A typical Sunday at the Naidu’s residence is equivalent to a Funday. This is the day of the week that we cook and eat royally, courtesy my beloved Dad. On Sundays my Dad is the chef of the day, and he cooks with minimal assistance from Mum and virtually no assistance from me!
The menu is standard – idlis and ground nut chutney/dal for breakfast; chicken curry for lunch and complimentary pulav that Mum cooks accompanied by salad (which we invariably forget to bring to the table); if we are super lucky, bhajiyas for tea; and all the left-overs for dinner.
Unlike Sundays lived elsewhere, which is characterised by sleeping late into the morning followed by brunch, the Naidus are all up at 6.30. We go to Church, post which we usually play host to a family for breakfast. Dad loves playing host. He sends out verbal invitations instantly after service, and then we head home. Once at home the preparations begin!
Dad prepares meals as if it were for a royal banquet. He always keeps the kitchen platform spotless. Dad was never an exceptional cook as a boy; but a good South-Indian mother’s genes and bachelorhood in Bombay with a Goan family taught him the basics. His recipes are standard, but ones that he has perfected over the years, one in which he changes just one ingredient and it is finger-licking-lip-smacking good. Dad always says “Its (of the ingredients) not what you put or how much you put, but when you put that is important”.
Back at home, Dad begins with the idlis which are filled into tiny bowls that are thinly coated with oil. These are neatly placed in the idli vessel and left to steam. meanwhile, begins the process to make the ground-nut chutney. (Friends of mine can vouch that it is the best chutney they have ever tasted.) Dad gives out instructions – “divi cut the onions, peel the garlic, ginger etc etc.. “ and I, like an excited child scurry around following instructions, (blindly though, because no matter how many times I assist Dad, I still cannot explain the recipe to my appreciative friends.) Then Dad prepares the ingredients for the dal, puts it in the cooker, lets the steam blow off, and then gives the tadka.. ahaa.. the aroma arising in the kitchen at that instant is a combination of the ingredients blending, combined with Dads master touch, and the little effort put in by me. The aroma or the colour of the dal is distinctly attributed to Dad, and hence total strangers can pick out Dad and Mum’s dishes!
No sooner is the breakfast ready, I am instructed to keep plates ready, glasses filled with water, all this on the tepoy in the hall. In the meanwhile the idlis are drawn from the vessel, turned over and covered with a damp cloth. After 2 minutes Dad dexterously takes them out and arranges them neatly in a vessel, which is then carried out. Almost as if on cue our guests walk in. Dad serves everyone with skill, he has an eye for detail, he loves presenting his dishes in style. Breakfast is filled with anecdotes that Dad shares followed by rounds of laughter garnishing the lovely food.
And post all this when we hear.. “this is good” “wow” “yummy” “excellent Mr Naidu” we know our breakfast has been a hit. This is followed by a round of coffee, after which our guests gratefully depart.
Then begins preparation for lunch. I retreat into my bedroom or catch up on tv. Before I know it, its lunch time. Mums pulav, with lots of nuts together with my Dad’s spicy chicken curry is a deadly combination. When the curry is too spicy and the ladies are huffing and puffing Dad says, “The curry should sting your tongue, only then you get the taste of true spices!”
Once lunch is over, the family is off for an afternoon siesta. My parents and grand-mother catch up on the weeks sleep while I catch up on a movie. Promptly at 4, Dad and Mum are up. Dad begins to coarse grind the udid dal while Mum prepares tea. Then Dad starts to heat the oil and drop dollops of the atta (mixed with whole pepper, salt, chillies, and haldi) into the hot oil. When ready, the first batch goes to my grandMum post which most of them vanish when i just manage to pass by the kitchen.
Someone has said, “One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.” And this is precisely what the Naidu’s do on a Sunday. It is the day we truly celebrate as the Lord’s Day; we rejuvenate ourselves with good food and ready ourselves for a mundane week ahead, armed with memories of tastes, aromas, fragrances, laughter, fun and frolic..
The menu is standard – idlis and ground nut chutney/dal for breakfast; chicken curry for lunch and complimentary pulav that Mum cooks accompanied by salad (which we invariably forget to bring to the table); if we are super lucky, bhajiyas for tea; and all the left-overs for dinner.
Unlike Sundays lived elsewhere, which is characterised by sleeping late into the morning followed by brunch, the Naidus are all up at 6.30. We go to Church, post which we usually play host to a family for breakfast. Dad loves playing host. He sends out verbal invitations instantly after service, and then we head home. Once at home the preparations begin!
Dad prepares meals as if it were for a royal banquet. He always keeps the kitchen platform spotless. Dad was never an exceptional cook as a boy; but a good South-Indian mother’s genes and bachelorhood in Bombay with a Goan family taught him the basics. His recipes are standard, but ones that he has perfected over the years, one in which he changes just one ingredient and it is finger-licking-lip-smacking good. Dad always says “Its (of the ingredients) not what you put or how much you put, but when you put that is important”.
Back at home, Dad begins with the idlis which are filled into tiny bowls that are thinly coated with oil. These are neatly placed in the idli vessel and left to steam. meanwhile, begins the process to make the ground-nut chutney. (Friends of mine can vouch that it is the best chutney they have ever tasted.) Dad gives out instructions – “divi cut the onions, peel the garlic, ginger etc etc.. “ and I, like an excited child scurry around following instructions, (blindly though, because no matter how many times I assist Dad, I still cannot explain the recipe to my appreciative friends.) Then Dad prepares the ingredients for the dal, puts it in the cooker, lets the steam blow off, and then gives the tadka.. ahaa.. the aroma arising in the kitchen at that instant is a combination of the ingredients blending, combined with Dads master touch, and the little effort put in by me. The aroma or the colour of the dal is distinctly attributed to Dad, and hence total strangers can pick out Dad and Mum’s dishes!
No sooner is the breakfast ready, I am instructed to keep plates ready, glasses filled with water, all this on the tepoy in the hall. In the meanwhile the idlis are drawn from the vessel, turned over and covered with a damp cloth. After 2 minutes Dad dexterously takes them out and arranges them neatly in a vessel, which is then carried out. Almost as if on cue our guests walk in. Dad serves everyone with skill, he has an eye for detail, he loves presenting his dishes in style. Breakfast is filled with anecdotes that Dad shares followed by rounds of laughter garnishing the lovely food.
And post all this when we hear.. “this is good” “wow” “yummy” “excellent Mr Naidu” we know our breakfast has been a hit. This is followed by a round of coffee, after which our guests gratefully depart.
Then begins preparation for lunch. I retreat into my bedroom or catch up on tv. Before I know it, its lunch time. Mums pulav, with lots of nuts together with my Dad’s spicy chicken curry is a deadly combination. When the curry is too spicy and the ladies are huffing and puffing Dad says, “The curry should sting your tongue, only then you get the taste of true spices!”
Once lunch is over, the family is off for an afternoon siesta. My parents and grand-mother catch up on the weeks sleep while I catch up on a movie. Promptly at 4, Dad and Mum are up. Dad begins to coarse grind the udid dal while Mum prepares tea. Then Dad starts to heat the oil and drop dollops of the atta (mixed with whole pepper, salt, chillies, and haldi) into the hot oil. When ready, the first batch goes to my grandMum post which most of them vanish when i just manage to pass by the kitchen.
Someone has said, “One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.” And this is precisely what the Naidu’s do on a Sunday. It is the day we truly celebrate as the Lord’s Day; we rejuvenate ourselves with good food and ready ourselves for a mundane week ahead, armed with memories of tastes, aromas, fragrances, laughter, fun and frolic..
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