Monday, December 12, 2011

The Puttu Experiment

At home , I was always a lazy girl and would spend all my time sleeping or reading and kitchen was place I came down only when mom would call me to come and get my food. All my mom's talks of other girls of my age knowing cooking and housework usually got transmitted straight over my head , hit the thick walls of the dining room , got lost in the deafening noise of the TV and died. Getting a job in a company that had a canteen and moving in with friends in Bangalore did precious little to improve my house-wifely skills. It didn't help , that I continued to stay with friends for almost a year after my wedding , before flying to America to start my family life.

To cut a long story short, my culinary skills included  just a little more than Maggi , tea and coffee.And I was stuck in a place where maids/cooks/Indian restaurants were not an option and my 2 helplines (Mom and mother in law) were half way across the globe.With frequent telephone calls to India and continuous reference to cookery blogs , we managed to survive. Then one day , my husband came with a packet of Double horse Puttu podi.

"Let us have some puttu this weekend ". He said.
I had never made puttu in my life and told him in so  many words that it was probably good to have some back up plan. But hubby dear was insistent. "It is really simple and easy. How many times have I seen
my mom make it.You just put a few drops of water in the puttu powder , put it in the kudam (vessel for steaming puttu) and steam it."


Saturday came and we woke up somewhere close to 11:00 AM and I followed his instructions one by one

1)Took one glass of putto powder.
2)Sprinkled water on it.
3)Added water in a pressure cooker and closed it with the puttu kudam as its weight.

(5 Min's of steam and the puttu should be ready. I thought happily).


After 5 Min's , I opened the vessel, and scraped a bit off the top to taste . It tasted just like heated rice powder.I decided to give it a benefit of the doubt and kept it back on stove on for 5 more minutes.

Result: super heater rice powder.

Puttu we hoped to make.
[Image is not mine. Copied from Google]
I woke up my husband who was still sleeping in anticipation of waking up to a sumptuous breakfast.
What my puttu looked like
[Image is not mine. Copied from Google]
What did you burn today?, he asked seeing my face. "Nothing , but the puttu isn't cooking,". He consented to wake up , but even with his expert supervision, the puttu stubbornly refused to cook and we just got rice flour with higher and higher temperatures.


It was too late in the night by Indian time and our cooking helplines were all unavailable and in bed.Finally hunger overtook our patience and we settled for the ever easy fall back option of bread /omelet.Later when I called home , every one had a hearty laugh at us .The reason  our puttu never got cooked was because neither I nor my husband knew that puttu powder needs to be mixed with water to reach a certain consistency before it can ever get cooked.

Lessons Learnt: The correct amount of water is one of the most important ingredients to good cooking.

 Anyway, after years of burnt vessels , hot , salty,salt less  edible , inedible and partially edible substances , now I am able to cook food that is usually palatable and occasionally tasty enough to get that random compliment.

 P.S : This post is intended to make lazy bums (like me) feel better. Rest assured.Knowing cooking beforehand doesn't really matter. You are bound to learn it in time, anyway and it will certainly give you a few moments like these to laugh out loud. :)

Saturday, December 3, 2011

déjà vu

A kaleidoscope of vibrant colors
Of a thousand scattered pieces
Arranging and re-arranging every second
Into a million beautiful patterns

Like a child,  I watch,mesmerized
By the ever-changing beauty of change
I stand detached as the scattered  
Pieces regroup into patterns strange

I turn the tube in  part hope, part fear
My hands force locked in continuous motion
Turn after turn I move in awe
Driven by the quest for an elusive perfection.

The pieces move again and scatter
Shining in the reflective play of light
To take the exact same place
As they had done once before

A thousand little pieces
In the exact intricate same way
A snapshot from distant memory
That time forgot to take away

It could be a betrayal of the eyes
Lost I stare without a clue
Or was this strange bewilderment
That what they call a déjà vu?