A Year in Reflection

Dear Mom,

You've been gone over a year.  Your son and husband (yes, my brother and father) went on vacation so no one was home for the anniversary of your death.  I went to see you cousin and your son-in-law (yes, I know, my husband) preached a short message for the first time in seven years.  The month of August is nearly over and we're finally getting around to celebrating the anniversary of your death or maybe it's a memorial.  You know I'm terrible at these things, pretending to care about something I don't really care about.

You're gone.  I've accepted that.  I've learned to live with hit.  I've managed to move on with my life, even if that life has a huge hole in it shaped like you.

Your sister called me and gave me her chicken korma recipe.  That's what started the whole thing.  After I hung up the phone that I realized how much she sounds like you, the way she talks.  But then she's your sister so she should sound like you.  The way she said I should use half ghee and half oil and it'll taste good but maybe not so good for health.  I could hear you telling her that in that big sister tone you used.

You're happy aren't you?  I mean you're where you always wanted to be, in the arms of your Father.  How could I want you to be here with me?  That would be selfish and it seems I do love you enough to be ok with you being gone because I know you're happy.

It took us a year but I think we're getting there.  You said to me that you weren't worried about me because you knew I was going to be all right.  I think I am getting there.  You said that it was better this way and I'm starting to believe it.  It is better with you gone.  Somehow, when you were here you kept us together, you cared for us, you loved us.  Without you, we had to learn how to do all that and in a way, we are a lot better than we have ever been.

It's a new kind of better mom.  In a way, like your son said, you did water us, your own personal garden on earth and we have thrived under your care.  With you gone we suffered but our roots are deep so we have managed to bounce back and thrive.  You know, only God could do that, give us beauty for our ashes, joy for our sorrows.

Today I am happy.  I didn't think I would be.  I am tired and so is Dad.  He and I spent the entire day cooking, arguing, and cooking.  The food isn't exactly as good as yours (because you didn't make it) but it's pretty close.  I nearly had a mishap with the chicken but he insisted I believe it's going to work.  So I made it work.  We'll see tomorrow.  I was nervous about the rice so it didn't come out exactly like yours but he fixed it and made it work.  We did the rice pudding, it tasted the way yours used to taste.

We talked a lot about you.  We missed you.  We remembered you.  He said that I could do all the things you could.  You know, that was the nicest thing he has ever said to me.  He even insisted that I focus on my writing and get published.

Tomorrow we're having a memorial.  This is mine to you.  

A Recipe for Happiness

I love to cook.  I didn't know how to cook until I met my husband.  I learned how to cook from him.  My mother was always very disdainful of my use of recipes.  A real cook didn't need recipes.  These days I don't use recipes much maybe occasionally as a guideline.  Two compliments my mother paid me in my life regarding my cooking that I never forgot were that my julienne potatoes and Indian fried egg was exactly like my grandmothers.  Coming from my mother this was high praise indeed.  She wasn't someone who believed in handing out praise like candy at Halloween.  It could make you prideful and the Bible calls us to be humble.  She and I had a very different definition of humility and pride.

After her first cancer recovery I had the pleasure to cook her 60th birthday dinner.  She didn't turn her nose up at any of it and actually ate my cooking.  I'll take that as praise as this was the best I was likely to get.  But the last thing I ever cooked for her was at the Father's Day barbecue at my cousin's house in 2014, not too long before she died.  This time she took the time to praise my chana chat and the barbecue chicken.  She took the time to say a lot of things to everyone.

Since she died, I haven't been able to really cook good Indian much less Bengali food.  My lately, I have been craving chicken korma which is a curried chicken cooked in a  yogurt sauce.  I found recipes online and in books which didn't work very well.  My father suggested I call my mother's sister in Atlanta and ask her for the recipe because she cooks it very well.  Ah the wonders of modern technology where you can leave a Facebook message for your aunt and she calls you on your cell phone at work to tell you the recipe so you can cook it when you get home.  What's not to love?  I was excited.

As I hug up the phone and walked away, I was filled with a sense of elation.  With a few words scribbled on a paper and a conversation that was a mixture of English and Bengali, a piece of me was restored to me.  I work with my Dad so my next stop was to go see him.  He handed me a $20 after a short conversation of the recipe so I could make some for him.  This was a big deal because ever since my Mom died, my father and I have lived in the same house and he has resisted all attempts on my part to cook anything for him.  But that's a story for another day.

I picked up the chicken and a white Spanish onion as I really can't stand the smell of regular onions.  Haven't been able to since my first pregnancy where I stood two houses down from my parents because my mother was cooking and the smell was making me nauseous.  Thankfully my friend and neighbor at the time had pity on me and decided to take me to breakfast.  That chicken came out amazing.  The smell that permeated through the kitchen and the house reminded me of times when my mother would cook it.  No it wasn't her recipe but her sister's but I figured they had to learn it from the same place, my grandmother.  In a way, my aunt's recipe connected me back to my mother and for the first time, I felt happiness swell up in my heart since she died.  It was the first time when memories of her wasn't a deep aching loss but filled with sweet nostalgia.  Both my father and my brother loved the chicken.

I know....where is the recipe already!

Here it is....but a word of caution, it doesn't have measurements.  I eyeballed it all.  If you are an experienced cook, you'll be able to make adjustments.  The eyes and nose are the key to this recipe.  So here goes.

This is what the season chicken should look like

I used chicken thighs and drumsticks (perhaps 3-4 lbs of meat), four pieces of thighs, cleaned and cut in half and six pieces of drumsticks with the bottom and skin chopped off.  I seasoned this with whole black peppers, cloves, cardamon, cinnamon sticks, ground coriander, and ground garam massala,

Step 1
Freshly diced onions, garam massala,
and bay leaves cooking on olive o

Step 2
Once onions are soft and caramelized add
freshly chopped ginger, garlic, ground coriander
and a little salt

This is what it should look like when
it's ready for the chicken

Once they had softened I added the chicken, brought it up to heat, covered it and let it simmer at low until the water started to render.  I did this for maybe 30-40 minutes.

Step 4
Mix ground coriander and sugar with
plain non-fat yogurt

Step 5
Push chicken to side and add yogurt
mixture slowly into the sauce

Mix the rest of the chicken and
sauce together.

I covered it and cooked the chicken it on low for another 30 minutes or so.  The key thing to remember is that the total cook time was about an hour.

What it looks like when it's been
cooking for over an hour

Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
That's how you reduce the sauce
Very crucial to recite Shakespeare at this point

At last you have Chicken Korma

Remember - depending on how thick you like you sauce this could be between 15 - 30 minutes.