Last week my publisher called and said that the dummy of my book was ready and that I should arrange to have it collected.
I was really excited to hear this, as my book ” The Fragrance of Mango Blossoms” has been a long time in the making. Actually I am the last person I’d have associated with being the author of a cook book but then stranger things have happened.
Having grown up in a family of foodies it was no surprise that I grew up to like food. Our childhood holidays have always been food centric and I remember travelling miles just to eat that dosa that my father had eaten as a child. So it was that we took many wrong turns in a strange dusty Indian town in pursuit of that childhood memory that got stronger with each passing moment . Ultimately we never did get to eat the dosa as realisation dawned that we were in the wrong town!
But I’ve grown up with pedas from Rajkot and mande from Belgaum, cheese from Holland and smoked salmon from Scotland. My father was fussy about his food and made sure that we always had a tasty meal. Equal importance was given to appearance and presentation and our meal times were elaborate affairs the times we ate together. Once we sat down we were allowed to talk and in fact encouraged to share our ideas and experiences while we savoured the food on the table. We had to be mindful not to waste and not to indulge – but to eat each morsel, slowly and with joy.
Our monthly treats at the local restaurants became all the more pleasurable because we were encouraged to try out new dishes – those with exotic names and equally exotic ingredients. Gradually we began guessing games of what went into what and finally as an adult I took this game to another level where I tried to replicate the dish in my own kitchen.
So with this passion for food, it was only natural that I eventually write a cook book!