Maria Goretti reflects how even though her childhood was away from the methods and hacks of kitchen, it later became one of her biggest strengths over time. Food not just became something that could be consumed, but which could make people smile
In my past life, I must have been born in a country that had no food, because frankly, I am eternally hungry and my near and dear ones will vouch for that. I have loved food all my life. My paternal grandmother, Agnes, was a brilliant cook and I can still remember the aromas wafting in from her kitchen; her picking mushrooms from the garden during the rains to make soup and pâté. My maternal grandmother, Rosemary, was a darling in the kitchen, and her fish curry with rice is something that I would love to have just once more. Unfortunately, I never learnt any cooking from either of them. I wasn’t interested in the process, only focussed on its eating part.
My love affair with food started about eight years ago, when I was pregnant with Zene, and didn’t have much to do. Ergo, I spent time watching travel and food shows on TV, and started writing down recipes to try them out. While I expanded during my pregnancy, I started experimenting in the kitchen. Fortunately, I was travelling with Arshad for the shooting of a film and was living at the beautiful St. James Apartments. I had plenty of time to saunter through the farmer’s market and pick and choose fresh produce. I would cook for the cast and crew who came over often. Initially, I wasn’t quite sure if they really loved the food or were just being nice, but soon, they began coming over often for a tasty meal. I realised then that both my grannies were sprinkling their magic dust on me. Today, my mother’s food is what I actually want to learn. I love the food my mum, Joanna, makes. She is my recipe book and always a call away to tell me about my next step if I ever get stuck.
A few years down the line, if anyone had told me that I would one day put together a food book, I think I would have rolled on the floor laughing. Slogging it out in the kitchen was not my style. I could eat a lot. After I discovered the joy of cooking, I didn’t look back. I started my blog about five years ago, after my domestic help decided to leave. My friend Mini Mathur insisted that I watch the film Julie & Julia but just wouldn’t tell me why. When I did, I suddenly knew my path. Frankly, my help leaving was the best thing that happened to me. Suddenly, I was thrown into the thick of things — the kitchen, vegetable market, groceries, cooking — and to top it all, two very hungry children looking expectantly at me. (I love to picture this scene in my head.) Well! Something had to be cooked, and so I started taking baby steps into the kitchen.
Gradually, I started to get seduced by the aromas, textures and the possibilities that could conspire in this beautiful place I discovered in my own home — my kitchen. It was like meeting a stranger and becoming friends. Reading, googling and watching food became an obsession. I discovered the secrets of fire to vegetables, yeast to flour, wine to meat, and the right amount of kneading, whipping and marination. It was then that I realised I love cooking, not just because I could really put myself into the heat of it, but because I loved to see the faces of the people I cooked for.
Jaya Misra, my friend, introduced me to blogging and insisted that I write about my experiences. She always read my pieces before I uploaded them. This whole process of cooking and writing took off like being on a surfing board, and I was busy riding wave after wave, enjoying the thrill of cooking, feeding and reaching out to so many like-minded foodies. It was catharsis that I never thought I needed.
At one point, I needed to learn how to make bread, because my dad used to make it when we were kids and by the time I wanted to learn, he said he had forgotten how. So, I joined a one year part-time baking course at Sophia Polytechnic and under the tender hands of Shashi ma’am, I learnt more than I had bargained for. Baking taught me the art of patience, something that I still struggle with. It taught me that everything happens when it is supposed to. She once caught me staring down at my bread that I had left to prove. And she pointed out that if I kept staring at the dough, it would still not rise up in a second. It would take its time to prove so I should concentrate on doing something else during that time. I always think of her when I bake bread now.
In the middle of all this, I was anchoring a cooking show and met the lovely Shazmeen, who told me about her stint at Tante Marie. In 2011, I went off to the sleepy town, Woking, and spent 11 weeks at Tante Marie. With amazing teachers, I learnt about sweating onions, kneading puff pastry, cooking meat at just the right temperature to keep it pink in the middle, understanding how important it was to whip the egg whites till they had the right amount of stiff peaks for a meringue, how to debone a fish, how to cut chicken, clean the floors, wash the fridge, do the vessels and much more. I also travelled to Paris, Budapest, Austria, Ireland and sat for exams, and watched every play that was worth its salt on the weekends. All this was possible was because Arshad, who is quite a rockstar, stayed home and looked after Zeke and Zene. My parents too set up tent at my place. And Zoya, Arshad’s niece, would ensure that they went for movies and were occupied and happy. My friends Mini, Jaya, Sandy and Sambo came in often, took the kids out, and hung with them. I would not have been able to go without this entire web of support that I was lucky enough to have. My friends in London — Lorraine, Sanjay and Rachna Narang, Junky, Pooja and Eve — were my home away from home.
My life is a series of coincidences. I never planned a moment and whatever I planned never happened. After years of being part of ad-films, theatre, anchoring TV shows, travelling for work and being an MTV VJ, I was ready for a new chapter in my life. And having kids changed it around. Food was just a side-effect of being a mother. This was just the perfect time to put my apron on and go for it, all burners flaming. Arshad, who was the chef in my kitchen, just took a back seat and sat and watched me, as I struggled my way into food heaven. He always encouraged me even when the food was really not up to the mark. He always said that it was fantastic and gave me advices for something new. And every time I made kheema or paaya, he would say, “It’s lovely, but does not taste Muslim!” Well, I really want to learn cooking Mughlai and Kashmiri food one day. It’s on my bucket list. And Arshad, who is ‘world famous’ within our circle of friends for his Biryani, bowed out of my kitchen with a smile. I finally took over my kitchen.
My friend, Mini, started gifting me recipe books and my friends were always willing to eat what I cooked. This encouraged me, inspite of disasters. So post two years of food blogging, I finally got enticed to do a book. I remember when the first offer came, I refused because I was too scared. When the second offer came, I had, by then, digested the fact that probably something is right. The third offer came when I went to Bhutan, the land of happiness. This trip finally made me warm up to the idea of penning a food book. Though it did feel like a good idea, it made me nervous. Neither was I a chef nor a writer. I didn’t know where to begin from. I procrastinated for six months and decided that because I cook only for people whom I love, the book should be an apt reflection of that. I then started putting menus in place and designing my food according to the people I was cooking for. It was a tedious process writing down recipes and taking care of a teaspoon of this and a tablespoon of that. I never go by accurate measures when I cook for myself. But to give a recipe that worked, I had to.
I had jumped into the deep end of the pool and had to swim to the shallow. I could not think of a better photographer for this book other than my friend, Amit Ashar. He is someone who will always capture what no one else sees. I remember the first day of shoot when we were doing the Christmas menu. I brought the baked chicken out of the oven. It was hot, looked yummy, and Amit set up the shot, looked at me and said, “‘Do you have glycerine?” I asked, ‘Why?’ He explained that food stylists used glycerine to make the food look shiny and moist. I was aghast! Why would anyone do that to good food? I told him to give me a minute. I took the chicken, warmed up the gravy, poured it over the chicken and we shot the dish. This is how we did the entire book, it is exactly from my kitchen to yours, what you see is what you will get. We never used anything artificial to enhance the look, nothing was over or undercooked to look good. It was as per the recipe. I just cooked each dish like I was going to serve it to someone I really loved.
There is really nothing I would change about the book. I have kept all the recipes simple to follow. Go for it, make it your own, tweak it, and think of me when a smile breaks on the face of the person you have cooked for. This is me, with all my flavours and enthusiasm, cooked at temperatures that were sometimes too hot to handle and sometimes like a tropical day, with the freshest of ingredients and cooked with a whole lot of love. A very wise person once said, ‘You are what you eat.’ Well then, I want to eat a ‘fit person’ to be fit myself! But I am not a cannibal. So, I try and eat healthy and do my regular workout and yoga. And yes, I run. It’s one of those things that makes me happy.
(Excerpts from From My Kitchen to Yours, published by Om Books International.)