The first time I lived by myself was when I was in Youngstown (read this post from that solo Youngstown era) in an aging apartment unit that was half under the ground. The landlady, an elderly lady of German origin, had somehow considered me worthy enough to adopt as a tenant without even running a credit check. It was an eccentric place, to say the least. The front door to the building was perennially jammed so all tenants had to enter through the back door. A little coop like structure next to the building constituted the laundry room where the landlady provided free laundry supplies to all tenants but charged $5 to make a copy of the key to the laundry room. Mine was a 2 bedroom unit; well, 1 bedroom where I had blown up an airbed and 1 room with a weird purple carpet where I had set up a cassette deck and would practice music. The living room had two levels, 1 foot apart in elevation, separated by a jagged line that ran obliquely through the room; a bizarre architectural choice, one might say. The kitchen was a separate room that was incongruously spacious for the one frying pan, one copper-bottomed vessel, one rice cooker, one plate, and 4 spoons I owned. Every morning I would put a half a cup of rice, a cup of water, some frozen mixed veggies, some salt and garam masala in the rice cooker, switch it on, and go off to work. When Amma or Appa asked what I had for dinner, I would proudly say 'Pulav'.
Strange days, those.
Thankfully, both my accommodation choices and cooking skills have evolved. With regard to the latter, I can unabashedly say that my skills have now reached a point where people who eat my food can clearly tell if I served them a Biryani or a Pulav. Allow me to ascend the soap box for a bit. If you are a vegetarian cook and are at a point where you are ready to learn how to differentiate between Biryani cooking and Pulav cooking like I once was, I am going to let you in on a secret. All it is, is a marketing strategy. Here's your MO. The day you plan to make a Biryani, make sure everyone in the house knows that you are making a Biryani. And don't tell them directly. Instead keep giving them not-so-subtle hints all day. Talk about how you decided to buy mint the last time you went to buy groceries. Ask loudly where the javitri, elaichi and cashews are in the pantry, even if you know the answer. Populate the kitchen counter with various unnecessary gadgets and make sure to use multiple cookers even if your Biryani can be accomplished in one. Say things like "Now the rice is done, on to the next step!" aloud. Make sure to announce "....and this is for the garnishing!" after you fry the onions, even if no one asks you. And then strike the final blow by asking, "Do we need raita or can we manage with curd?". Now when you serve your entrée, even someone who cannot differentiate between ginger and garlic will be able to tell that you served them Biryani!
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