“What’s your favourite kind of fish?” asked Priya.
Her mouth was full of badly made chicken patty and her legs were propped up on the center table, on which lay few more chicken patties, more horrible than the other. The 6-month-old puppy that hardly looks like a puppy anymore, sniffed around for scraps.
We’d tried to get as much work done on the Help Center article for our travel website, as possible. Curiously, it has given us a lot of clarity. Priya, someone I haven’t introduced to you, is a childhood friend. We met when we were both in the sixth grade, at a dinner party her family threw. She talked my ears off and I just sat there wearing a kimono.
Nineteen years later and we’re partners in a travel start-up, yearning for a nomad life and 26-inch waists. I mean what is the point of running a travel website, if you can’t travel and look fucking fantastic while doing it, right?
On Sunday, we were watching Dipa Karmakar on the vaults during dinner, when the topic of fish came up. In all honesty, we’re Bengalis — we’re always talking about fish. We could be sitting in our grandfather’s armchair complaining about the heat or traipsing the Salt Flats of Utah solo, but we would always talk about (or even better, eat) fish. It can’t be helped, you know. Throughout our school days, we woke up early to Continue reading My answer will and always will, be hilsa
I am close to tears. I have grabbed onto spring and yet I refuse to let go of winter. The last of oranges have been polished off and I have half a mind to make pot-pourri out of the leftover skins. That’s how much I’m suffering here. Sob.
As you know, I like posting updates about my life and things I’m digging. I like to pretend that you’re interested to know what is going on with me now. Like right now.
So kindly humour me while I rummage around for a handkerchief and lecture you on what’s cool currently.
– We have been talking about fritters and critters over at Honest Cooking.
– This Goan fish curry reminds me of my undergrad days in Baroda. A local Goan lady used to run tiffin-service for students – mostly junk-food slaves and hostelites – who were helpless [or hopeless, rather] in matters of procuring good home-cooked food for themselves. And I used to belong to that group.
– Remember the battery-hunt for my dad’s old Yashica? Well. Didn’t find any. I think I’ll have to turn to the internet for this one. Something I should have thought of in the first place but didn’t, probably because I was busy thinking about either failed lemon tarts or caramel or bay windows or lemon tarts or sandwiches or caramelized onions. Or lemon tarts.
But the good news is, that the camera runs just fine without batts, albeit on the default shutter speed. Hoping to get my test roll developed by the end of this week and see how it works.
– Craving for sandwiches can be a powerful thing, if you didn’t know already [see above point]. And my journey down the path to satisfy such a craving starts with caramelizing onions for onion jam. Exhibit A right below. I know it looks like pile of BS right now but trust me, you want shit like this in your life. Recipe coming soon.
– Thank you David Lebovitz for re-introducing me to Denise Acabo and her charming baby.
She is a force of nature, that woman. I had a bag of goodies and a couple of large bars of Kalouga thrust into my hands within five minutes of visiting her shop. This was in 2010 when I floated through my Spring Break with Paris by my side. I think I miss her pigtails, her plaid skirt and her ready smile.
I proceeded to polish off one of the two bars while sitting on a bench in Les Halles and I’ve been saving the photographs just for you.
Till later then. See you people!