sirsa with Cub. This time I am staying with his family whom happens to share a wall with Harpal’s family. The family of 5 consists of Cub, Harpal’s nephew, Jolly, his younger brother of 27 years old, his wife, Jagdeep, his parents, Amrith and Richhpal, two dogs and two bitches (used in the technical sense). Immediately I was welcomed back and invited to sit for lunch. They have kitchen help, so I was not asked or even welcomed to help prepare lunch. A nice change, I thought.

After lunch, Cub tended to some farm work and I was left to watch bad reruns and play on the painfully slow internet. Sadly, I was anxious to help in the kitchen so when I went there looking for Amrith, I found her watching her Indian soaps and Richhpal in another room watching BBC news on his widescreen. All I could think about what how when I was at the other farm, just a few yards away, Harpal had said that Surinder watched too much television meanwhile all we did was cook and make tea all day.

Happy Lorhi

Chandigarh Rose Garden

We are in Chandigarh, the Punjab and Haryana capital 4 hours north of Delhi. The air is cool and filled with rhythmic drumming that bounces off the side of the building. It is the beginning of the holy festival Lorhi – celebrated throughout Punjab by both Hindus and Sikhs. Families and friends gather around fires and offer sweets to the fire.

A woman, Auntie, comes in the morning and evening to prepare meals for us and to clean the dishes. We have high-speed Internet, movie channels and a market where you can get fresh juice or tantalizing sweets for pennies within shouting distance. Our hosts are extremely accommodating and have even given up their own beds for our convenience. This morning I got up with Cub, rode my bike 5 km to the lake, and ran 10 km underneath fragrant cherry blossom trees. This is all wonderful, but I am feeling an urge to get back on my bike or get on a train to see more of this country.

For the past few nights Cub has taken me out to get chocolate. We frequent this one bakery and choose 2 – 3 cakes and a brownie and then get coffees and the nearby shop. It’s like going on a date every night. The night before we left, I was surprised with 2 beautifully made suits from Cub. I feel like a princess.

Heavenly Farms Revisted

We have safely reached India and stayed a few day at Heavenly Farms in Sirsa. Since this was the 2nd time that Jamey, Bonnie and I were there, we all fell right into our familiar and comfortable routines. Bonnie and I instantly took refuge to the kitchen with Surinder, the woman in the household, and Jamey went into the bedroom with Harpal, the man of the house, to discuss future documentary movie plans regarding organic farming. Anthony awkwardly waited in the living room until dinner was prepared. Meals were a bit uncomfortable since it was evident that Harpal and his wife were not talking to each other and possibly had not for some time. Something to do with dog food, she murmurred.

Surrinder asked me what Anthony does at home and I told her that he does some IT stuff. Her eyes lit up and she went and grabbed an old xbox and a computer the size of a fax machine and placed them on the living room table. Once Harpal knew there was someone who knew how to operate a PC the house, he suddenly lost the little computer knowledge he knew – like how to write an email.

I spent the next few days attached to Surrinder – watching old wedding movies, peeling garlic, eating sweets. Harpal asked me one night what I was planning on doing the next day.

“Whatever your wife asks me to do, I will happily do,” I replied.

I don’t think he appreciated that answer and said, “She sure like to watch her television.”

When Harpal saw Surrinder and I watching old wedding movies (once in which the camera was left in a corner of a room and forgotten about for an hour), he too wanted to take part of the misery. He took one on the disks and had us watch his daughter’s wedding on the small screen of his PC. Anthony started the computer, Bonnie and I sat painfully watching, and Jamey hid behind us with his computer, making sure to look up every few seconds.

The next day Surrinder asked me if the boys were going to the put up the badminton court. This discussion apparently happened in the secret meeting Harpal had with Jamey behind the bedroom door on the night we arrived. Something to do with the boys playing badminton at his nephew’s house and Harpal wanting the boys to play at his house. Surrinder was concerned with Jaspal eating junk food over there. Controlling parental stuff, if you ask me. Us Americans cleared out an area in the back and put up a sad looking court. We used 2 old tables and 2 old poles to hold up the net. Tables has to be moved, drying lines had to be restrung and shit had to be scooped. I give this net a month before it’s taken down.

We went to play badminton that night and felt sad about our court that we had set up. Remy had a professional court and concession stand. Immediately a boy popped out on the court offering us sweet lime juice and canned soda. Later he served us 3 plates of home made fries in which we played “never have I ever” with them.

Happy New Year, Nepal

Wow, it's been over a year since I started my last blog - curiousrunner.blogspot.com - about my thoughts in running. I am in such a different place - not better, nor worse, just different. Bonnie and I will be embarking on a 20 hour bus ride back to meet the boys at the Nepali-Indian border to continue our journey through Asia. I am really blissed to be able to travel and have great companions to do it with. It's so hard to step back from everyday life and do things in your life that make you truly happy, but I promise that once you face the right direction, all you need to do is walk.