January 12, 2006

No matter how she makes them, her husband is never satisfied with her version of his ammi jan’s recipies, writes S. D. Ismet

My husband is no gourmet and enjoys what I cook. It’s only when he expresses a yearning for some of his favourite childhood dishes that I lose all confidence in my culinary skills. The strange thing is that his yearning is never for an exotic dish — no nauratan pulao, or Mughlai badami qorma or a badshahi sweet dish. What he wants and asks for is something as simple as yakhni pulao, aalo ghost, muttur qeema, shaami kababs or mulee or allo ka paratha.

People always say that I am very lucky in this respect. Yes I am lucky but the trouble is, or rather the problem is, that he wants them exactly as his ammi jan made them, not any better and certainly not worse. “She made them so easily — we expressed a desire and she served it at the next meal,” my husband would say and then he continue, “Let us have it for dinner tonight, shall we?”

Two things make me agree. He seldom asks... also, I do need that new washing machine! I do not tell him how on earth I can make it in two hours, with the children’s homework pending and my maid’s day off. Ammi jaan, in those days probably had a host of servants to do her bidding and she didn’t or couldn’t help the children with the homework. But prudently, I refrain from giving my views feeling that silence is the best policy. Also they say, “The way to man’s heart is through his stomach.” So I agree and keep my fingers crossed.

I worriedly remembered the past efforts whenever I made any of these dishes. I always made them as ammi jaan had taught me; or as I had learnt at the cooking class she had forced me to attend. So with fingers crossed I made the requested dish. My husband took a bite, tasted it, and being a compassionate soul said, “Good... the kebabs are good...but ammi jaan’s kebabs had...I don’t know what, a special flavour. There is something that is missing here.”

“What?” I dared to ask. He was surprised. “What? How should I know. It’s something I can’t explain. It’s the salt or the chillies or even the way they are fried which gives them a special taste.”

He took another bite, ate the whole kebab and then proceeded to eat three more trying to find the “missing link”. No good, he couldn’t make out what was more, or what was less.

Then a bright idea struck me. “I’ll tell you what dear,” I said, “I’ll make them again next weekend after getting the recipe from your mother.”

“Great idea,” he replied, and I did... but the response was the same. They were better this time, but not quite like his mother’s.

When this happened with all his favourite dishes, I began to worry. To say I was puzzled and annoyed would be an understatement.

I had faithfully, almost religiously taken ammi jaan’s recipe and followed it to the last bit. Then I put on my thinking cap. “Think! Think! Think!” I told myself. There must be some solution, and Eureka, I got it!

I realized that my husband was no longer 13, 14 or anywhere in his teens. I know that now, at 30, he never came home ravenously hungry, with a already boy’s huge appetite whetted by a game of hockey, squash or football.

Yes, hunger is the best sauce. As things stand, my husband comes home from a nine to five job in the office during which innumerable cups of tea, biscuits or sandwiches, are taken. After years of suffering I’ve got it now. Best of all, it has worked.

I give him his favourite ammi jaan’s dishes, only on the day I know, he has skipped his lunch, or has been on a field-trip or inspection tour or participated in some ‘walk-a-cause’.

If it is nothing of the above, then I have another strategy up my sleeve; everything is fair in love and war. I just delay and delay dinner on one pretext or another. Fortunately, he is a patient and unsuspecting soul and I let his hunger rise and his gastric juices clamour for food. All foods taste like manna after that.

The results are very satisfactory now. “That is excellent. You have really improved. This is very much like ammi jaan’s...”

This gladdens me to no end and I happily serve him what he likes of my dishes and of ammi jaan’s to boot, if he suddenly yearns for one or the other of them. n

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