. Sun Dried Love & Tomatoes .
This is a post-modern take on the traditional recipe of sun-dried tomatoes.
Slice the tomatoes and love, sprinkle with dried oregano, or any herb you like, olive oil would be the magic ingredient. Let them soak in the glorious sunshine for about a week and you shall have an eminently usable gourmet addition for other dishes.
. Love & Pesto Sauce .
When you want a break from the red sauce, for a low-fat version, just replace the shredded parmesan cheese with some shredded love, and just blend in together with the walnuts, basil leaves, chopped garlic and olive oil. Do add salt and pepper to taste.
And many other recipes she’d seen on his blog. He seemed to be od-ing on his own sense of weird humour she felt. He was conducting a special month-long course for people who felt like aliens when facing a kitchen, and he seemed to be an amiable personality from his Facebook and twitter posts and interactions.
She’d been struggling with her weight issues for a while now and all the restaurant food wasn’t going to help. Her grandfather’s friendly advice often rang in her ears. The voices in her head were fond of repeating it she thought, ‘learning to cook isn’t a gender specific role’, he’d said. ‘After all, you’d be living with yourself at some point of time, what would you do then? You can’t always be eating out of cans and cartons, or restaurants.’ She always felt he was trying one of his lawyerly tricks to get her to cook a meal and this argument was nothing but a strong bait.
She somehow managed to crawl her way through post-graduation. This was the first time she was going to be away from home after 20 long years of being born. She hated the canteen food. It was over-priced, undercooked, loaded with red chilli and sugar, like most of the food in the city she came to think of as a second home. So, the idea of taking lessons to acquaint herself with the kitchen did seem like the right thing to do.
It troubled her a bit that he was such a popular figure and there was a great possibility of finding herself tongue-tied, unable to ask her questions; what if he thought they’re stupid!
No question is stupid, her grandfather used to say. He might be proud of this prodigal granddaughter act. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she got ready. She wore a loose mulmul-cotton top over the frayed and faded pair of denim pants, and tiny pearls dotted her ears. Her father’s wrist watch boldly stood guard against the dainty look she was trying to create. But she stubbornly refused to trade it for an elegant, more lady-like time piece. She didn’t want to be late for her first lesson.