The scales have never been kind to me. In fact each time I gather up my courage to climb on one, it laughs at my face. I have had a love affair with food for as long as I can remember. I love to eat and it shows. Food is my comfort, my sin, my passion and yes, my fat too. Food however has taken on a whole new meaning since the time I came to Montreal. With every kind of ingredient within easy reach, nothing is out of bounds or too difficult to make. Weekends turn into gastronomic adventures and indulgences hit the roof. But it's a whole different feeling to find the foods from your country, the foods you grew up eating and the food that is so unique to our land in a far away corner of the world. It's the thrill of discovering the perfect daal or the succulent tikka that only a sweaty turbaned punjabi dhaba owner can make, or the crunchy vada of the south Indian origin in far off Montreal.
Only recently our dear friends D and A introduced us to the popular Indian place in Montreal where the owner and serveuse speak chaste punjabi, there is piped bhajan music playing on the player somewhere and pictures of various gods and goddesses adorn the wall along with the ubiquitous taj mahal, Pushap sweets.
The samosas were to die for. After spending a samosa-less, tikki-less, gulab jamun less year, I fell onto the street food wagon like a starving orphan. I guzzled the syrupy sweetmeats, ate through a few plates of Chloe bhature and watched the fair skinned Quebecois tuck into the thalis on offer there.
Stuff that was so routine and part of our everyday consumption in the motherland has taken on a whole new meaning in a distant place. There is dhahi bhallas which taste very much like the real thing, samosas that come in all shapes and with multitude of fillings, chutneys vie for space with their color taste and vibrancy and the south Indian food on offer here is 'simbly awesome'.
In the depths of the Canadian winters I craved my moms home made bhuni khichuri. I would try and replicate dishes I had taken for granted at home and never bothered to learn. I would beg my mom to email me her recipe for cabbage with peas or prawn malai curry as I longed for a taste of home. I made a separate section with a special label for the recipies my mom sent, I started following blogs on Indian cooking in earnest and tried my hand at making and baking Indian dishes and sweetmeats every chance got.
On Diwali this year, as the temperatures plunged to sub zero, I was ticked pink ( orange????) having made my very first gajar ka halwa. So excited I was at my feat that I could not wait to share it with my friends ad fellow food lovers. I began to look forward to our get togethers when I knew our friend D would cook up a batch of divinely succulent mutton curry. I would brave snowstorms to get the frozen Nanak paneer so important was my craving for mutter paneer and we would wait impatiently for the Maxi grocery store to stock up on bhel puri and haldirams bhujia.
I am lucky that my family shares my love for food. Tia loves muter paneer, mutton curry, samosas and gulab jamun with a gusto. It gives me immense satisfaction to see her enjoy a bowl of Indian goodies. My heart swells with pride when she lists her favourite foods as daal bhaat, parantha and kebab.
The taste of home is not so easily forgotten. The memories happy and sad, of celebrations and triumphs, of hard work and laziness, of hot summer days and cold winter nights, of Durga pujas and
diwalis are all linked to food in one way or the other.
Its a heady feeling to discover a really good place that sells your childhood goodies and share it with your friends. Food is our common language. Each one of us has their own memories associated with the foods we ate in the homeland.
The scale sits dusty at the bottom of my bed now. I can hear it mocking me, but the comforting smells of aloo methi from the kitchen and the biriyani cooking on the stove has its way of overruling it.
Outside it's a cold and grey day, and inside more food memories are being made, albeit in distant Montreal.
Only recently our dear friends D and A introduced us to the popular Indian place in Montreal where the owner and serveuse speak chaste punjabi, there is piped bhajan music playing on the player somewhere and pictures of various gods and goddesses adorn the wall along with the ubiquitous taj mahal, Pushap sweets.
The samosas were to die for. After spending a samosa-less, tikki-less, gulab jamun less year, I fell onto the street food wagon like a starving orphan. I guzzled the syrupy sweetmeats, ate through a few plates of Chloe bhature and watched the fair skinned Quebecois tuck into the thalis on offer there.
Stuff that was so routine and part of our everyday consumption in the motherland has taken on a whole new meaning in a distant place. There is dhahi bhallas which taste very much like the real thing, samosas that come in all shapes and with multitude of fillings, chutneys vie for space with their color taste and vibrancy and the south Indian food on offer here is 'simbly awesome'.
In the depths of the Canadian winters I craved my moms home made bhuni khichuri. I would try and replicate dishes I had taken for granted at home and never bothered to learn. I would beg my mom to email me her recipe for cabbage with peas or prawn malai curry as I longed for a taste of home. I made a separate section with a special label for the recipies my mom sent, I started following blogs on Indian cooking in earnest and tried my hand at making and baking Indian dishes and sweetmeats every chance got.
On Diwali this year, as the temperatures plunged to sub zero, I was ticked pink ( orange????) having made my very first gajar ka halwa. So excited I was at my feat that I could not wait to share it with my friends ad fellow food lovers. I began to look forward to our get togethers when I knew our friend D would cook up a batch of divinely succulent mutton curry. I would brave snowstorms to get the frozen Nanak paneer so important was my craving for mutter paneer and we would wait impatiently for the Maxi grocery store to stock up on bhel puri and haldirams bhujia.
I am lucky that my family shares my love for food. Tia loves muter paneer, mutton curry, samosas and gulab jamun with a gusto. It gives me immense satisfaction to see her enjoy a bowl of Indian goodies. My heart swells with pride when she lists her favourite foods as daal bhaat, parantha and kebab.
The taste of home is not so easily forgotten. The memories happy and sad, of celebrations and triumphs, of hard work and laziness, of hot summer days and cold winter nights, of Durga pujas and
diwalis are all linked to food in one way or the other.
Its a heady feeling to discover a really good place that sells your childhood goodies and share it with your friends. Food is our common language. Each one of us has their own memories associated with the foods we ate in the homeland.
The scale sits dusty at the bottom of my bed now. I can hear it mocking me, but the comforting smells of aloo methi from the kitchen and the biriyani cooking on the stove has its way of overruling it.
Outside it's a cold and grey day, and inside more food memories are being made, albeit in distant Montreal.
 |
| Gajar ka halwa on diwali |
 |
| Mutter paneer |
 |
| Fish fry..all dolled up |
No comments:
Post a Comment