Yeh anda ki baat hai

I presume at some point in history, boiling an egg was an art - a minor, teensy-weensy one, but art nevertheless. Some people, the talented ones, intuitively knew exactly how long to keep it on the fire. The less talented ones had hit-and-miss days - you never knew what they would produce. The Gorans and Marats among the egg-boilers would produce a beautiful, soft yet firm, egg one day and on others, just hurl the egg at the referee and walk out. (At which point, the turbaned commentator would say: "you can't make omelettes without breaking any eggs".)

But today, in the time of timers and gas controls, egg boiling is science. Follow an algorithm, turn the heat on some H20 for 3/6/9 minutes, and almost everyone can be a yolk-star. I expect the problem went from art to science not in a series of DARPA-funded experiments that varied time, heat, and water, resulting in many post-doctoral positions, but via the obscure processes through which cultural wisdom develops over the ages.

Three cheers for cultural wisdom - which gave us much of what we love to eat (in the pre-molecular gastronomy days).

ok, this month, I actually, really, effectively learnt how to boil an egg with consistent results. Call it my Anda Andy Murray moment.

Foot-tapping

Mavalli Tiffin Rooms is quite a Bangalore institution, with its silver coffee tumblers and khaaraa bhaats. 11 took me there one Saturday morning after a walk through Lalbagh. The most interesting thing about the experience came at the very end, when I went to wash my hands.

I don't know who came up with it, but the idea is brilliant: the washbasin has a foot-operated tap. This allows you to rinse your hands without touching the tap with your sambaar-chutnified fingers. Moreover, you don't need to remember to close the tap when done, a common problem in public washbasins. Regulation of flow is fairly intuitive and corresponds directly to foot pressure rather than turning a tap in circles.

Why don't we have more foot-controlled taps? Why is MTR the only place where I've seen this? And why, despite having a phone with a camera, did I not take a photo for this blog?

Update (16 Feb 2010): Saurabh clicked a photo of the tap which can be seen here (you may have to use your imagination a little :-) )

That last kaDi-pattaa

That last kaDi-pattaa

I'm a militant opponent of food wastage at meals. From a young age, it was drilled into me that one should not waste food, that one shall endeavour to have a clean plate at the end of a meal, and that to achieve these goals, one shall only take as much as one needs. The lessons evidently have struck home, and I usually eat everything, right down to the last curry leaf. The people who have to wash the plates at the place where I eat lunch daily must surely want to give me a medal. The food in front of me has just had a severe vote of no-confidence if I leave it behind.

Others around me are not so kind. Particularly at buffet lunches where people invite F&B on to their plates with the courtesy of a cruise yacht's captain, only to turn into an uninterested Pune shopkeeper in the afternoons. I watch in horror as people, with hardly a second thought, put down their spoons, forks and fingers aside while leaving morsels untouched. Admittedly, the food isn't always great in public canteens and lunch cafeterias, but that is no excuse for alighting from the gravy train leaving a mess behind. I have been known to give people, especially in the last couple of years, a torrid time over wasted jam and butter at tiffin-time on the principle that if you can't even predict the amount of jam you need on your toast, then what do you really know?

Anyway, the point of this post is this article wondering whether abolishing trays will reduce wastage. I think not. The only economic disincentive I see is to make people pay by weight for the food that they waste at the end. Very simple. It's hard on the eaters when the quality of the food varies from day to day, but then perhaps you should find a different place to eat. (I told you I am a bit of a radical.)

Home is where... the "tayir chaadam" is

Have you faced ridicule for being a 'curd-rice' aficionado? I have. As with many things, such discrimination is based on a lack of understanding of the immense joy that the simple mixture of curd and rice (and we're not even getting into other culinary accessories) can bring. If only we Curdistanis had been a little more savvy, the book would have been Curd Rice for the Soul.

A simple recipe for curd rice (or tayir chaadam for those of us in the know):

Ingredients: curd, rice
Directions: pour curd on rice. Mix (can use fingers) well. Welcome to curd rice.

Mind you, I'm not one of those who has to eat curd-rice each meal, each day. There are days when I don't need to eat it after a bunch of chapaatiis or even if I've had a Bangladesh-worth of rice before (I know it's a shock revelation: will the rest of the Curdistanis retract my membership for this?). But when the stomach needs calm after a night spent among warring spices, I turn to the bowl of tayir in the fridge. Or on days when I don't feel in the mood for food. The curd is willing to be friends with all kinds of rice and is happy to share the plate with any cast, ranging from sambaars and rasams, kuuTTus and bhaajiis, a mere pickle perhaps, or even mixed fruit jam. It is very democratic and adjusting, and is unmindful of those who steal its thunder.

Or you could just put a touch of salt and have nothing else (I'd recommend warm rice with this). You don't have to pamper your curd rice. But it's good to show your appreciation once in a while. Put in a taDkaa of mustard seeds (my cousin calls this "the spotted tayir chaadam") and some chopped green chillies.

Unfortunately, those who eat curd rice in hotels (and worse, sing praises) eat some vilaayati show-off cousin which always has a bunch of masaale and onions and what-not. They know not that moms make the best curd rice at the home kitchen, even if it seems to demand very little of their fabulous culinary skills. What's useful is that you can whip it up too yourself and be guaranteed of some satisfying success. Many's a person who goes home after his five-course meal and has "konjam tayir chaadam" to round the day off. And well known is the plight of the wedding guest, who despite having battled rivers of rasam and paayasam, is still easily tempted into turning it into a Pyrrhic victory by the mesmerising thick curd on rice with that last bit of uurgaai that will clear the banana leaf.

Finally, despite the teasing about curd rice, I never wavered. You could always go back to it and never be disappointed. In the short docu-film of daily life, it is a happy ending. (Apologies, but I have to wrap this up now for drool has engulfed my desk. And I have not had lunch.)

And earlier on SEvai