And all I can cook is a potato

Supposedly a prized possession, my mom gave me a copy of the Indian Delights as a wedding gift. I think it’s one of my prized possessions. Well, if I’m not even sure, then maybe it isn’t, but I think that it should be.

My first attempt to pluck from its hefty knowledge left me unimpressed. All I wanted was a recipe for pancakes – but found a complicated more-than-4-ingredient fandangle that was too intense for my new-born grocery cupboard. I didn’t even have vanilla essence, so maybe that’s also my fault. But still…shouldn’t this be easier?

Should I have taken more of an interest in learning how to cook and all of the other hoopla of domestic life, before I got married?

Maybe…probably….well we can make the best of what we have now, which is, basically, potatoes.  Potatoes are the best because you can’t really spoil ’em.  Chuck them in a pot of water or oil, add some heat, wait a bit – done.

My relationship with this orange fiend, the great Indian Delights, needs to move from awe and fear to trusty side-kick.  I will persevere!

I also recently came into a lovely copy of my favourite dictionary…red and big and thin-papered, I know for sure that it is one of my prized possessions.  Hmmm, this definitely says something about me, but I hope it bodes well for Husband’s waist-line.  I cannot have him be a starving intellect, living off an occasional potato.

Is it an Indian girl thing, the need to cook from scratch?  Why do so few people in our community buy almost-ready dinners?  The world is trying to make our lives easier but we remain entangled in the need to be good kitchen masters.  Meh, it’s in me too, and I need to climb this cooking-from-scratch mountain, one burn and cut at a time.