Day 4

For those who know me, it has always been said that I am not much of a cook... which is only partially true. For as long as I can remember, I have lived alone and felt little desire to delve in culinary experiences as a solo act. For years, I have been trying (along with my dear friends) to remedy this illogical thought process and just turn on the silly stove or something. Today I began my quest with a cuisine that is ever so special to my heart and my stomach: Indian food.

Almost by chance I found myself at this wonderful Indian market, appropriately named "India's Market". Stepping foot inside excited my neurotransmitters and ignited my limbic system... I was sent back to a time and place, not too far away, that taught me so much about this life. An overpowering aroma took me straight back to the bustling streets of New Delhi. The faint scent of sewage and body odor chimed almost perfectly with the spices of curry, cardamom, and turmeric. I could have teared up from the swell of memories, and partially the extra hot red chili powder as well.

After purchasing those necessary items to complete my paneer masala recipe, I was well on my way. Paneer is also known as cottage cheese in India, but it is truly nothing like it. With the consistency of something more reminiscent of tofu, paneer is an equally delightful veg option in India. Masala is a variation of spices, usually some combination of onion, garlic, and ginger. This masterpiece was actually quite simple to prepare, considering I had no clue what I was doing.

Almost immediately after combining the onion, garlic, ginger, tomato, cardamom, and other spices, my world smelled authentically Indian. This was a perfect aromatic setting, which could only be topped off with a bindi and a kurta-- I had to dress the part.

With Hindi lyrics from only a sliver of the billions of Bollywood hits playing in the background, I banged my pans, spilled a lot of wheat flour, and burned my hand just a little bit. The whole thing was fantastic!

And the meal you ask? It was equally fantastic. I was pleasantly surprised with the tingle of spice on my lips as I scooped up the cubes of paneer blanketed in its comfort of masala. Dipping my homemade chapati (poor man's bread) into my bowl, my night was complete. I toasted my glass of soy milk to the world, to my world, took a sip and dug right back in.

When all was said and done, my mouth was on fire, my stomach was full, and my kitchen was a mess. I retired my bindi for another night and packaged the leftovers for another day. Cooking with a memory is, by far, the most satisfying kind.