I lazily woke up from my Sunday siesta. It was 5 in
the evening. I looked out of the window, the lowering sky threatened to lash
out anytime. Every bit of the outside world was encased in gloom. A petite bead
dropped on the glass of my window, making an unruly trail of its journey
towards the window tracks. My lips twitched at the corners; a mischief
expression now ruled my face. "IT'S HOT
PAKODA TIME" screamed my soul.
I jumped out of my cozy bed announcing my delicious intentions to the entire world, which was heard by only two earthlings. My parents who were sipping their hot aromatic Darjeeling tea broke their conversation and looked at me. With a childlike smile they echoed my fervor and began discussing which pakodas they would like to devour. The options were many, from the clichéd onion to my much loved cabbage, from mom's favorite cauliflowers to dad's beloved pumpkin flowers and so on.
I hovered around the table listening to the century's most important discussion and eying the buttery ginger-oats cookies scattered on the beautiful glass plate, while my parents were still finding it difficult to zero in on one option. I picked one cookie and took a bite. It cracked and crumbled and as I chewed further, it melted in my mouth and I could sense a rush of fresh ginger gushing through my body. Just then a roaring thunder was followed by loud clattering on the windowpane. Sheets of icy rain were driving down with vigor.
I don't know whether it was the cookie or the rain or their combination, but it was that moment when enlightenment struck and my taste buds nudged me to decide on prawn pakodas. There was no question of further exchange of dialogues on this. I broadcasted my verdict which was received with two enthusiastic 'yays'. Before the ladies of the house could say "mirchi", dad in his manly baritone shooed us away claiming the kitchen. We were going to enjoy Prawn pakodas made by daddy. *smiles*
I jumped out of my cozy bed announcing my delicious intentions to the entire world, which was heard by only two earthlings. My parents who were sipping their hot aromatic Darjeeling tea broke their conversation and looked at me. With a childlike smile they echoed my fervor and began discussing which pakodas they would like to devour. The options were many, from the clichéd onion to my much loved cabbage, from mom's favorite cauliflowers to dad's beloved pumpkin flowers and so on.
I hovered around the table listening to the century's most important discussion and eying the buttery ginger-oats cookies scattered on the beautiful glass plate, while my parents were still finding it difficult to zero in on one option. I picked one cookie and took a bite. It cracked and crumbled and as I chewed further, it melted in my mouth and I could sense a rush of fresh ginger gushing through my body. Just then a roaring thunder was followed by loud clattering on the windowpane. Sheets of icy rain were driving down with vigor.
I don't know whether it was the cookie or the rain or their combination, but it was that moment when enlightenment struck and my taste buds nudged me to decide on prawn pakodas. There was no question of further exchange of dialogues on this. I broadcasted my verdict which was received with two enthusiastic 'yays'. Before the ladies of the house could say "mirchi", dad in his manly baritone shooed us away claiming the kitchen. We were going to enjoy Prawn pakodas made by daddy. *smiles*
A bunch of prawns were quickly removed to defrost
and masalas were all set. All we, the ladies, had to do now was sit beside the window,
chit-chat and wait impatiently for the appetizing hot and spicy besan coated dumplings
as rain lashed out at the transparent glass pane. Sounds
of dishes, spoons
clinking…clanking began to rise from the kitchen.
Eventually the whiff of
deep frying prawns gingerly wafted towards the living room and oh-so sensually
entered our nostrils, teasing our senses.
My mouth filled up with saliva in no time and I feared I might salivate
all over the dinning table. I looked up at mom; she was
trying hard not to drool. We giggled and I shouted, "PAKODA
PAKODA!!". Chuckling, dad begged to wait for 10 more minutes.
Mom and I now could hardly talk as our watering mouths were a big hindrance. Impatience was now crawling up our spine and even the intoxicating rain soaked mud from our house plants weren't of any comfort; they were just making the wait harder. And finally, dad arrived with a big tray in his hands. He placed it on the table, singing "Tan-Ta-Tadaan".
There they were, placed beautifully on a pretty glass platter, a bouquet of hot curled golden prawns ready to get ravished lovingly. Each of them, soooo inviting. They were all gathered together, some on top of each other, some resting beside another as if discussing who would score more with it's flavor.The tiny ajjwain seeds stuck to the coating enhanced their charm.
The three cute little bowls sitting beside them offered fresh green coriander chutney. With no further ado, I attacked the honey hued deep fried prawns. Picking the largest one I dipped it in the green chutney, parted my lips wide and placed it in my mouth. Etiquette forgotten.
The crispy outer crust crunched between my teeth and my tongue made it it's own. The flavor of the sea enveloped in spices burst in my mouth. The masalas, the ginger, the garlic, the ajjwain all exploded together and danced around my tongue.
The dash of the coriander chutney began its magic in no time and added delightful tang to the hot dumpling that was now paralyzing my senses with its sinful flavor. I munched on the coiled sea-dweller, pleasantly taking in every bit of its essence, not wanting to cut off the connection we were making at that moment. After some good chewing I slowly gulped down the heavenly mish-mash, pleasuring my throat.
I looked at the plate, four were already gone. Mom-Dad were gorging with amusing expressions on their faces. I took two this time, dunked them in the chutney and pushed them inside my mouth. My cheeks puffed up. Lady-like conduct forgotten. And the affair with prawn pakodas resurrected with new drive, new passion.
The rains outside continued to strike furiously and inside we continued to glut, finding new meaning with each pakoda.
Surely, an affair to remember!
P. S. Our Prawn-Pakoda Rainy Day saga couldn't have been so memorable without the elegant and stunning Borosil glassware, in which the delicious dumplings and chutney were served. *smiles broadly*
This post has been exclusively written for "My Beautiful Food (Alphabet Soup)" contest by Borosil and Indiblogger. To be more Borosil savvy click HERE and enjoy! :D
