Not Like My Mummy
“The potatoes should be diced, not smashed. My mother adds more carrots and ask her how she manages to keep the curry not thick nor thin, just perfect!” I saw a bunch of stars shining in my husband’s eyes, and heard a loud smack of lips! He was probably reliving some childhood memory of the said potato curry – my mother-in-law’s signature dish.
“You can blame the veggies, or the masala, or the water or even the piped gas, but it’s not like my mummy, just okay,” the dinner table conversation that night was about my yet another “kacha limboo” performance in scaling the culinary Mt Everest that my mother-in-law is, albeit only in the eyes of my husband.
“Mammama made yummy medu vadas and chutney for dinner. Simply out of this world! I am having the best vacation,” I sighed as I heard my daughter ramble for a few more minutes about how anything and everything her maternal grandmother makes is not like her own mummy, but much better!
“Yeah, I know I don’t cook like my mummy, but I am okay,” I consoled myself. If my mother-in-law was Mt Everest, then my mother is Olympus Mons, the highest peak in our solar system! Maybe I should dig myself into Mariana trench and never come out of those depths of my culinary disasters.
I spent a whole night tossing and turning like a bunch of stir-fried vegetables in hot oil. Morning arrived with a very ginger me trying to make a cup of coffee. “Ughhh, horrible” I scalded my tongue, my self-esteem disappearing with the steam arising from the brew.
Tring tring, Olympus Mons was calling me, probably to brag about the 7-course breakfast menu she must have concocted for her darling grand-daughter.
“Hello, your daughter refuses to drink her milk, though I have added exact 2 spoons of her favorite chocolate powder and the milk is not burning hot and it is poured in her princess cup!” I checked my phone again; indeed, this was not a dream.
“And she has the audacity to complain that the paratha I made is not like her mummy, but just okay! I do not know what is different, after all I was the one who taught you all the cooking that you know, this generation I tell you!” I heard her grunting in disapproval.
I sat back on my chair, the coffee still hot and enticing, I had the most delicious sip in my life!
Hmmm..am not like any mummy, but I am okay !
***
Glossary
Kacha Limboo - Mumbai slang for weak, intern or trainee
Mammama – That’s how my daughter calls my mother