Pocketful of Froggies and Fish Fry to Pacify

She was barely four, but quite aware of her surroundings and senses – including flavors and food her Mum would create. She was choosy about food and almost never ate anything which had a “health” tag attached to it necessary for children her age. Her parents would cry hoarse to the kiddie doctor they took her to. Who would in turn tell the harried parents that their child was normal.

She wrote her Cs and Ds all mirror images of the actual letters of the alphabet in her strangely beautiful handwriting. She strung a wooden guitar quite tunelessly, she even stole sausages from the fridge while the Mum was asleep one day. She never played with dolls and kitchen sets little girls her age did. She loved to dig into hills of sand at construction sites, one time even coming back home with a piece of dried cat poop in her hand and giving it to her Mum as a present for home decoration. She once hit the family’s domestic help so hard with a steel rod, he bled from the forehead. Just because he had refused to give her atta dough to play with.

All the signs were there. The parents were bringing up a Problem Child. And they could not even put her up for adoption!

But outside of her home, the Brat was the most well-behaved little girl, who even knew her nursery rhymes and number songs. So no one really believed the parents when they told tales of the brat they had at home.

Encouraged by the sporadic good behavior of the little girl outside of home, the parents started having eat outs and dinner parties at home.

That monsoon evening a few friends of the parents were invited. The Mother was busy with cooking her signature dishes, the Father was the babysitter. Later, they cleared the clutter together, tidied the home, fluffed up the pillows, made the house smell good and dressed their daughter up in a frilly frock the Mother had stitched.

Friends came, conversations started over drinks and food. Brat got some applauds for the new poems she had learnt at  nursery school after which she was left on her own to sit on her wooden horse or play around. Sneaking out to the garden was easy for the Brat.

She returned to the living room and stood in front of the guests, waiting to be noticed. Her cheek was pinched by some “Aunty”, but no one really noticed her taking handful of little frogs from the pockets of her frock and hurling them at the guests sitting on the big couch.

Frog after frog came out of her pockets, some escaping her little hands but most made it to where they were aimed at. Shrieks and shrills echoed the living room and then a firm hand picked the Brat up and put her down on the big, rocking chair.

Silence enveloped the room and then suddenly all the adults got busy looking for hopping, jumping frogs. The Brat looked gleefully at the Mother who was glaring back at her. The largish rocking chair’s slight back and forth motion ensured that the Brat did not get off it for the next 30 minutes or so. The Mother wiped her hands and asked her if she was hungry. The Brat nodded and the Mother handed her a piece of crispy-fried Fish Fry with tomato ketchup smeared on it.

The Brat licked the sauce with satisfied delight and then her tiny teeth bit into the flaky fish. She liked it, finished it in no time and reached her little hand for another! Which the Mother handed over only too eagerly. At least her four-year-old was eating something. Which meant the Mother was going to make Bhetki Maacher Fry for the Brat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Ingredients for the Mother’s Fish Fry are:

500 grams fish fillet (use any white fish, my Mum uses Bhetki {Red Snapper} in India)
Juice of two lemons or limes
2 tablespoons juice of red onion (grate an onion and extract the juice)
1 teaspoon black pepper powder
1 egg, beaten
3-4 tablespoons cornstarch
3-4 tablespoons bread crumbs
Canola oil for deep frying
Salt

Cut the fillets in smaller three inch pieces and marinate them in the lemon and onion juices, salt and pepper for about 30-40 minutes. Make sure the fish you use is fresh, else it might just start breaking when you deep fry it.

In a wok, heat oil till almost smoking.

Drain the juices from the fish and coat with cornstarch, dip in the egg batter and roll in the bread crumbs. Deep fry. The rule for “battered” deep frying is: dry-wet-dry, I learnt this from a chef and watched most follow this simple rule.

Fry the fish till the crust becomes golden brown. Adjust the heat if the oil gets too hot.

Drain the fish on paper towels and serve immediately with onion rings, tomato ketchup and kasundi (a Bengali mustard relish).

Chicken Soup for a Cause

There is nothing remotely romantic about men who talk to your breasts. Its uncomfortable and downright disgusting to have someone stare at you in a manner which is not only inappropriate but also comes close to being “unlawful”.

The Blog world is full of posts on Pink Power and the cause and awareness of Breast Cancer, well there is another kind of cancer that affects individuals with breasts!

I was still naive in my first job at a large encyclopedia company. I was also very aware of the fact that every time I talked to a certain male colleague, I “mesmerized” him in a way which was all too new for me. His eyes remained transfixed. The gaze just wouldn’t shift. Initially I thought it was me. The next few times I had the need to talk to him, I would shield myself with the latest edition of The Merriam-Webster Thesaurus. But his peering gaze bore through its hard covers. Neither Merriam nor Webster could provide an armor for me.

I talked about it to another colleague. Apparently she was a victim too. Soon, we were all talking about the man who stared at… And he did not even look like George Clooney!!

I was definitely not alone.

In my last life in an ITES corporation, I was no more naive, no more the duckling trying to become a swan. I was the swan in four-inch stilettos. And my hawk eyes met another such highly placed honcho, who was in the habit of having conversations with the chest.

The first time he talked corporate policies and tools and technology in the Knowledge Management domain to my breasts, I did brush it off thinking it was my imagination (read paranoia).

The second time, I was not so kind. As his stare shifted, so did I, on my swivel chair. I slid in my seat to meet his eyes. I stooped low to meet his gaze. But it was all worth it. He never looked at me again. Not even my eyes.

This Chicken Soup is not related in anyway to the above incidents (or the people), except that I used chicken breast portions for my soup which is now becoming a highly recommended source of calm and cure when the mind is racing and the nose is runny.

Ingredients for my Chicken Soup are:

2 portions of chicken breasts
One small onion, coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon very finely chopped ginger
Half cup finely chopped green beans
Half cup finely chopped carrots
Half cup green peas
Half cup chopped coriander/cilantro
1 tablespoon butter
Black pepper
Salt

Make the broth by boiling the portions of chicken, onion, salt and pepper with 6-7 cups of water. Cook covered.

Remove the boiled chicken pieces and shred.

Just before you are ready to have the soup, crank the heat up of the broth, when its come to a raging boil, add the chicken, ginger, green beans, carrots and peas. And butter.

Turn the heat off after about 3-4 minutes. The idea is to keep the vegetables crunchy and retain their color.

Remove from the stove and add the chopped coriander. Lots of it. Cooking the soup with the coriander in will result in darker leaves which are not too pleasing, just like the looks of these men.

Season with more salt and pepper if needed.

Roasted Cherry Tomatoes

My two favorite things to do with Cherry Tomatoes are throw them in a baking dish with some EVOO, salt and pepper and grill or roast. Or just keep them on the dining table (all washed and cleaned), still on their vines as a centerpiece.

After the pretty cherry (or grape) tomatoes had spent some adequate time pepping up my dining table while simultaneously being popped in for some in-between-meal snack, I decided to make use of them for my dinner of chicken cutlets and a smoked salmon cream cheese-avocado sandwich.

They say true luxury should be rare, authentic and special. I think so too, and that’s why I use cherry tomatoes to decorate, make little hors d'oeuvre by either stuffing them with fresh “mozz”, tossing them in salads or just pricking them on fruit picks with some complementary fruits (like grapes and olives) and some cheese.

These are the roasted cherry tomatoes I served with my dinner last night. About 300 grams of plump cherry tomatoes on the vine, drizzled lavishly with the best extra virgin olive oil and seasoned with some freshly cracked pepper and salt.

Crank the oven up to 375 and roast the tomatoes for about 20-25 minutes.

These roasted cherry tomatoes are great hot, straight out of the oven. They are wonderful warm or at room temperature, and make spectacular leftovers the next day.

And the fun part is eating them straight from their vine. Try it!