From Her Kitchen, to Mine

On food, memory, and learning what I once took for granted

More of a Goan than Mangalore cuisine. But this has my heart too!

Every time her children are home visiting her, my mother's days are planned around cooking. I can picture my brother and I sitting on the sofa in the living room, bellies full of breakfast and my mother asking, what should I make for lunch?

Evening snack is usually tea accompanied by deep fried veggie pakoda or a treat from the local restaurants - cutlet or mangalore bonda. Each option equally mouth-watering.

When I'm home, it's lunch and dinner that has my heart. Kori roti, chicken sukka, mangalorean chicken curry or fish curry (which I prefer over fried fish) paired with good old red rice, neer dosa and idli.

To me, nothing quite compares to Mangalorean cuisine.

In my greed (and love) for non-vegetarian food, I never really looked at the vegetarian dishes on our table. Older, and away, from my mother's kitchen, I find myself craving jackfruit curry, or that long-stemmed leafy vegetable that I should probably google the English name for.

I long for the simple dishes that were a daily staple and I'd eat them grudgingly. I regret not learning those recipes from my mother. I have time and I intend to learn them the next time I visit her.

Of course my mother would be ecstatic to teach them to me. I can hear her gleefully say - 'I told you to learn them from me. I'm always happy to teach them to you. But when do you ever listen to me!' I smile. Mothers and daughters, I think.

I've written earlier about feeling like a citizen of the world. Ask me who I am and I'd stumble and there's hardly a chance where I'll identify as a South Indian Konkani. And yet, when it comes to food, Mangalorean food, and more broadly South Indian cuisine, feels like home.

As much as I love a good pasta (spaghetti with red sauce) and mouthwatering Korean delicacies or even the local hotpot, when it comes to comfort food, I'll choose South Indian food.

While Andhra cuisine is more readily available, Mangalorean food isn't. Even if it might be available, I doubt any of those dishes would match my mother's recipes. There's a magic, an emotional tug, in eating the same food my five-year-old self did. My body feels wrapped in a familiarity that makes me feel grounded.

I'm not much of a cook, but I find joy in cooking South Indian food - that 'my' food. Cooking crab with those Indian spices and the humble sambar with spice my mother had ground into a powder mix brings me a satisfaction that only a few things can.

There's a silent pride in plating the food and sharing it with my friends and community.

Being away from my mother's kitchen has me thinking about preserving my food culture, my mother's recipes. Even though no two hands make the same food, I want to learn and preserve hers - even if I do not have anyone to pass them on to. Even though my mother is healthy, I do not want to take things for granted. I would rather learn and curate those recipes that remind me of home, of belonging.

The next time I'm home, I'll stand next to her in the kitchen instead of whiling away on the sofa. Maybe this time, I'll listen and take mental notes, ones I can return to in my own kitchen.