Chicken Vinda-loser

A quick story about the first time I ever cooked for M. I had never really cooked. I actually was a vegetarian for almost ten years as an adolescent, and I subsisted on mostly cheese pizza and salads and somehow missed learning almost anything about how to cook from my mother - who is known as a spectacular cook far & wide. But alas, I was 21 years old and knew nothing - NOTHING - about how to cook. And suddenly, I found myself all domesticated wanting to whip up a delicious meal for my man! What the heck? How did that happen? I get this big idea to cook something for M - a surprise, of course, and I wanted it to be something authentic. 

My mom actually told me I should cook something American because she thought feeding a desi guy desi food would be like "him taking you out to McDonald's." But I could not be swayed.  

I really don't know if it's just me, but it seems like 6, 7 years ago there were almost NO resources for someone who wanted to learn about the Indian subcontinent. In my local bookstore, there was one - ONE - cookbook, one of Madhur Jaffrey's books, of course. I picked out something that sounded exotic (Chicken Vindaloo), copied the recipe down with my pen & paper right there in the store. (What? I was a poor student - I've bought the book since then! Stop looking at me like that!)  

I went to a grocery store. And that's where I encountered my first problem. Somehow the employees at the Wal-mart Supercenter didn't know what "garam masala" was. Or mustard oil. Or fenugreek. Or basmati rice. Or even coriander leaves. (Turns out most Americans call that cilantro.) So I had to call my mom, and she helped me make some substitutions (regular oil for mustard oil, regular rice instead of basmati), and let me know what I could probably leave out (the fenugreek), and let me in on the coriander/cilantro thing. And it took a bit of looking, but even the Wal-Mart carried tumeric!  

Then I went home. And encountered my second problem. What the heck to do with all these ingredients. I didn't know how to slice an onion. Or what the heck to do with a clove or garlic. I didn't have measuring spoons. And raw chicken squicked me out. So I had to call my mom again. And again. And again. I actually called her six times while I was trying to make the stupid chicken/potato part of the dish. Then I drove to my parent's house (I lived in an apartment pretty close) because she had agreed to make the rice FOR ME! It was all cooked and beautiful and in a Ziploc bag waiting for me.  

So, hours and hours and many phone calls later, M called and made plans to stop by. We chit-chated about the day and he tells me he's coming from a meeting with his advisor and a couple of other students, where they'd eaten PIZZA! Crap.  

Well, I wasn't going to let it all go to waste. I "suprised" him with it anyway when he got to my apartment, and he was really happy. In retrospect, he must have actually hated it - he was already stuffed, and now I'd obligated him to eat a whole 'nother meal!  

And the worst part was - he's from Karachi. He had NEVER eaten Chicken Vindaloo in his life! He's such a sweet guy that I didn't know that for a little while. He ate so much and praised my cooking so much (especially the rice, dammit) you'd have thought it was his favorite dish!