We were forced to make room for him as he raced into the elevator balancing a Borosil dish. "Smells divine," whispered a friend with a nudge and a wink.
We were forced to make room for him as he raced into the elevator balancing a Borosil dish. "Smells divine," whispered a friend with a nudge and a wink. And no, she wasn't talking of the dishy chap who had gate-crashed on us, but the dish itself that she found so enticing. And needless to add, the man found himself with strangers eager to start a conversation.
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Turned out that he wasn't toting a take-away dinner, nor was he ferrying khana from ma to wife, but was carrying a meal he had cooked for a party at a friend's PG dig in the building.
He certainly made me wonder whether in the land of 'raja beta, khana khaane aaja', men who can wield a knife in the kitchen are slowly replacing men who yell, "What's for dinner?"
"The agenda is not to show that I am a liberated man, whatever pop psychologists may say," raged a techie pal, who not only whips up a mean ma ki dal, but also brings his own pots and pans when he cooks at house parties. "Nor am I using my saucepan and salt-shaker to intimidate the women around me. I do it because I enjoy the festivity in cooking," he says. Bless his wholesome heart!
After lovingly washing his car on Saturday mornings, he reads the Food section of his favourite financial paper, where men like him share the formula for garlicky rasam or raw papaya salad. And he's equally curious about what the labourers from Bihar at the construction site down the road are throwing into their pot blackened by charcoal soot. He's not swapping recipes - yet - but you can't miss the pride that comes from being self-reliant.
And, on the Nigella Lawson show, he's also ogling the sauces and the dips, not just the star chef's healthy curves.
Maybe he won't scrape the pressure cooker clean; maybe he doesn't think there's anything sinful about eating instant noodles and chips for dinner; maybe he won't obsess about perfection in every cucumber slice he chops up, but honestly who cares?
Unless you suffer from the alpha cook syndrome, you won't dispute the logic of having an extra pair of competent hands stirring the gravy while you grab some shuteye, would you?
All this food talk reminds me of a conversation with a visiting chef from Africa, who said he owed his culinary wizardry to a very busy mother, who sold fish to feed her brood. "She told me, cook or starve. Because starving was not an option for a strapping 13-year-old, I cooked. I burnt the first fish I cooked, but from then on, everything was an improvement." Today Mugambe Ivan hangs out with men, all of whom not only know their swordfish from their salmon but can cook them too!
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