On Cooking and its incredible journey through time

Folks, this is about me. About you. About the way our hearts beat, deep down when we do our own cooking. Maybe how we feel in the kidneys. Maybe even in the colon. We don't know.

I'm just a regular guy
with a regular job,

I'm your average Indian,
suburban life et al

I like cricket and porno,
and books about drivel

I got an average house,
with a nice tile set floor.

My phone, my comp,
my cam and my shoes.
I put on my table,
a 14" TV..

But sometimes I feel,
I've had enough, to keep a guy like me interested


(Uh-ah)




I use my uncle's cooker,
And I make burnt rice,
I walk around with gooey paste and say,
How about the gravy?
I'm an asshole!!

ROTFL man, that felt good.

Anyway, the news is, I've begun to cook, and am quite proud of it myself. No kidding, but I make excellent sambar. I remember my uncle and his roomie eating with obvious delight. I even had em licking their (own) fingers after the meal. And here's the secret to the recipe: you gotta have the following:

a) Some good music.
b) A bad pair of headphones, so that you can hear the cooker go off or the sambar simmering its bottoms off
c) A certain "sense" of touch, smell and sight. When people ask South Indians, "how much salt/spice have you put in?" we inevitably end up saying "As much as the dish needs" Seriously, I think I know. Heh heh.

Here's a picture of me doing my first sambar.