I want to Cook.

I love to eat.

Seriously.

I grew up with parents who encouraged healthy eating, and I indulged in every meal served. Growing up in an upper middle class family, there was no shortage of food for every meal. Skipping meals was absolutely unthinkable then and Mum and Dad were always present every meal.

My mother though, despite her penchant for food and meals, never cooked for us. Granted, she knew how to do stir-frying and cooking rice, but aside from that, she had no culinary talent whatsoever.

My dad made up for all of these. He was consummate cook. If he found a particular viand bland and tasteless, he would take matter to his own hands and redo the whole thing. He often found delight in serving us his favorite foods and tried out new ones. He loved to experiment with them, sometimes leading to questionable results.

A typical foodstuff in the 50s, something which was often featured in our meals

Our meals were typically spartan and simple. There were no fancy ingredients and garnishes and decorations were nil. My parents, both having grown up in the 50s and 60s, were the ones who preferred this arrangement of food. We often had fried stuff, with the odd soup here and there.
 
So it is a bit surprising that with all these food-related stuff that our family loves, I have never learned how to cook. The reason for such condition may be sought by the fact that having a cook to cook for us, I never saw the need to study how to cook.

Of course, it all changed when I grew into my teenage years (Is there anything that can withstand the change of teenage years?). Since I loved to eat, I wanted to learn to cook. I wanted to make my own meals, and change what I want to suit my own needs.

One of my earlier conquest was cooking Leche Flan. (Just to make you know the idea, here is a pic:)

Isn't this absolutely mouth watering?

Our cook though, was less than pleased when I told her I wanted to whip up one. She told me she didn't know how to make such a possibly very complicated dessert, and told me to try and forget about it. Undeterred, I kept on asking her and told her that I had found a recipe in the back of a milk can.

Finally she agreed, and I set out to collect the ingredients and do the pertinent procedures. The result though, was less than picture perfect. It was burned dark brown, and tasted horrible. My faith in finding cookbooks lessened with that, and I put it off for months.

Until now, when interest in cooking was revived by an overwhelming sense of pseudo-maturity. It hasn't been easy, really, but I'll do as this poster suggests:

Cheers.

My Mockingbird Fascination

Today, I rediscovered my copy of "To Kill a Mockingbird" 

Apparently, it fell down the Piano in the living room. By a unique stroke of luck (or perhaps by a decree of the fates), I found it, dog-eared and dirty.

My love affair with this book started when I was 14. My aunt was a subscriber of Reader's Digest and she often deigned to let me read the magazine after she was through with it.

I forgot the date of the pertinent issue, but I do remember flipping the pages idly, till I chanced upon an article written about the book's impact on the American society. Despite never having read the book at that time, I still read the whole article. Having read almost every issue produced since my birth, I knew that RD would not feature a simple book unless it had a "something" into it. My curiosity piqued, I vainly searched for the book in our province, to no avail.

Months later, I had the opportunity to visit another province, which was much larger than ours, and finally, I was able to purchase a copy there. My companion remarked to me that she had read the book in college, and that was a good one. Glad for her assurance, I thanked her but decided to postpone reading it till I was home.

The first chapter of the book was a disappointment for me. I had not expected an introduction that was fast-paced, charging full throttle at the reader. I was puzzled by the technique of storytelling Lee employed, and I put it down, only to forget all about it.

A few months later, I tried to read it again. This time, I told myself that it would all probably make sense if I read it all. From then on, I was hooked. Jem, Scout and Dill seemed like long-time friends, and I totally fell in love with Maycomb.

One more thing that I really love about the book is it's utterly surprising, yet totally believable twists and turns. I lay totally shocked at Tom Robinson's conviction and death, and was totally exuberant about the ending; until then, I had totally forgotten about Boo Radley and was totally fuming about Bob Ewell.