My cheesy adventures

I am compelled to go back to my origin very often and this week is no exception. It was a time when Edanganni prospered with cattle of all sorts and  cows. Invariably  there would be plenty of new born amongst them in a season and whenever it happened the first milk from the cow supposed to be very nutritious  would be distributed to who so ever was present at the venue. Through enthusiastic word of mouth we the young gang  would be present there intensely watching  the birthing process. But after  witnessing the sodden shivery calf I would run off and hide myself into a depths of secrecy even before anyone could see me. once bitten twice shy I hated that  first milk, the curdled up creamy variety!

My dad  was a very pious and sincere person used to be the guide for the cloistered Carmelite nuns whenever the need arose. He did it as a service to the Lord with no monetary benefit involved in the process.   As days passed the mutual  affection grew and the mother superior who was a Belgian lady used to share the goodies she got from her native place with our big family too. Those were the days when the Suez canal was open and any amount goods could reach India very quickly by ship. The giant sized slabs of chocolate bars, milk powder and bulgur wheat were indeed a treat for us who were used to ground nuts  and their ilk. The milk powder could licked from the hand as an evening Tiffin and with no refrigeration the chocolate slabs were gobbled up as quickly as they came. Once dad brought in a very strange item from the convent. It was a  rectangle shaped huge chunk wrapped in a white paper

"Was it butter?"

 "No it was too thick and brittle to be that ."

"Was it some sweet milk preparation?" We tasted it. It was salty and had a stench and a smell very similar to the first milk of Edanganni cow. The only difference being that they add jaggery at the village whereas  they have boiled it with salt. we knew it should be  a good stuff since it was from mother superior.  As we were wondering what to do with it we heard a call from the night beggar. At once we decided to present this unnamed item to him. Wrapping it in a paper we happily gave it to him. Ours being the house at the end of the street the beggar usually sat on the nearby canal to have his supper. That chap should also have been as curious as ourselves. (My elder brother followed him on the sly!) No sooner than he sat he eagerly opened the parcel; he smelt it; tasted it. He was in a dilemma . And then cursing all of us he threw the bundle right into the canal by which time my frightened brother had ran back home.

Cheese...... that was my undoing!!

We were in England. After dinner the lady of the house brought out a platter full of cheese that was greeted with   culinary  adulations   from the guests. "The best collection of cheese..." my husband salivated! 

"Why didn't they bring out nice cakes or muffins as Nigella did in the TV shows?" I wondered!

Years back my close friend , my darling daughter and I were on a tour of Italy.  It was an  era in India  when pizza, pasta, McDonalds, KFCs and other  foreign cuisine were unknown entities. We started our itinerary from Venice, sailed their Gondolas, the making of glass sculptures and buying the mandatory masks. It was indeed an enjoyable touristy routine till I saw  big red apples in a store !! As I was wondering what sort of hybrid variety that could be my friend  clarified that it was cheese. Accustomed to our miniscule Amul cheese this was  an unbelievable  size in my sight.  I accepted it's presence with a Laissez-faire (let the sleeping dog lie")  attitude not knowing the efficacy with which it was going to attack me!

It was dinner time. The ante pasta  was a brinjal (which they call aborigine ) soaking and fried in olive oil and it was delicious .  It was more like a Bengali feast for me where they start with a fried brijal (of course in mustard oil) as an auspicious beginning. May be these Italians  had some connection with our Bengalis in their previous life!  But that was not to be! The main course was a  steaming hot item in a white coloured sauce." mm...... pasta in a white sauce" My companions salivated.  As soon as it was served the server took  a  jar with a big hole from the table and started sprinkling copious amount  of some white powdery stuff (parmesan cheese I learnt later) over it . The general mood  was that of bonhomie with the best of wine  in crystals  And the man wished us  bon appetite and  left us to enjoy the meal. With my first  spoonful of Italian food  unto my  mouth and I was out of my senses! The Edanganni experience of once having the curdled milk filled my stomach and I wanted to spit it out..... I excused myself to run  towards the toilet. When I came back both my companions were worried.

"All of a sudden I developed a head ache."

I bluffed

"Mmm.. this migraine ......we don't know when it will attack you." my friend said  helpfully and was worried

But  the vigour with which I attacked my  gelato ( ice cream) made my companions to share  their portion which I shamelessly accepted. Their worries flew off.

From then on entering any food shop became an anathema to me. The stench of not only the big ones in toroidal shape in red wax covering but varied varieties and shapes of cheese  seemed to pervade the whole ambience.   As both my friends go inside the shops to enjoy the free samples of cheese I entertained myself in watching  the tall pines and the majestic cypress trees and with my vomiting spree! In my dictionary the very name 'food'  turned to loathing .The food was all cheesy!  Sitting down with the group for meals became a great effort and I  excused myself quite often. It was the gelato that turned out to be my redeemer and my subsistence for living!

Till the moment I got into my Air India  Maharaja  offering  me my own pulav and gravy the white giant assaulted me around  and gagged me!

My husband and I both usually never disagree over the channels we watch. Even if it was a science channel, which he dearly loves, I try my best to understand amidst my quaint naps.  But if ever he switched on a programme on cheese making  or anything to do with cheese I immediately excuse myself. I cannot digest the exalted heights the world has taken to this ...... cheese!

I think I belong to a very  odd generation. While people order around for pizza when they want a special treat my curd rice with pickle proves to be an ambrosia for me. The mucus like mozzarella cheese sitting on your pizza ...... never ever my cuppa!!

I thought I was a  loner... an extinct species  who hates the wonderful connoisseurs' dish till I found a dear companion, a relative of mine, (brother's son in law) a young chap who often travels abroad and hates cheese!

Just as I had finished my blog a  news item from Kerala in today's paper  excited me. The Kerala government had decided to levy a 'fat tax' of 14.5% on pizzas burgers, sandwiches and tacos in accordance with the advocacy of  WHO to promote healthy eating. Apart from pinching the purse of their parents, it is a  caution to them whose  children carry a pregnant stomach at the young age.

 'Go Local' let it be not just my policy but ours too!