Our cook is usually level-headed and has taken it upon herself to feed the extended family with a fervour not usually found among the working class. |
"Come to Delhi, I will feed you and make you well," she will coax my father-in-law when he calls to speak to his daughter. " Dosa, Madam?" she will giggle when my mum rings up. "Her coffee is to die for," sighs my wife's sister-in-law in Mumbai, normally not a caffeine addict. |
So, it was surprising she should behave the way she did all of last week. To be sure, there was some provocation, but more misappropriated than intended. The immediate cause was Nancy Lam, restaurateur, who was in the city on an Indonesian food promotion. Nancy, it appeared, wanted to eat Indian food, my brother, her travel agent, told us. |
He was bringing her home for a tuck-in. He said she wanted to bring food groups to eat meals in Indian homes. There would be cooking and talking about food and so on. |
That was where the seeds of confusion were sown. "A fancy cook from London is coming to cook us a meal," my wife told our cook, Mary. "Why, does she want my job?" |
Mary bristled. "No, no," my wife attempted to assure her, "she only wants to cook for her friends in our kitchen." "If she wants to eat in this house," Mary said, "she will have to eat what I give her." |
"But you'll learn something new from a famous chef," my wife tried to explain. But Mary was adamant "" if anyone was going to be cooking in our kitchen it was her and no one else. |
In any case, my brother soon clarified things. Nancy was bringing her little entourage simply because she wanted to have a meal in an Indian household. Wherever had we got the idea she wanted to cook for us? |
The news was no salve to Mary who looked even more indignant. "What," she blurted, "now the cook does not want to do the cooking because she is fancy-shancy from some restaurant in London? Well I have news for her. |
I will cook for the family, I will cook for your friends, but I will not cook for another cook." For some time no amount of cajoling seemed to have any effect on Mary. "But if she likes your cooking," said my wife, "she might want to ask you for the recipes and introduce them at her restaurant." |
"I am the best cook in the world," softened Mary, "of course, she will want my recipes, but nobody can make food the way I cook it." "Maybe," my wife laid on the temptation, "she will want you to come to her restaurant in London and train her chefs." |
"Yes," agreed Mary, "I will make dinner for the cook who I know is not as good as I am, I could even go to London, but I will not give anyone my recipes." |
Relieved that she was no longer sulking, we helped her decide what she should make for our visiting team of chefs. No, not Rajasthani cuisine, it takes getting used to; no, not biryanis and the like, they were bound to have tried it elsewhere; no, not khawswe, it wasn't Indian. |
Finally, we decided on Mary's famous appams with no, not stew, but a fiery chicken curry cooked in coconut milk. |
"Do you think perhaps the chillies are too hot," said my wife, tasting the curry when it was ready. "Now you think you are the cook?" exploded Mary. |
"If you do not like my cooking, I will go to London with the cook-lady, and then I will cook for the cook, while you will have no one to cook for you." |
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