Some one commented that I abuse a lot in my blogs. I decided to become the good boy and talk about good things. And what else can be better than food! But then writing on the vast world of food is a laborious task and blogs are about short cuts. Thus what else could be better than writing a review on a book related to food. So here it is... Chew it up!
Rude food is a book about food and certainly not cookery. Contrary to its name, the book has a rather delicious appeal. What acts as an appetizer is, it’s not written by a Chef, neither a nutritionist, nor a gastroenterologist. The serving is by a seasoned Veer Sanghvi, a journalist, who puts forward the joy of his well tasted meals from all corners of the world. He lends his bold, adventurous and investigative journalistic instincts to his buds and Rude Food is a pleasant result of that effort.
Veer advocates, that food is good which tastes better. No matter where, how and by whom its made. One of the mouth watering examples he adds is that of the Chinese Manchurian. The only Chinese connection of this recipe is, it has a prefix reading as– “Chinese”! Born in India, it captured the not so imaginative buds of Indians. It ruled the offerings of street side Chinese bundies and eventually crawled into the menus of posh Chinese restaurants too. Ironically beyond the shores of India, no one even knows about it. Veer further adds the irony to it. In most cases the chefs who make it are actually Chinese looking Nepalis!
If I were to give a verdict, I am all hands for Veer. Any recipe that reacts positively with its consumer’s saliva, is good food. A good meal is not prepared by a good recipe. It’s made by a good intent. Cooking is not about chopping, heat, fumes, noise and dumping on a plate. It’s about cutting and slicing; tossing and frying; steam and aroma and finally, dressing and serving. Its playing with color and imagination. In literal terms its about a spicy art.
Veer used to spice up Hindustan Times Delhi edition magazine with his Rude Food articles. This book is a collection of all those articles. Similar to the art of cookery he took delicate care in choosing the ingredients for this compilation. A full course of it and you know why Durian is banned in Indonesia or how to relish Caviar. The dressing on the serving is tastefully balanced. All the articles have been compiled keeping in mind their relevance to the date.
What moved the book from the neighborhood of my pillow into my kitchen was his intelligent sprinkle of few recipes in between chapters. What made these recipes so attemptable was their simple English, easy to understand description and use of our daily kitchen terms. He made sure that fuss goes up the chimney and taste settles on the hob.
Having tasted this meal I would be honest to mention there are few servings in between where the gravy longs for few more ingredients. They are not dull but they aren’t juicy either. Its not bad or rude English but perhaps a less imaginative platter of subject and words. But then who doesn’t understand. Once in a while every chef has a bad day.
I still remember, in my childhood our scramble for the last molecule of Aloo Fry stuck to the base of wok. The hunger for it never died. Rude food pumps the zeal a notch up. The zeal to experiment with new tastes. The zeal to stretch the scope for our buds. Rude food is a must taste.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Friday, July 6, 2007
Help them blow!
[Tring Tring]
“Thank you for not TARGETING us but CALLING us. How may I help you?”
“You constipated ass hole, will blow your appendix, if your don't tell why my BMW didn’t blew into pieces?
“Sure sir I would help you blow, however to assist you further would you please whisper your code number registered with us?”
[Caller confirms]
“Thank you for successful release of your information; may I know where you wanted to blow up?”
“You empty strip of crocin…What difference does that make?”
“You need to understand sir… there are so many cars that are getting ready to blow up at so many places. We have to understand the wind, the outside temperature, the type of bomb you made, brains of the holy idiot who inspired you to make this bomb… etc sir?”
“You product of a failed pill… do you realize my 250 liters of gasoline, 150 meters of wire.. 50 kilos of nails, one mobile phone and one syringe have gone waste?”
“Syringe????”
“Yes. What else do you expect from me. Mate listen I am also as fucked up as you. Studied something and doing its opposite. What else do you expect if a doc makes the bomb?”
“Got it sir. Remove the car from the parking, uninstall the bomb, reinstall it and this time use dynamite and not the fucking syringe”
[Click]
Brilliant isn’t it. Much before any intelligent outsourcing happened to us, we were outsourced terror. And here we are today producing one of the brilliant brains in the world of terror. Name it and we can blow it. Don’t worry about who and how. Don’t bother about those satellites watching from which ever sphere. Plane, train, car or cooker… just pay us we can blow anything at any place!
It’s an industry. Let’s make money out of it too. Terror call center would be a perfect idea. Millions of graduates, who dint have luck to become anything else, can mint a fortune with us. Naah we are not spoiling their future. They never had it in the first place.
Supporting doesn’t amount to bombing. And yes it’s for sure safer than making and triggering one. And don’t miss the overseas trips for training. From Kandahar to Kashmir, Arial view of New York to hidden depths of London Tubes, Crowded locals of Mumbai to open desserts of Egypt, various Mosques and Temples… now who can ignore a global profile?
And come on you aren’t supporting bunch of morons. They may not know what they are doing. Unfortunately they may not even live longer to master their passion. But still they have an enviable literate past. Doctors, pilots, lawyers, engineers…! Like them, you needn’t believe, practice, preach, defame Allah. Do it in the name of Moolah.
Hell as I put up this blog I see a bunch of uniformed men swooping into my place. I read their identity as MI-5, CIA, Mossad. This paranoid caucus of idiots wants to kill any idea of outsourcing to our lands. But I liked the man who winked and gave me a MoU to sign.
The letter head reads ISI.
“Thank you for not TARGETING us but CALLING us. How may I help you?”
“You constipated ass hole, will blow your appendix, if your don't tell why my BMW didn’t blew into pieces?
“Sure sir I would help you blow, however to assist you further would you please whisper your code number registered with us?”
[Caller confirms]
“Thank you for successful release of your information; may I know where you wanted to blow up?”
“You empty strip of crocin…What difference does that make?”
“You need to understand sir… there are so many cars that are getting ready to blow up at so many places. We have to understand the wind, the outside temperature, the type of bomb you made, brains of the holy idiot who inspired you to make this bomb… etc sir?”
“You product of a failed pill… do you realize my 250 liters of gasoline, 150 meters of wire.. 50 kilos of nails, one mobile phone and one syringe have gone waste?”
“Syringe????”
“Yes. What else do you expect from me. Mate listen I am also as fucked up as you. Studied something and doing its opposite. What else do you expect if a doc makes the bomb?”
“Got it sir. Remove the car from the parking, uninstall the bomb, reinstall it and this time use dynamite and not the fucking syringe”
[Click]
Brilliant isn’t it. Much before any intelligent outsourcing happened to us, we were outsourced terror. And here we are today producing one of the brilliant brains in the world of terror. Name it and we can blow it. Don’t worry about who and how. Don’t bother about those satellites watching from which ever sphere. Plane, train, car or cooker… just pay us we can blow anything at any place!
It’s an industry. Let’s make money out of it too. Terror call center would be a perfect idea. Millions of graduates, who dint have luck to become anything else, can mint a fortune with us. Naah we are not spoiling their future. They never had it in the first place.
Supporting doesn’t amount to bombing. And yes it’s for sure safer than making and triggering one. And don’t miss the overseas trips for training. From Kandahar to Kashmir, Arial view of New York to hidden depths of London Tubes, Crowded locals of Mumbai to open desserts of Egypt, various Mosques and Temples… now who can ignore a global profile?
And come on you aren’t supporting bunch of morons. They may not know what they are doing. Unfortunately they may not even live longer to master their passion. But still they have an enviable literate past. Doctors, pilots, lawyers, engineers…! Like them, you needn’t believe, practice, preach, defame Allah. Do it in the name of Moolah.
Hell as I put up this blog I see a bunch of uniformed men swooping into my place. I read their identity as MI-5, CIA, Mossad. This paranoid caucus of idiots wants to kill any idea of outsourcing to our lands. But I liked the man who winked and gave me a MoU to sign.
The letter head reads ISI.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The great Indian plan!
A Blog is about an author’s thoughts and his reader’s misery. A party where you are invited and you don’t have an option to detest it! Inviting you to one such party…
This thought ignited in reaction to a headline in today’s Times Of India – ‘UK celebrating India’s 60th year of Independence’. The Indian Foreign Office, as expected, is at its poetic best to thank Queen for this gesture. Oh idiots wake up! They are not celebrating India’s independence but the moment when they got rid of us.
‘Sir’ Rushdie might claim - “Midnight Children” is a fiction. Well that’s not the fact. My uncle wailed out of the womb moments after Nehru announced India’s tryst with destiny. He was the fourth successful output of the six overall attempts. Sweets on his berth did not have any reason. They were a mere ritual. But then, he was part of a greater plan.
Somebody conspired this, everybody executed it but nobody ever mentioned it. Captive for 700 years then, India in its many pieces was desperate to break out of the shackles and be free. In the last 200 years of British rule we found in them, the way, the reason and ample foolishness to execute our plan.
The seduction wasn’t our wealth, wine or woman. It was pure economics. To run industries, Brits needed raw material and imports from foreign lands were a costly affair. And sense would have told them, a land is ‘foreign’, till you own it. In India Brits found not only the raw stuff in abundance but also the resource that would convert them into finished goods – the human juggernaut that we were. We were hard working, intelligent but meek enough to suppress. We were sweating, Brits were saving and her highness was earning.
Overwhelmed by our tropical libido’s caliber the greed donned over them. Already dictating our production, Brits forced us as their market too. Indians were not to purchase anything that isn’t made by Brits. We were producing for them and they were selling to us at a higher price. And then happened Gandhi.
As wise he was, Gandhi did not trust the Indian made guns and swords to fight them. Instead he knew where to hit them. Below the belt! (For christ’s sake I meant pockets!). He devised an intelligent formula to kill… shun anything that’s produced by Brits, deny them the market, choke their warehouses, clog their factories, burden them with our weight and kill their hold over us. And they were killed.
So didn’t get the plan of which my Uncle was a part? Here it is… someone said, TO SCREW BRITS... KEEP SCREWING!
It’s just that my uncle was born after the demise of its need. Nevertheless he contributed towards its extension. Of his three children, one is settled in Boston, another in Munich and the last one in Malaysia. What makes the plan look more effective is, his nephew, who is situated to Southwest of his Munich son, decided to bore few more fellow Indians living with him.
He wrote this blog sitting in Gibraltar.
This thought ignited in reaction to a headline in today’s Times Of India – ‘UK celebrating India’s 60th year of Independence’. The Indian Foreign Office, as expected, is at its poetic best to thank Queen for this gesture. Oh idiots wake up! They are not celebrating India’s independence but the moment when they got rid of us.
‘Sir’ Rushdie might claim - “Midnight Children” is a fiction. Well that’s not the fact. My uncle wailed out of the womb moments after Nehru announced India’s tryst with destiny. He was the fourth successful output of the six overall attempts. Sweets on his berth did not have any reason. They were a mere ritual. But then, he was part of a greater plan.
Somebody conspired this, everybody executed it but nobody ever mentioned it. Captive for 700 years then, India in its many pieces was desperate to break out of the shackles and be free. In the last 200 years of British rule we found in them, the way, the reason and ample foolishness to execute our plan.
The seduction wasn’t our wealth, wine or woman. It was pure economics. To run industries, Brits needed raw material and imports from foreign lands were a costly affair. And sense would have told them, a land is ‘foreign’, till you own it. In India Brits found not only the raw stuff in abundance but also the resource that would convert them into finished goods – the human juggernaut that we were. We were hard working, intelligent but meek enough to suppress. We were sweating, Brits were saving and her highness was earning.
Overwhelmed by our tropical libido’s caliber the greed donned over them. Already dictating our production, Brits forced us as their market too. Indians were not to purchase anything that isn’t made by Brits. We were producing for them and they were selling to us at a higher price. And then happened Gandhi.
As wise he was, Gandhi did not trust the Indian made guns and swords to fight them. Instead he knew where to hit them. Below the belt! (For christ’s sake I meant pockets!). He devised an intelligent formula to kill… shun anything that’s produced by Brits, deny them the market, choke their warehouses, clog their factories, burden them with our weight and kill their hold over us. And they were killed.
So didn’t get the plan of which my Uncle was a part? Here it is… someone said, TO SCREW BRITS... KEEP SCREWING!
It’s just that my uncle was born after the demise of its need. Nevertheless he contributed towards its extension. Of his three children, one is settled in Boston, another in Munich and the last one in Malaysia. What makes the plan look more effective is, his nephew, who is situated to Southwest of his Munich son, decided to bore few more fellow Indians living with him.
He wrote this blog sitting in Gibraltar.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Its all about timing!
“Meetkv” – doesn’t ring a bell of any house, instrument or animal’s neck. It’s an ordinary, lost in the bites, e-age login ID. I made it and none met me. Its my net ego and has the same fate as my self ego. Its there everywhere, yet, no where. I realize, its all about timing.
It began long back when I was just KV. I lost the big school as my primary was not a recognized school. The batch before me was recognized and their looks told me that they have made it to Harvards. My parents felt it… its all about timing.
When math had just started getting tougher, in my brave attempt I scored 87. Walked with a swollen chest to my dad and returned with a sulking face. My elder bro was before me with 98 on his card. I could have still hit the ball with gusto had I realized that the comparison should have been with his 4th class marks and not 7th class. Just when Maths got tougher he made only 72. I screwed up my formula… but was too young to realize… its all about timing.
Just when the biggie one made it to engineering I was chasing a writer’s dream. Rest in the house were busy chasing it out of my mind. They wanted me to be what they couldn’t be. Had to take up commerce and study it too as I was expected not to disappoint the legacy of no failure in the family. Barely had I passed, they were ready to make me a banker. I rebelled, broke the traditions, jumped the house and became an ad guy. Was just standing on my feet, when the economy decided to sit and it sat on my fate. No one was interested to make ads. No one was interested to hire me. Desperation brought me to e-education to e-world to e-service and en-route was born my e-identity - meetkv. I thought here I am and I will let my e-ego do what I couldn’t do. When I looked at the bitestone I realized I am far behind and many have already made it to the zenith.
I was grown up and I had to pinch myself and tell “Bloody hell… its all about timing.”
It takes 95% of luck and 5% of fate to strike it right. I realized for the first one I am a bankrupt and there aren’t any credit cards for it. The second one is like a floating piece of wood from a sunken ship and I am just clinging to it. In mid-sea, on a wooden plank, waiting for rescue, you don’t have right or wrong time. You just have time.
It began long back when I was just KV. I lost the big school as my primary was not a recognized school. The batch before me was recognized and their looks told me that they have made it to Harvards. My parents felt it… its all about timing.
When math had just started getting tougher, in my brave attempt I scored 87. Walked with a swollen chest to my dad and returned with a sulking face. My elder bro was before me with 98 on his card. I could have still hit the ball with gusto had I realized that the comparison should have been with his 4th class marks and not 7th class. Just when Maths got tougher he made only 72. I screwed up my formula… but was too young to realize… its all about timing.
Just when the biggie one made it to engineering I was chasing a writer’s dream. Rest in the house were busy chasing it out of my mind. They wanted me to be what they couldn’t be. Had to take up commerce and study it too as I was expected not to disappoint the legacy of no failure in the family. Barely had I passed, they were ready to make me a banker. I rebelled, broke the traditions, jumped the house and became an ad guy. Was just standing on my feet, when the economy decided to sit and it sat on my fate. No one was interested to make ads. No one was interested to hire me. Desperation brought me to e-education to e-world to e-service and en-route was born my e-identity - meetkv. I thought here I am and I will let my e-ego do what I couldn’t do. When I looked at the bitestone I realized I am far behind and many have already made it to the zenith.
I was grown up and I had to pinch myself and tell “Bloody hell… its all about timing.”
It takes 95% of luck and 5% of fate to strike it right. I realized for the first one I am a bankrupt and there aren’t any credit cards for it. The second one is like a floating piece of wood from a sunken ship and I am just clinging to it. In mid-sea, on a wooden plank, waiting for rescue, you don’t have right or wrong time. You just have time.
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