bowls to india

Something pulled me out of sleep this morning. I suspect it was the chacalacas.

A mating pair has been singing their romantic tunes in the trees surrounding my house most mornings with their "I-can't-quite-get-this-Model-T-to-turn-over" calls. (I have posted a Youtube video of chacalaca calls at the end of this piece.)

For the past few days, I have been having conversations with my India cruise traveling partners. The three of them are close to electing to bypass the trip. Two of them have bad coughs that they are understandably concerned would leave them stranded somewhere along the way, and all three are concerned about being quarantined somewhere. The coronavirus itself is just an afterthought.

I am still considering whether I should go or not. Two years ago I cancelled a similar trip in favor of a wedding in Disneyland. I do not regret that decision -- at all. But I want to see that part of Asia before I can no longer make the trip physically.

Our minds are very suggestible. While pondering the trip, I pulled some ingredients out of the refrigerator and off of the counter for breakfast. Leftover ham. Eggs. Serranos. Red bell pepper. Onion. Garlic. Ginger. Tomatoes.

Without any end-product in mind, I fried some black mustard seed in bacon grease and then added the vegetables and ham by flavor layers. Before I added the eggs, I decided to add some spices. Home-made garam masala, turmeric, and cumin sounded like a good combination.*

Sometimes my impromptu dishes do not quite work out as I had planned. This one did.

With my first bite, I knew I had eaten something similar in the past. The combination of the eggs, vegetables, and spices were distinctive. This is happening more and more to me. I will "invent" a dish and discover it is the vestigial memory of a meal in a place I cannot quite recall.

Or as Billy Collins would say (and did in "Forgetfulness"):

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

I hit this one on the first try on the internet. It is very similar to akoori -- an Indian scrambled egg dish. Mine is just a tarted-up version. But, it made my tea choice easy this morning. A pot of chai.

The discovery that I am channeling my inner Indian cook provided a comforting thought. If I do not get to India next month, I can create a bit of India in my patio. Or, rather, Indian-Mexican-Middle East fusion.

For now, that may be good enough.


 

* -- In a sad side-note, I broke the bottle of turmeric. It was my last one. It looked as if an Indian festival had wended its way through my kitchen.