Food Maketh The Man

By Jaya Chandrashekar

Over the years, I have realised that while socioeconomic, cultural aspects determine the characteristics of families and bring some commonality among them, what makes each family distinctive even in this common pool, is their relationship with food. Each family is unique in what and how they consume every day. Members of a family move on and adapt different styles influenced by life partners, friends or simply because of the dictates of modern living. But food is a part of childhood and the emotions associated with food are looked back on with a sense of nostalgia and belonging.

To me, food is synonymous with my father. Whether I am cooking or consuming, he is never out of the picture. He was knowledgeable, authoritative and deeply influenced our thinking and habits relating to food. He decided the menu, bought vegetables and supervised cooking. Our cook reported to him. He instilled in us, both boys and girls, a great love for food and insisted that we invest the attention and effort required in the process of putting a meal on the table. Often he would give the day off to the cook, order my mother not to help and give one of us siblings, the job of preparing a full meal. Too bad if you had a program with your friends. There were six of us- three boys and three girls and we didn’t know who the responsibility will fall on. A well--cooked meal will supersede and garner more praise than any other academic or sports achievements.

He had a unique take on food. It was not so much the variety and standard of food that he ensured but it was his attitude towards ‘feeding’ that was special. To him food was the most sublime manifestation of love and cooking was not a matter of talent but interest and care. He hand-picked the vegetables, colour coordinated the menu (couldn’t have Kadhi and Cabbage - both being washed out colours!). To him, each vegetable had its unique flavour and the style of cooking and even chopping, determined the taste. He flinched if coriander leaves were treated roughly, it angered him if cabbage was killed by overcooking and would know if the mustard seeds were added before the oil heated sufficiently – just by the taste of the item prepared. He would routinely peel vegetables while he walked up and down in the mornings planning his day – there would be a trail of vegetable skin all along the corridor! He was a busy lawyer and I am amazed at how he found time to have such comprehensive interest and control over what his family ate. He would lovingly pack our lunch boxes – pack the mixer to capacity with hot rice and hot rasam, the lid would invariably blow off splattering the contents every which way. He would pour melted ghee in the runny mixture and fill our boxes to the brim. Lunch at school would go down our memory as the most embarrassing time, we had to take out these hideous boxes covered with dried up ghee. It tasted heavenly but who would believe us!

By Jaya Chandrashekar