A joy ride of fresh takes in a new bowl!
Life in the new city, has been an experience to say the least. As each day passes, lessons learnt and experiences archived, I see newer sides of me including in the kitchen. With work taking up quite a bit of unwarranted space in my head, time in the kitchen serves as an outlet of relief and delusional escapism. Creative tales often blending into my inner monologue of the problem at hand. Resultant dishes a product of this fire the spark creates.
As I progress in this room, my little kitchen ever-so-easy to maintain, I discover the unique edge everything new brings. I am also learning to manage the slick flow of emotions, to temper them with the right spices to achieve balance for the right flavours. Whether it is a splash of inspiration on how to slide in ingredients at different stages of cooking, or experiments with a cuisine I dared not touch earlier, there is an element of 'me' in each new experience. My addition of a red hot chilly pepper, an extra dash of soy sauce; it's all me and what I contain inside my heart. As a part of this freshness in my life, here are three completely new bowls I tried, each one quite in quick succession of the other.
First came the egg. Then the chicken, they say, And that was indeed the order of events as I experimented day after day. The familiar first, the intimidating to follow. An egg that was cherished in a cozy corner of a little artistic café, served with a flourish of garnish and pita, now aimed to be replicated in its lowly form in a humble kitchen. The pairing was odd, yolks and yoghurt? But I knew that with the right balance (much like my emotions), magic could be created. I was aware of the basics, a little bit of garlic and olive oil, I remembered well. I also knew that there was a lot more to it, but a good place to start would be with what I had. And what I had was powerful. A jar of chilly oil, with chunky bits much unlike the liquid gold that is sold for much more. A bottle I held close to my heart, given the rarity of holding one in my hand, This was the star of the show, despite claims made by the mighty egg.
I began the process, quite as an amateur making the mistake of all at once and once and for all. Once the eggs went in, I realized the colossal mistake of underestimating the attention they would need to get it just right. A five-second lag in transferring to the bowl would mean the yolk losing the ability to ooze out into the yoghurt to create the explosion in my mouth I was looking forward to. With hardly half a minute to spare, I did the usual dash for the fridge - this one much closer to reach. Not only did I have to whip the yoghurt to perfection, I also had to work in the garlic bits and olive oil to bring out the flavors. Which makes one realize that the order of things must be preserved. There is no whisking and mixing possible if the garlic pods are in their frozen box, or if the oil presents itself in a dangerous glass bottle threatening to slip through with greasy fingers.
After some seconds of tensed multitasking, all while the eggs seemed to scream out their countdown, I miraculously had the garlic chopped and ready in the yoghurt pre-mixed with olive oil. Now all I had to do was slide the egg in before the last extra seconds, and then get to my favorite part of the chilly oil. A stark end to the cooking journey for the eggs, as they hit the cold bed waiting for them. Before I knew it, I was plating with love and attention, a few drops here and there while the bigger chunks were heaped in quantities probably more than called for. After what I would like to think was careful consideration, but in fact was just leading with the palette, I scooped in some more of the chunky goodness, believing that too much is never too wrong.
With the elements at play, I presumed that this must be eaten right away. The hot eggs against the cool dip, one working on the other to transfer and share. The yolk looked tempting, wobbling in anticipation of being released with the slightest of encouragement. A tiny bit of light reflecting off the shiny façade holding in hidden treasure. The oils worked through the creases to take their rightful place, knowing where they need to be in the entirety of the dish. Much like the growing branches of a tree, snaking its way through to form beautiful patterns.
I was on edge, in a good way really; the accomplishment of timing and deft work, combined with the excitement of what the result would feel like. I had to pace myself to get to the table, seat myself down for the respect I wanted to show it, and worked in a quick picture for eternity, before the bowl would hold nothing more than good memories.
The first bite was the right mix of everything good. It could not get better, this was it. In the exhilaration that followed, I may have gobbled up a few bites, before understanding how fleeting this moment would be. I slowed down then, savoring the textures and temperatures; the chilly bits against the layer of oil, the egg hitting with a cold base before the tongue could coat itself. No improvements, no notes to take. Only a resolve that this would become a staple, and oh how it did!
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