Culinary Confusion: When Size Matters

It was January 2006, and YouTube was still in its infancy; in fact, I hadn’t even heard of it yet. That made my mom the sole source of visually proven delicious recipes. While I waited for interview calls, I took the time to learn new recipes… over the phone, almost every evening. I would cook my dinner with my neck tilted, phone glued to my ear to catch the exact ingredients, while Mom on the other end narrated the recipe as she prepared breakfast for Dad back in India. Missing one vital piece of information meant a complete disaster for the recipe.

One typical evening, Akira, my African-American roommate, had just finished her part—doing the dishes—and had picked up her book to read while I did my part—cooking a delicious Indian dinner. It had been a while since I’d had one of my favorite dishes, Aloo Tamatar Ki Sabji (a spicy soupy dish made of potato and tomato), and I did what I usually did. I picked up the phone and dialed Mom’s number.

“Good morning, mommy dearest! What’s going on?” I greeted my mom as soon as she picked up the call.

“Preparing breakfast… what else? That’s what your dad married me for!” She loathed, rattling the spatula on the cauldron even harder, probably deliberately to gain my sympathy. After all, I was the only other soul in the family who shared her misery of cooking; chopping onions played a major role. There is rarely a dish in my family that’s cooked without onions, and if by any chance she is spared the chopping part, onion rings are mandatory for salad.

“I hear you, mother. But look on the bright side. Your recipes are undeniably the best! My roommate is already impressed with my culinary skills. And where do you think I get my recipes from?” I complimented playfully, lifting her spirits. She loved when someone appreciated her cooking, and the compliment surely helped ease off on the spatula. The rattling sound had lowered.

“I’m missing your delicious tamatar aloo ki sabji, and I need the recipe now… so enlighten me, my dear mommy,” I continued.

“It’s very simple. Chop and fry onion, two garlic cloves, two green chilies, add regular spices, then add two chopped tomatoes, followed by two potatoes. Add water and boil for 15 minutes. That’s it,” she explained.

“Okay, I’ve got to go. He needs his breakfast now. Tell me how it was when it’s ready,” she said, hurriedly hanging up the phone as I heard my dad in the background almost pleading for his breakfast.

Thirty minutes later, dinner was served. Akira was already at the table, ready to attack the cauldron. She had already nibbled on the sabji while I was still serving my own.

“How do you like it?” I asked with a smile, anticipating praise. (Yep! I was confident in my cooking skills.)

“Mmmm…it’s delicious. I love it!” She was clearly having a foodgasm, and that definitely widened my smile. I had already served my plate and took my first bite.

“Yikes! What the fuck have I made? This is disgusting,” I vetoed in my mind and not utter the words since I did not want to ruin Akira’s foodgasm. I continued eating anyway, pretending to be having a foodgasm just like her, but wishing in my mind that she’d finish her dinner to spare me the torture. Her munching session lasted more than ten minutes, and I had not even finished half a chapati yet.

“Hey, you’re not eating. What’s wrong?” It took her almost the complete munching session to notice that.

“Ah, …it’s nothing. I was very hungry in the evening and ate some junk before cooking dinner. I guess I’ll have another round of dinner later at night,” I replied.

“Make sure you do. Don’t miss on the delicacy or you won’t find it tomorrow if you saved it in the fridge!” She winked.

I was still wondering what she liked about the sabji. Was it the flavor of the spices, or was she too hungry to notice anything? Because this was the worst I had ever cooked without a doubt.

As soon as she went back to her bed, I picked up the phone and called mom.

“Mommy, it’s a disaster! It is tasting horrible. Did you miss mentioning any ingredient?” I asked.

“Of course not! Did you miss hearing one?” she retorted.

“Did you put spices in the right amount?” She asked.

“Yes, I followed your recipe religiously.” I replied in affirmative.

“What does it taste like?” She had already started the root cause analysis.

“It almost tastes like Onion Tomato soup!” I almost wailed.

Mom went into silence for a few seconds, probably thinking hard on the technical aspects.

“How big are the onion and tomatoes?” was her next question and at that moment…she had nailed it.

“Goddamn it! It’s the size,” I had a Eureka moment “It’s the size mom, it’s the size!” I kept repeating.

“The onion here is almost the size of a melon mom…and the potatoes are…colossal!” I revealed.

“Even squirrels are giant! I bet if an American squirrel traveled to India and met its fellow Indian squirrels, it would be a Gulliver in Lilliput island moment. Everything is big in America.” I continued the revelation as we laughed together over the phone. The realization that something as simple as the size of ingredients could mess up the entire dish hit me hard. Size does matter, indeed.