Disaster chef!

Aradhika  Sharma

“Goodnight mom! I’m going to watch my own show now! Sleep tight.” My procreator tore her gaze away from Amitabh Bachchan: “Hain! How can you go when Bachchan sahib is asking a Rs7-crore jackpot question? Which show can be more interesting than that?”

“Masterchef, mother! It’s elimination today,” I informed her. 

“Humph! Masterchef-Shasterchef! Why watch cooking shows if you learn nothing from them?”

“Masterchef isn’t any cooking show, mom. It showcases the journey of home cooks who hone their skills to such a degree that finally they can challenge the greatest professionals.”

“Arre! You’ve been watching it for the past 10 years, but never do you enter the kitchen! Tell me one dish you’ve learnt from your Masterchef! At least my show increases my GK.”

“I’ve learnt techniques, OK?” I sniffed, offended.

“Then display the techniques na. Make us a meal,” she challenged me.

“I’ll do it tomorrow if you wish. And what’s more, I’ll make everything from scratch, just like the Masterchef contestants do.”

That evening I watched the show more intently than ever. The contestants looked a bit stressed, but I, unlike them, had neither time constraint nor limitations on the ingredients to use. Determined that I had to blow the magisterial matron’s mind with my superior culinary skills garnered from the show I’d been watching for a decade, I decided to eschew desi food.

By the next morning, I had decided to do a quinoa salad with hazelnuts, apple and dried cranberries, hand-rolled pasta in homemade pesto and a full lemon roast chicken. I thought about making a croquembouche but my confidence balked at the mere thought and I decided on a chocolate soufflé instead. Before going out shopping for my ingredients, I said to the mater: “If you want to invite your friends for dinner, go ahead!”

“Sure! Let me know if you need help!”

“Oh, no need! Chill! Enjoy your game of Canasta,” I laughed carelessly.

But I was caught unawares when I realised how expensive are the ingredients! Quinoa for Rs 600 a box! Cranberries for Rs 350! My shopping spree saw me poorer by a few thousand rupees but the thought of my mother proudly preening before her friends at the perfectly laid out gourmet food produced by her talented offspring cheered me up. Smiling, I put on the white chef’s apron I had purchased.

The afternoon was spent in proving the fallacy of the fantasy of my food-creating ability. The ingredients conspired to torpedo my ego into oblivion. The quinoa could have doubled as small pellets for a gulel, three basil bushes went bare in the 10 attempts that I made to create pesto, the lemon chicken didn’t taste of anything at all and the soufflé totally failed to rise to the challenge. As I beheld the squishy maida-mess that was meant to be the hand-rolled pasta, I started getting nightmares about the matron’s reaction to my assassination of dinner.

Expedience and Zomato saved the day! Finally, I served butter chicken, dal makhni, kadhai paneer and veg pulao. Mother looked at me quizzically, but everyone was appreciative, except my pocket.

I learnt a valuable lesson: Watch KBC.