Saturday, February 12, 2011
Let's Face It: An FB post trumps nagging, hands down
Note: Today, I had the honor of writing a social-media related guest post for my friend's blog, Social Media Prism. A blogger and a public speaker, Farida Harianawala is an independent communications consultant for small businesses on Long Island and handles public relations, social media and content development through her company, Prism Media Services. You can check out Farida's views on social media and the rapidly changing world of communication and read my guest post on her blog at http://www.socialmediaprism.com
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Currying flavor – and some good favor
Get a taste of this. I had the good fortune of being born in God's own Country, aka Kerala in South India, famous for its backwaters and tropical greenery, but it has taken me quite a few decades to turn over a new leaf and become an authentic, or pakka, Malayalee.
The reason, I am ashamed to say, is that when it comes to Indian cooking, I just don’t cut the mustard. Just ask my hubby or my parents. Unlike pakka Malayalee women who grow their own curry leaf (karivepilla in Malayalam) plant in their homes, I am probably one of a handful of Malayalee women in all of America who runs to the Indian grocery store to pick up a few sprigs of frozen or few-weeks-old curry leaves to use in any number of traditional Keralite dishes I normally don’t cook. Substitute basil or any other herbs, and you are toast. (Note to Americans: Curry leaves are NOT the same as curry powder (a mix of dry spices) and pakka Indians don’t use curry powder either. When making a dish, you usually pop mustard seeds in oil and fry the curry leaves with onions and chilies before adding other ingredients/spices.)
Let me make this clear. Long, curly hair (which most Malayalees cut short and blow out or straighten these days) and varying shades of olive complexion do not a Malayalee woman make. The ultimate measure of a Malayalee woman lies in how well she grows and nurtures the small native Indian plant, standing by some estimates about 4-6 meters tall – that can grow taller than an average Malayalee woman – and produces aromatic green leaves that look a bit like bay leaves, are leathery in texture and have a citrusy flavor. Cultivating one or more curry leaf plants is as essential to a Malayalee woman’s status in society as the curry leaf is to South Indian dishes. The plant, a Malayalee woman’s pride and joy, is a testament to her heritage and is key to earning her a top chef star prize at any dinner parties.
Since I don’t sport a green thumb – my two previous attempts at growing the plant failed to take root — I’ve always considered myself a Malayalee cook not worth her salt. Garden-variety Indian that I am, I cook up quite a storm in my house by making Italian, Spanish, Mexican and other non-Keralite dishes, but when the craving for Indian food hits me and mom is not around, I confess I’ve bought curry leaves that another woman grew in her pot. Hubby, always a good sport, has had no choice in this matter but to live by this adage: “If you don't like my cooking, lower your standards.”
But last summer, a relative who cherishes her garden of aromatic curry plants as a mother cherishes her son, sensed that I was really up a tree and offered me a tender plant. Within months, the plant almost died on me, coincidentally, after a good friend remarked why in the world I needed a curry leaf plant, while I served him pasta puttanesca topped with chopped basil, for dinner.
He was probably just green with envy, but my plant has since sprouted fresh leaves and I am back in the good graces of pakka Malayalees – and have found new favor in my hubby’s eyes. Now, I can stand as tall as any pakka Malayalee, or the curry leaf plant. Who can’t relish that!
The reason, I am ashamed to say, is that when it comes to Indian cooking, I just don’t cut the mustard. Just ask my hubby or my parents. Unlike pakka Malayalee women who grow their own curry leaf (karivepilla in Malayalam) plant in their homes, I am probably one of a handful of Malayalee women in all of America who runs to the Indian grocery store to pick up a few sprigs of frozen or few-weeks-old curry leaves to use in any number of traditional Keralite dishes I normally don’t cook. Substitute basil or any other herbs, and you are toast. (Note to Americans: Curry leaves are NOT the same as curry powder (a mix of dry spices) and pakka Indians don’t use curry powder either. When making a dish, you usually pop mustard seeds in oil and fry the curry leaves with onions and chilies before adding other ingredients/spices.)
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| Flickr.com/By Mydaas! |
Let me make this clear. Long, curly hair (which most Malayalees cut short and blow out or straighten these days) and varying shades of olive complexion do not a Malayalee woman make. The ultimate measure of a Malayalee woman lies in how well she grows and nurtures the small native Indian plant, standing by some estimates about 4-6 meters tall – that can grow taller than an average Malayalee woman – and produces aromatic green leaves that look a bit like bay leaves, are leathery in texture and have a citrusy flavor. Cultivating one or more curry leaf plants is as essential to a Malayalee woman’s status in society as the curry leaf is to South Indian dishes. The plant, a Malayalee woman’s pride and joy, is a testament to her heritage and is key to earning her a top chef star prize at any dinner parties.
Since I don’t sport a green thumb – my two previous attempts at growing the plant failed to take root — I’ve always considered myself a Malayalee cook not worth her salt. Garden-variety Indian that I am, I cook up quite a storm in my house by making Italian, Spanish, Mexican and other non-Keralite dishes, but when the craving for Indian food hits me and mom is not around, I confess I’ve bought curry leaves that another woman grew in her pot. Hubby, always a good sport, has had no choice in this matter but to live by this adage: “If you don't like my cooking, lower your standards.”
But last summer, a relative who cherishes her garden of aromatic curry plants as a mother cherishes her son, sensed that I was really up a tree and offered me a tender plant. Within months, the plant almost died on me, coincidentally, after a good friend remarked why in the world I needed a curry leaf plant, while I served him pasta puttanesca topped with chopped basil, for dinner.
He was probably just green with envy, but my plant has since sprouted fresh leaves and I am back in the good graces of pakka Malayalees – and have found new favor in my hubby’s eyes. Now, I can stand as tall as any pakka Malayalee, or the curry leaf plant. Who can’t relish that!
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