gastronomic pleasures

Hmmm…I was reading raghu’s blog on Indian food…that entry triggered a thought process
and i have recorded it
I am a vegetarian..but under that boundary quite adventurous..that is,I am game to try new stuff..as
long as the food is made from “stuff” that has never moved on its own, anytime

I am a major foodie and some of my major friendships have been built sitting across a hotel table…fighting for that last morsel

This is a series …of unconnected stories …the only common thing being….that they are all related to food.

PART1:Blame the genes

Let me explain…this love for food is a gene thing…My ancestors come from a village
called “magge” which was on the banks of river kabini( which got submerged after the dam was built).
My family members still claim that people from that village are food-lovers…particularly the ladies

We have our cozy family get-togethers in davangere in my maava’s house….and its a
pretty common sight to see all the people huddled inside the kitchen enjoying the delicacies
my atte makes
(which reminds me that i need to write a blog on our get-togethers)
One or the other person will ask that one eternal guilty question“Why do we eat so much?”..there
is guilty round of giggling(the women range from 50 year olds to 18 yr olds)
and then they say“naavu magge mane hennmakalalve!”(are we not the ladies of the magge household)

Our visits to Davangere has three main parts to it-
1)eating
2)gossiping/flashbacks
3)lying around…
there is an “ajji room”..where we all lie on the king size bed in all positions imaginable..covering up the
entire bed…the elders get to lie down first and the youngsters get to crawl into the remaining spaces
and we lie there not unlike crocodiles and talk…or listen to stories of the olden days..or plans for the
future..until our atte calls us for the next round of eating.

My maava gets juicy water melons when he comes back from work…and we all sit around
with hungry eyes till he cuts them with a sharp knife.
when we were young we would play this stupid game of spitting the seeds into
the dustbin.As expected my seeds would never fall into the dustbin.
I would scare my cousins by telling them that if they swallow the seeds,they would have a water melon
tree going in their stomach…or have competition abt who would eat the moon-shaped watermelon pieces leaving no red bits!
now,we just gobble the water melon pieces sometimes the juice flowing at the tips of our lips

or sometimes in the evening,we would get kharamandakki(i don’t know what they call this in english)..and
menasinkaayi bajji..I think you get the best mandakki in davangere…which is best enjoyed with hot steaming coffee.
My atte sometimes makes me masala tea which I enjoy sitting under the seetapal tree.

But my personal fav is mandakki usli my atte makes…I sit on the kitchen sill…and love inhaling the faint aroma of golden fried onions
wafting from the pan.I like the sounds of cooking..the hiss..the chatter…and the look of concentration on my atte’s face…the mandakki soft in my mouth…leaving the tangy feeling of
lemon juice which my atte sprinkles after the mandakki is completely done.

My atte would narrate this funny story..Right in front of my maava’s house is his best friend’s house too .He is a mangalorean and a very delicate
person..infact his whole family is the same way..one idli tindre hotte tumbo types

His wife had never been a good cook..so he relished my atte’s preparations.One day he had come home and was sitting with my maava in the living room and eating crisp pooris my atte had made.
He was speaking about women being light-eaters..and he passionately declared that there is no woman who can eat more than 2 pooris!

And ironically at the same time my aunt was in the kitchen having her 8th poori!!!
Every time she says that story..she sighs and says“That very second when he said that i wish the earth would split open and gobble me up!!!”

This story never fails to make me laugh…becoz I think every woman of magge mane knows what my atte was whining about