Monday, September 5, 2011
Of Chalks and Chopsticks: September
Sometimes, such things also happen.
I had, in fact, written this post a week back and then, horror of horrors, managed to delete it instead of some emails in my inbox that I was clearing! Moral of the story: don't do too many things together, especially when in a hurry! If you clicked on that link and came to nothing, my apologies.
Talking of stories, I have the pleasure of hosting our food fiction event, 'Of Chalks and Chopsticks' for September.
If you have been following this event over the last few months, you would know that the previous three months have had a picture as a cue around which the story had to be based.
However, instead of a picture cue, I have a couple of written cues for all of you:
1. You have been invited for a dinner party by a person you barely know. Your host/hostess has a reputation for throwing some amazing parties and you are eagerly looking forward to the evening. You reach the given address but the house seems disturbingly quiet. With a lot of misgivings, you ring the doorbell..........
2. You are a tourist in another country and are on your way to your destination. However, somewhere on the road, you realise that you have lost your way. In the distance, you see a dim light illuminating a sign that says 'Tr vel rs Inn'. You have been on the road for a long time and are tired, sleepy and hungry with no way of finding the right direction to your destination. You, therefore, decide to follow the road and spend the night in the inn.............
So there....now all you have to do is spin a yarn - an original one - using EITHER one of the two cues. It could either be based on a real incident or could be something competely imaginary. Explore any genre: humour, romance, mystery, paranormal etc.
And while you are at it, do keep in mind a few simple guidelines:
1. The story you write has to have some food - it doesn't have to be a recipe.
2. There is no word limit on the story you write, but it has to be written in one single post.
3. You can, obviously, rewrite the cues the way you want in your story. It would be nice, though, if you could highlight the cue you are using.
4. Posts written for this event CAN be shared with other events.
Post your story between now and Oct. 5th, link it to this post and mail it to me at: aquadaze(at)rediffmail(dot)com with the following details:
1. Name and URL of your blog
2. Title and URL of your story
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Lost Forever
January 4, 2005
A new year, some new beginnings. I have never been one to maintain a diary, but I want to record this new journey that I am embarking on -- the highs, the lows, the ups, the downs.
Ravi and I got married today! The ceremony was beautiful. I didn’t want a ritualistic wedding, but mama was right. There is something magical about the saat pheras!
Everything went off without a hitch, though I must admit, I was very nervous. Mama’s forgetfulness is legendary, but this morning, she forgot that it was THE wedding day! The poor dear - she has been working so hard planning the wedding over the last couple of weeks (and I can say it here, she almost made a mess with some of the arrangements) that I suspect she ran out of steam on D-day.
It is going to be difficult for her to manage without me – we have always been together, especially since papa passed away. The good part is Ravi and I have found an apartment that is just a few kms from hers.
Gosh! Already the house I grew up in and spent 27 years no longer seems ‘mine’!
January 4, 2006
Can’t believe that it is a year since Ravi and I got married! I had so many plans for this diary, but I have not written anything beyond the wedding day log. Got to set that right so I don’t forget the small, precious moments Ravi and I spend together!
Today, we had a small party at home – just family – at which Ravi and I got absolutely drunk! Luckily, MIL was quite amused. “It happens,” she said.
One thing was quite strange though. Mama couldn’t recognize Ravi’s parents! I am getting just a little worried about her forgetfulness.
I wonder if Mama is getting too lonely. I haven’t been the most ideal of daughters either – I should visit her more often. But then, Ravi and I love being with each other.
I discussed it with the GP and he feels that a change should do her good. Maybe, I should ask her to come and stay with us for a few weeks? That should cheer her up.
April 29, 2006
Mama has been staying with us for about a month now, and her behavior is starting to puzzle me. She forgot it was my birthday today! I remember how she would plan my birthday celebrations weeks, even months in advance – almost to the point of embarrassing me, especially in my teenage years. I had the fanciest of cakes – all homemade, so beautiful that my friends would beg me not to cut them.
Today, Ravi had to remind her to wish me.
October 5, 2006
Diwali – my favourite festival! I am not really a jewellery person, but I can’t help stare at the lovely bracelet Ravi presented me with.
Mama has invited us for lunch tomorrow. I think I’ll wear my new tussar sari. She always shakes her head in dismay when she sees me clad in my trousers and jacket. “Tch, tch,” she says, “you look so lovely in traditional clothes. At least make an effort sometimes!”
I am quite unlike her when it comes to dressing and grooming. Always immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place, smelling of jasmine – that is my Mama!
October 7, 2006
I am starting to get very concerned about Mama. First the food…..it tasted horrible. I hate to say it, but it did. The potatoes were burnt and the dal was half-cooked. It was as if she had never cooked in her life before. In the middle of the meal, she remembered that she hadn’t made anything sweet and decided to quickly whip up some semiya payasam. She, however, couldn’t locate the vermicelli – which, incidentally, was right in front of her.
She seemed to be in her element as she fried the vermicelli in the ghee. “Keep an eye on it always,” she said. “You don’t want it to burn.” She poured in some milk and let it bubble away till it reduced to half but if I hadn’t stopped her in the nick of time, she would have added a cup of salt instead of sugar to sweeten the payasam.
The house was in a mess. There was a time when she was a compulsive cleaner, now bathrooms stank and there was a layer of grime on the washbasins.
I am scared. What if she is seriously depressed and does something to herself? We decided that I would stay with Mama for a few days. Ravi also said he would try and locate a good doctor who can help us find what is ailing mama.
Ravi is such a darling. I wonder what I would have done without him. And to think, there was a time when I was hesitating to accept his proposal. I had really made him wait and grovel! Must make up to him soon and I think I know exactly how!
November 17, 2006
A terrible day! Work was awful. To top it, Ravi and I ended up having a tiff. He wanted me to come back home but I wanted to spend a few days more with mama.
When I returned home to Mama’s, I found my chargers missing. I always leave them plugged in to the power points and yet, I couldn’t find them anywhere. When I asked Mama, she looked at me as if I were talking gibberish.
At that point, I just gave up on the day and decided to fix myself a small drink. Vodka with a slice of lime sounded just right. Opened the fridge to get a lemon and there they were, both my chargers, lying in the vegetable crisper. I was shocked. Had mama put them there?
I had just put the vegetable tray on the counter-top to retrieve my chargers when mama let out a scream. “Snakes, snakes,” she shouted, her eyes staring straight at the cables coiled around some sundry fruits and veggies.
Something is very wrong with mama. I am worried. Really worried.
March 20, 2007
I am in denial. I can’t come to terms with the diagnosis. I have had Mama checked up by numerous specialists and their verdict is unanimous - Alzheimer’s disease.
Oh God, why me? And why her?
February 12, 2008
A few days ago, mama wandered off alone at night. Luckily, a neighbor saw her and brought her back home. It is increasingly clear that she is not going to be able to live alone anymore. I don’t want to send her to a care facility. I can’t abandon her like that. We have decided that she will come and stay with us.
April 23, 2009
This diary has been witness to many a sad entries. It’s about time I shared some happy news. Ravi and I have just discovered we are having a baby! I am over the moon…can’t wait to hold her in my arms. I can’t wait for someone to call me ‘mama’.
My mama, in the meantime, has continued to deteriorate steadily. These days, she seems more and more disoriented. Some days, she seems a little in touch with reality and for those, I am grateful.
August 1, 2011
I watch with a mixture of pride and pity.
My little girl is growing up fast and becoming more and more independent. My heart swelled with happiness today as I watched her eat a few spoonfuls of the khichdi on her own. Hopefully, in a few days, she will be fully toilet trained.
Mama, on the other hand, struggles to eat. The food dribbles down from the sides of her mouth and onto her bib. I try to help her, but she pushes my hands away. She manages to put in few spoonfuls into her mouth but chokes over the khichdi that I have so carefully mashed. A faint odour of urine and disinfectant emanates from her body. The ailment has robbed her not just of her memory and identity, it has also stripped her of dignity.
I am reaching the end of my endurance. Watching my mother and my daughter together, one progressing, the other regressing, is taking an emotional toll on me.
August 10, 2011
But as we neared the care facility, it became clear that mama had no sense of what was happening.
I could hardly keep my tears in check. As we walked her to the reception, I hung back. Suddenly, she turned around. My heart soared. Maybe, she will give me a hug, I thought.
“Are you looking for something?” she asked in a slow, halting voice.
“No,” I told her. Taking a deep breath, I walked next to her, not wanting to leave her side till she was settled in her room.
Yes, I wanted to tell her. I am looking for my mama. She is right here in front of me and yet I’ve lost her, forever.
*****************************************************************************************
This is my entry to 'Of Chalks and Chopsticks' that Jaya is hosting this month. The picture above is the visual cue she gave us.
Jaya, thank you very much for your feedback and your help in editing the story.
Some stories are easy to write, some others not aren't. This story made me step out of my comfort zone in more ways than one. Firstly, I chose to do the narrative in a diary entry style. Secondly, the story - line itself made me a little uncomfortable - writing in first person about a mother's ailment was very difficult. Finally, the subject - Alzheimer's disease - is not something I know too much about (or want to know too much about - if you know what I mean). Though I have tried to cross-check the stages and the symptoms of the progress of the disease, it is quite possible that some errors have crept in. I do hope you will ignore these.
Just one thing - if you have read so far, don't just be a silent reader! Leave me a comment. I don't ususally solicit comments on my blog, but this time, I would sincerely appreciate all feadback.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Black And White Wednesday: The Very Last Drop
Susan, my daughter would like to thank you for starting Black and White Wednesday. Why? Well, a few days ago, I was taking pictures for this post. The daughter was sitting next to me, eating some ice cream. She then put the bowl to her mouth to lick the bowl clean. Quickly, I took a picture of her licking the bowl.
Then, as I was reviewing the picture, I realised that it would look much nicer if taken in B&W (yes, of course I had Black and White Wednesday on my mind). So, I called her and offered to scoop her some more ice cream. She was a little surprised as I never volunteer second helpings of ice cream unless she asks for it. But I had pictures to click!
So she had some more ice cream and I had my B & W picture!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Indian Espresso Coffee
Once upon a time, there was a young woman….. .
It was the drum roll of thunder that made her put the book down and look outside the window. In the horizon, she could see dark clouds gathering. Rain looked imminent.
She picked up her coffee mug; there was about a quarter of a mug left, but it had gone absolutely cold. She hated drinking coffee that had gone cold.
S*#^, I’ll have to get up and make another one, she sighed.
It would be her third cup in almost two hours – she was getting addicted to drinking coffee – but then, she needed the coffee, especially when she had a book review deadline to meet. Some books went on and on and coffee helped her wade through the pages. A few months ago, it had been cigarettes.
Somewhere, she had read that drinking too much coffee wasn’t good for you and she had been drinking quite a few.
Any day better than smoking cigarettes, she told herself, as she spooned the coffee granules and the sugar into a mug and started beating them with a few drops of milk.
By the time she returned to her rocking chair with the coffee, the wind had picked up, bringing with it the earthy smell of wet mud. On the terrace below her apartment, she spotted Mrs. Joshi collect the papads she had left out in the sun. In the balcony opposite her window, she saw the maid hurriedly gather the clothes left to dry out on the clothes line. The people on the streets too were casting anxious glances toward the rapidly darkening sky and hurrying along.
This was the reason she loved reading by the window. The large French window not only let light in through the day and served as a work desk of sorts, it also afforded her a great view. The scenes of real life on the streets below and around her often offered a welcome respite from the monotony of reading printed words of different sizes.
Get on with the book, she commanded herself. Only 97 pages left, hopefully I should be through with it by 7.
Within minutes, it had started raining in sheets. The wind had changed direction and a fine mist of raindrops started coming in on her face through the open window. She hurriedly shut her book, put it on the window sill and placed her mug right on top of the book, and closed the window.
![]()
pic credit: BongMom's Cook Book
How can you treat your books so shabbily, as if they were coasters, he would have said. And what is with this closing of the window? A beautiful shower is meant to be enjoyed. Come lets go for a walk in the rain, he would have insisted.
Mohit. Much like a pebble stuck in the sole of a shoe that you want to but cannot get rid of, Mohit was ever present in her thoughts. She had walked out of his life almost a year ago, but every single time she did or didn’t do something, she was keenly conscious of what he would have said or done.
Please God, make him call me, she would pray. Many a times, she wondered if she should swallow her pride and ego and write to him instead. But she every time she started to write to him, his words came back to her.
Just get the f*#% out of my life. I don’t want to see you again, he had said.
Her mailbox was brimming with mails written to him but never sent; she had decided that she wasn't going to be the one to take the first step.
Call me Mohit, call me. I will come back to you in a heartbeat. Just call me once, she pleaded fervently, opening the window and letting the mist of raindrops wet her face.
………and a young man……..
Thousands of miles away and in the land of the Big Apple, Mohit woke up with a start. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t really there with him and that he had dreamt of her, again. He saw her very often in his dreams but this dream seemed so real that he felt as if she was there, right next to him.
After tossing and turning on the bed for a while, he realized that there was no point in trying to sleep again. He lit a cigarette and walked into the kitchen, mixed the coffee granules, sugar and milk together in a mug and blitzed it in the microwave. Even as he did so, he could feel her shake her head in disapproval.
Tch, tch, tch....That is no way to make coffee.. You need to beat it and beat it well. Bring out its flavor.
He could picture her even now, her night suit clinging to her body, her hair short, tousled hair and the complete concentration on her face as she beat the coffee. She was passionate about her ‘one cuppa a day’ and was very particular about how it was made. When the milk came to a simmer, she would add a couple of crushed cardamoms to it and then pour it on the beaten coffee.
Smell it first, she would command. Take in the aroma. Then sip it. Nice, isn’t it? Now that is the way to make and drink coffee.
The microwave’s loud beeps pulled him out of his reverie. As he sipped the tasteless coffee, he wished, once again, that he had never uttered those words. Or at least apologized soon after. Or begged her to come back. But he had done nothing of the sort, forever and, a little arrogantly, hoping that she would call him. She hadn’t and he couldn’t fault her for it.
Like many times before, he contemplated giving her a call. It was a number that was etched on his mind and he punched in each digit with deliberation, but paused before he hit the dial key.
What if she doesn’t take my call? What if she tells me to get lost? What if, horror of horrors, she has found someone else?
And so he went cancel,cancel, cancel on the phone till he had erased each digit of her number.
I am waiting for you to call me, he said,staring into empty space. Call me once and I will be there with you in a jiffy.
…..They were both in love with each other and yet, neither wanted take the first step towards reconciliation. And so, they carried on with their lives hoping and praying that the other one would call. Like they say, sometimes love is just not enough.....
BongMom was hosting Of Chalks and Chopsticks for July, the picture above was the cue she gave us this month around which to spin a yarn.
The moment I saw her picture, I thought of the Pink Floyd song Echoes; this one line kept playing in mind over and over again - So I throw the windows wide and call to you across the sky. That then, has been the huge inspiration for this story.
*****************************************************************************************
Indian Espresso Coffee
I didn't even know it was called "Indian Espresso" until a few years ago. I had always known and called it "beaten coffee". And that's what you need to do to make a cuppa. Beat the coffee and sugar together till it is creamy and frothy.
Here's how you make beaten coffee a.k.a Indian Espresso:
![]()
It needs elbow grease.....after a few minutes of continuous beating, the coffee will look pale, thick and creamy, like so:
![]()
Pour steaming hot milk (I add a couple of crushed cardamoms to my coffee - but this is completely optional) till the mug is half full and stir well. Then pour the remaining milk. Refrain from stirring too much or it will lose the bubbly, frothy look.
![]()
Sip it slowly, savouring the aroma and the robust flavour of coffee. Enjoy!
It was the drum roll of thunder that made her put the book down and look outside the window. In the horizon, she could see dark clouds gathering. Rain looked imminent.
She picked up her coffee mug; there was about a quarter of a mug left, but it had gone absolutely cold. She hated drinking coffee that had gone cold.
S*#^, I’ll have to get up and make another one, she sighed.
It would be her third cup in almost two hours – she was getting addicted to drinking coffee – but then, she needed the coffee, especially when she had a book review deadline to meet. Some books went on and on and coffee helped her wade through the pages. A few months ago, it had been cigarettes.
Somewhere, she had read that drinking too much coffee wasn’t good for you and she had been drinking quite a few.
Any day better than smoking cigarettes, she told herself, as she spooned the coffee granules and the sugar into a mug and started beating them with a few drops of milk.
By the time she returned to her rocking chair with the coffee, the wind had picked up, bringing with it the earthy smell of wet mud. On the terrace below her apartment, she spotted Mrs. Joshi collect the papads she had left out in the sun. In the balcony opposite her window, she saw the maid hurriedly gather the clothes left to dry out on the clothes line. The people on the streets too were casting anxious glances toward the rapidly darkening sky and hurrying along.
This was the reason she loved reading by the window. The large French window not only let light in through the day and served as a work desk of sorts, it also afforded her a great view. The scenes of real life on the streets below and around her often offered a welcome respite from the monotony of reading printed words of different sizes.
Get on with the book, she commanded herself. Only 97 pages left, hopefully I should be through with it by 7.
Within minutes, it had started raining in sheets. The wind had changed direction and a fine mist of raindrops started coming in on her face through the open window. She hurriedly shut her book, put it on the window sill and placed her mug right on top of the book, and closed the window.
pic credit: BongMom's Cook Book
How can you treat your books so shabbily, as if they were coasters, he would have said. And what is with this closing of the window? A beautiful shower is meant to be enjoyed. Come lets go for a walk in the rain, he would have insisted.
Mohit. Much like a pebble stuck in the sole of a shoe that you want to but cannot get rid of, Mohit was ever present in her thoughts. She had walked out of his life almost a year ago, but every single time she did or didn’t do something, she was keenly conscious of what he would have said or done.
Please God, make him call me, she would pray. Many a times, she wondered if she should swallow her pride and ego and write to him instead. But she every time she started to write to him, his words came back to her.
Just get the f*#% out of my life. I don’t want to see you again, he had said.
Her mailbox was brimming with mails written to him but never sent; she had decided that she wasn't going to be the one to take the first step.
Call me Mohit, call me. I will come back to you in a heartbeat. Just call me once, she pleaded fervently, opening the window and letting the mist of raindrops wet her face.
………and a young man……..
Thousands of miles away and in the land of the Big Apple, Mohit woke up with a start. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t really there with him and that he had dreamt of her, again. He saw her very often in his dreams but this dream seemed so real that he felt as if she was there, right next to him.
After tossing and turning on the bed for a while, he realized that there was no point in trying to sleep again. He lit a cigarette and walked into the kitchen, mixed the coffee granules, sugar and milk together in a mug and blitzed it in the microwave. Even as he did so, he could feel her shake her head in disapproval.
Tch, tch, tch....That is no way to make coffee.. You need to beat it and beat it well. Bring out its flavor.
He could picture her even now, her night suit clinging to her body, her hair short, tousled hair and the complete concentration on her face as she beat the coffee. She was passionate about her ‘one cuppa a day’ and was very particular about how it was made. When the milk came to a simmer, she would add a couple of crushed cardamoms to it and then pour it on the beaten coffee.
Smell it first, she would command. Take in the aroma. Then sip it. Nice, isn’t it? Now that is the way to make and drink coffee.
The microwave’s loud beeps pulled him out of his reverie. As he sipped the tasteless coffee, he wished, once again, that he had never uttered those words. Or at least apologized soon after. Or begged her to come back. But he had done nothing of the sort, forever and, a little arrogantly, hoping that she would call him. She hadn’t and he couldn’t fault her for it.
Like many times before, he contemplated giving her a call. It was a number that was etched on his mind and he punched in each digit with deliberation, but paused before he hit the dial key.
What if she doesn’t take my call? What if she tells me to get lost? What if, horror of horrors, she has found someone else?
And so he went cancel,cancel, cancel on the phone till he had erased each digit of her number.
I am waiting for you to call me, he said,staring into empty space. Call me once and I will be there with you in a jiffy.
…..They were both in love with each other and yet, neither wanted take the first step towards reconciliation. And so, they carried on with their lives hoping and praying that the other one would call. Like they say, sometimes love is just not enough.....
BongMom was hosting Of Chalks and Chopsticks for July, the picture above was the cue she gave us this month around which to spin a yarn.
The moment I saw her picture, I thought of the Pink Floyd song Echoes; this one line kept playing in mind over and over again - So I throw the windows wide and call to you across the sky. That then, has been the huge inspiration for this story.
*****************************************************************************************
Indian Espresso Coffee
I didn't even know it was called "Indian Espresso" until a few years ago. I had always known and called it "beaten coffee". And that's what you need to do to make a cuppa. Beat the coffee and sugar together till it is creamy and frothy.
Here's how you make beaten coffee a.k.a Indian Espresso:
Take a mug, add (instant) coffee granules and sugar to it - according to your personal preference, add a few drops of water/milk. The mixture should ressemble wet sand. Using a spoon or an electric beater, start beating the coffee and sugar. Add a few more drops of water if the mixture is too dry, but add the water only a few drops at a time.
It needs elbow grease.....after a few minutes of continuous beating, the coffee will look pale, thick and creamy, like so:
Pour steaming hot milk (I add a couple of crushed cardamoms to my coffee - but this is completely optional) till the mug is half full and stir well. Then pour the remaining milk. Refrain from stirring too much or it will lose the bubbly, frothy look.
Sip it slowly, savouring the aroma and the robust flavour of coffee. Enjoy!
Thursday, July 7, 2011
MLLA - 36, the round-up and the winner
I have always maintained that hosting an event is one of the best ways of discovering new blogs and bloggers from all corners of the world. And that is exactly why I have enjoyed hosting MLLA - 36. It has been a one month of not just coming across wonderful blogs but also learning newer, and in some cases, very innovative ways of cooking with legumes.
Congratulations Soujanya, for winning the Hurst Bean Box and Super Smoothies: 50 Recipes for Health and Energy by Sara Corpening Whiteford and Mary Corpening Barber (I used Random.org for drawing the winner). Susan will contact you soon for further details.
And now, the round-up of the entries for MLLA-36:
Six Shades of Red Soup from Janet of Taste Space
Chickpea Patties from Priya Sreeram of Bon Appetit
Sweet and Sour Beet and Sprouted Mung Salad from Lisa of Lisa's Kitchen
Mangode - Green Gram Fritters from Anamika of Taste Junction
Methi Daal - White Lentils with Fenugreek Leaves from Ambreen of Simply Sweet 'n Savoury
Baked or Griddled Falafel from Adam of Yogi Kitchen
Paruppu urundai kuzhambu(Lentil dumpling curry) and Arroz con frijoles negro(Black beans and rice) from Denny of Oh Taste N See
Butternut squash and Masoor Dhal Kootu from Prabha of For the Love of CookingCongratulations Soujanya, for winning the Hurst Bean Box and Super Smoothies: 50 Recipes for Health and Energy by Sara Corpening Whiteford and Mary Corpening Barber (I used Random.org for drawing the winner). Susan will contact you soon for further details.
And now, the round-up of the entries for MLLA-36:
Six Shades of Red Soup from Janet of Taste Space
Chickpea Patties from Priya Sreeram of Bon Appetit
Sweet and Sour Beet and Sprouted Mung Salad from Lisa of Lisa's Kitchen
Mangode - Green Gram Fritters from Anamika of Taste Junction
Methi Daal - White Lentils with Fenugreek Leaves from Ambreen of Simply Sweet 'n Savoury
Baked or Griddled Falafel from Adam of Yogi Kitchen
Paruppu urundai kuzhambu(Lentil dumpling curry) and Arroz con frijoles negro(Black beans and rice) from Denny of Oh Taste N See
Pop's Peppery Chilli from R & R of Tadka Pasta
Moong Dal Sheera/ Moong Dal Halwa and Fried and Munchable Moong Dal from Kalyani of Mom Chef
Lasooni Dal Palak from Anamika of Taste Junction
Spinach (Keerai) Vadai and Arachuvitta Sambhar from Vardhini of Vardhini's Kitchen
Sprouted Yellow Peas Sundal, Soya Gobi Manchurian and Red Chori Dumplings Gravy from Priya of Priya's Easy n Tasty Recipes
Veggi Black Bean Patties from Anu Menon of Truth Personified
Vegetarian Chicken Salad by Kalinda of Wheat Free Meat Free
Egg Bajji from Sravani of Srav's Culinary Concepts
Eritrean Lentil Stew from Caffetiera of La Caffetiera Rosa
Baked Banana Blossom Fritters and Spinach Dhal from Krithi of Krithi's Kitchen
Lobia Curry - Black Eye Bean Curry from Jaya of Spice and Curry
Idli Karam Podi from Lubna of Yummy Food
Grilled Sprouts Sandwich from Raji of Vegetarian Tastebuds
Cucumber Fritters, Cucumber Dal, Roasted Chana Dal powder, and Vegan Black Bean Burger from Harini-Jaya of Tamalapaku
Bisibelebhath/ Spicy Rice and Lentil Stew from Champa of Versatile Kitchen
Vegan Grilled Bean Burger from Raven Chelanee of Cook. Eat. Delicious!
Chole Kulche Roll from Vaishali Sabnani of Ribbon's to Pasta's
Rasam - Hot and Sour Vegan Soup from Nashira of Palteful
Grilled Vegetable Lentil Soup and Lentil Mushroom Sliders from Claire of Chez Cayenne
Fenugreek Seeds in Spicy Tangy Tamarind Sauce and Janthikalu - Andhra Savoury Snack from Soujanya of Souji's Home
Chayote Chow Chow Moong Dal Curry from Divya of Exquisite Corner
Fish Stew from Akheela of Torviewtoronto
Quick Cooking Microwave Dhokla from Rajani of My Kitchen Trials
Mango Dal from Sayantani of A Homemaker's Diary
Mushroom, Puy Lentil and Ale Pie and Leek and Puy Lentil Flan from Shaheen of Allotment 2 Kitchen
Morel and Lentil Carbonara Pasta from Susan of The Well Seasoned Cook
Thalipeeth from Aqua of Served With Love
Thank you all for your entries! My Legume Love Affair enters its 4th year this month and aptly, Susan is hosting MLLA-37.
Thank you all for your entries! My Legume Love Affair enters its 4th year this month and aptly, Susan is hosting MLLA-37.
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