Eat, Sleep, Eat. Repeat.

With approaching exams, I wasn’t at all keen on writing on a topic which involved food. Strange, isn’t it? Well, thinking about food makes me hungry, and sleep follows after the incessant binging; so I decided to leave the subject alone. So, what am I going to write now? Just a short piece with almost no connection to the topic?

NO!

I was just browsing through the internet in my free time and I discovered a fact which prompted me to read more and more about Singapore, and this short piece hatched in my mind. The only significant memory I have of Singapore is from The Pirates of the Caribbean, and the food, I don’t know at all about until I began seeing images and recipes till the time my stomach groaned with sweet hunger pangs.

Leaving aside all other places, I decided that Singapore ranked 1^st on my go-to list, the only reason being that the national pastime of the country is eating, and food is the national obsession. The only word I can use for the place after reading that is heaven!

A couple of weeks ago, I had to cook a Japanese dish and I thought that the research I had done for that would narrow down my search considerably (my misconception that Japanese and Singaporean food is quite similar). I at least knew what I wouldn’t want to have on a trip to the South East, but that was just another misconception. With a menu ranging from rice balls, to noodles to some names I had never heard of, to various teas, and cool desserts.

The spectrum of variety did make my heart jump for the time being till I came across the fact that most of the food was not suited for me (me being a pure vegetarian). Disheartened though I was, the aroma and the flavors enticed me to go on, till I could find something suitable for me. It is as easy to make a foodie happy as it is to make him sad, and I felt both the emotions straggling me. I was spoiled for choice in my selection but sadly I couldn’t taste each and every dish before deciding what my favorite would be. As I had done before, I would have to trust my notions and perceptions lead the way along with a strong imagination to feel the food slowly melting in my mouth, its flavors taking me to new highs. Well, being a foodie just helped me.

There are a lot of dishes in Singaporean cuisine which match our Indian tastes, including the gola which we can devour on Juhu beach in Mumbai. There was also an equivalent of the South Indian banana leaf meal (sadhya) consisting of rice and sambhar with those wonderful sides which I adore on my trips to Kochi (my roots are connected there too), and the chai-bun pav combination which is a personal favorite breakfast. Phew! I’m trying hard to go on till the end before rushing into the kitchen to have a plateful of food.

But there was one succulent platter which caught my attention on my first search, even though it was beyond my boundaries- fish head curry. Though I’ve never tasted fish before, it was just the look of the dish which intrigued me. Not just the preparation and the taste which the beauty of the dish hid, but also the background and the thought put behind making this delicacy.

Being a vegetarian fascinated me more as I have never tried to eat something, or even tried to imagine eating something like that. It’s all a bit grotesque for me, yet the color called me into it. The flavor and the aroma were a mystery; it all seemed to be so good yet at the same time bizarre and I could use the word gross too. (I would have used an image but copyright issues prevent me from doing so).

The fear of my mother (not really) prevents me from writing more about this dish, but I would surely like to explain one of the main reasons behind me not choosing something vegetarian or something which I would be able to make/eat with family. The other side always seems greener, and that it exactly what prompted me to wonder about the particulars of the Singaporean Fish Head Curry.

There is also the Ice Kachang (gola sounds better) for the vegetarians, and this gets another mention as the Juhu gola doesn’t need competition (as one of my friends lectured me). With exotic flavors like fruit cocktail and a plethora of seasonings and additions like chocolate, aloe jelly, and red beans, the competition seems to be tight (I just realized that this dessert gives competition to the falooda as well).

Singapore seems to be like a blend of India, China, Malaysia and even Japan when it comes to food, owing that to the populace of the nation. These are the two dishes from Singapore which appeal a lot to me, and they are the ones I dream on eating when I eventually reach there. When it comes to variety, I had the idea that India was the only place which had such an assortment of foods for a single meal, but now I see that Singapore does prove to be competition enough for a foodie like me.

*logs off*

*rushes to kitchen*

*grabs random dish from stomach*

*eat, sleep, eat, repeat*

This post is written for the Takeaway level: Singapore Contest on Indiblogger.in in association with Discover Far More Singapore.

Hunger Strikes

Life is filled with those fears- tiny or large, petty or even massive such that they take us by the scruff of the neck and hold us back. But there are also those fears which we get past, and it makes those fears vanish into emptiness, and at times instead of ‘not hating’ them, we begin loving the thing which scares us the most.

That sounded so much similar to the Stockholm syndrome. Life is not about living in the fear of those fears which scare us; it’s about living in the present, such that the fear gets vanquished.

We are scared of a lot of things, ranging from water to heights, from animals to confined spaces. I’ve heard names for all of those phobias, and to be frank, the names scare the wits out of me. So, I was just browsing through a long list of names for all the phobias, when I realized that there isn’t a name for the phobia I used to have. Isn’t that strange? Yes, very strange.

Sitophobia. Weird in itself, the name doesn’t reveal anything at all about the fear itself. Sitophobia is the fear of getting fat, and it is a psychological disorder in which the patient doesn’t eat a lot, and the fear of gaining weight leads to extreme loss of weight, and a reduction in nutrition levels.

No, this is not what I had. My friends would say that this isn’t me at all, from head to toe, and being the foodie I am, this is impossible. My fear was the exact opposite of sitophobia I must say, and sadly I haven’t been able to coin a name for the same- the fear of staying hungry.

As you all know, food is my first and most precious love, which I shall always be delighted to have at my side. This episode ranges back to the time when I had vacations, long vacations, and there was nothing to do other than lazing around, basking in the light of the computer and TV screens all day long. That’s when I first came face to face with my fear.

My mother would go out shopping, and I would choose to stay back at home with my games, TV shows, and the pile of books for the vacation, which wouldn’t even last a quarter of the holidays. With the multitude of activities my brain was doing at the same time, the hunger rose in me, and with the heat of the summer, it would stay for long. (I guess now it exists forever.)

 

I was a bit too small then to walk to the nearest store to grab a bite, nor had I ventured ever into the kitchen to cook a bit (not even Maggi). I would have my mother make a lot of excess snacks for me, and I would chew on them slowly throughout the day. Then the question rose in my mind, “What if mom goes out for a few days, then what shall you do.”

That was the time I realized I needed to get over the fear and make sure I was able to cater to myself whenever I was hungry. Getting fast food from the shop on the corner wasn’t the most feasible option at all times, and then the brainwave struck me.

The next time I was hungry, I walked into the kitchen, just like a warrior walking into battle, and I decidedly made a small meal for myself. These experiments soon reached my mother’s ears and she began including me in her dishes’ beta versions. I still remember making a cake which didn’t rise, all because of the flour I used, and I’m sure I shall remember it as an experiment gone wayward.

Today, along with loving food, I am quite in love with the art of cooking as well, and yes, I am not scared of being hungry now. Be it 2 hours past midnight or noon, I can cook up something; just when hunger strikes.

This post is written for Rise above fear! in association with Indiblogger.in and Mountain Dew India. For more information about Mountain Dew India, you can visit their Facebook Page. To view another destroyed fear, you can see the video below.

A T(r)ale of Food

It’s a story of love, a long story of life,

It’s sad to say, that it involves a knife,

Held in the ground, or standing above it,

Waving in the wind, or holding on by the green bit,

That’s who you are, a tiny speck so raw,

A salad, a mince, add mayo, make it coleslaw,

Colorful and vivid, or a dull dry fruit,

Taste is all that matters; it’s just the hard truth,

Juicy and ripe, why you fruits so tasty,

Put some together, a dessert for when you’re hasty,

With the veggies done, fruit passed on too,

There’s nothing more to come, I ask said who,

The liquids sweet, are yet to add to the pile,

Honey, milk and juice, ignoring them would be vile,

There’s the spice, donating so much flavor,

You put it all right, then you’re darn right clever,

Fresh seasoning is all I guess there is left,

Beauty is all a dish needs, so just be very deft,

That’s all is needed, for a dish to be made,

Just the prep that’s done, don’t let your enthusiasm fade,

Cook, boil, simmer, bake, that’s not all there is,

Frying is an art too, as is carving this,

I’m vegetarian, there’s not more to be said,

I haven’t eaten an animal, be it living or dead,

A journey there is long, with food at my side,

I’m going to fill my stomach now, so don’t ask me to share my ride.

Nightmares Of A Foodie

Festival time. Diwali round the corner, Christmas fast approaching, and Navratri just a turn of the clock ago, this is the best time of the year, especially for a foodie like me. The sweets and the savories filling all the boxes around the house would make anyone salivate, and yes, wish for more.

But how would you feel if the aromas mingled in your nasal cavities, and the tiniest sight of the boxes made you open your mouth, but then, you couldn’t taste even a single morsel, let alone eat it. That’s my nightmare. The temptation to eat something is directly proportional to the flavor of the dish. That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me as I would devour anything put in a plate in front of me.

But the nightmare. There are no vacations, and in addition comes submission week during Diwali. That’s not even comparable to the fear I have, and it all resides in one memory. When it all went wrong, and then, nightmare time.

It all began with a minute irritation in my nose, which soon developed into a resilient cough, and then morphed into fever. (Ice cream sometimes does take its toll, especially in the dry heat of October.)

Soon, all the lights went missing from the background, and all I could see through the day and night was the ceiling, and the incessantly moving fan. Most importantly, all I could eat was rice and curd, with counted grains of salt, and no spice; as the prepared savories and sweets delicately called out to me from their positions in the kitchen, which seemed miles away.

All my cries of desperation went in vain, and all my wishes just drained away. It was more than pain, it was more than just a normal fever; it was a day of terrible torture and the festival diluted away with time. Rest was all I could do, and whining was the only way to pass the time.

The rest had its effect, and the next morning, I was walking, and talking, but not yet eating. The layout of the kitchen had been changed completely, as I pitifully discovered on one of my pursuits around the kitchen (which included looking in the topmost cupboard for a drink of water). But, the sight at the dining table lightened me, and made me feel completely alright. There was my plate, with the special “illness” food, but it wasn’t distinguishable from the others. As I began eating, my face changed from a smile to a grimace, and returned, rather embarrassingly, to a smile when my dad began eating enthusiastically from his plate.

Well, that’s a thing in my past. It was about the feeling brought about only by family, and the things going unsaid, but being understood so clearly. That’s what children are to their family. They bring in the inspiration, and they remove the desperation; they bring in stability, unity, and also equality. And they themselves are the unsaid captains, being able to get their wishes fulfilled, without a word being said.

To mention another incident, which my mother loves to quote, like just…always. When I was a teeny tiny kid, the intake of green vegetables was a necessity, and due to my tender health, I was only allowed homemade food. My dad did not have quite a liking to the green vegetables (he still doesn’t have it as much as my mother does), but due to me, the child of the house, he was forced to eat it. And due to the prohibition of the outside food, all I can say is that, the reason for the good health of my family right now is just due to that, and my mom’s wonderful cooking, which is I guess the reason why I love food so much.

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