All the recent food related entries in Churumuri, especially the Thair vade and even churumuri, have compelled me to admit my true obsession, food and real passion, cooking. Sepoy has been insistent on tasting churumuri, but kadlepuri (puffed rice isn’t a good translation) is available only on that unique Chicago institution, Devon Avenue, also known by its other twin names - Mahatma Gandhi avenue and Mohammad Ali Jinnah Avenue. His insistence might cost Sepoy, since he shall be the designated driver for any such kadlepuri buying adventures. Tair (Dahi) vada, even of the quality that Krishna Prasad craves for, may not be such a difficult civilizational accomplishment and could be achieved fairly easily one of these weekends, as part of PDCS Hyde Park missionary activity, known more commonly by its other name, Dosa brunch!
As Desiknitter recently admitted, kneading has its benefits for academics, to take out their frustrations. Sepoy and I though prefer soft Sqaush ‘yellow dotted’ balls and like to hit them against the wall for an hour, with all our might. But we don’t do it as often as we should; instead, we end up in Foster 103 or such workshop - seminar venues at the University of Chicago, where often visiting scholars become targets of our venting.
But for my money, kitchen is the true site where the best of civilization emerges. I don’t mean only the finest of culinary delights but actually the best of the human qualities. Cooking, whether it is for oneself or (especially) for others, demands such care and aesthetic finesse, it brings out refinement, sensibility and devotion in all of us. Think of our mothers.
Those of us who have had the good fortune of eating in hostel messes (appropriately named) may respond quite violently to my rather poetic cahracterization of cooking here. To them, I can only say I share your pain (a la Bill Clinton fashion) but please don’t despair. There is light at the end of the tunnel.
As I attend a workshop on ‘Assessment’ at Indiana University, I am reminded unlike our classrooms, civilizations do not accept the lowest common denominators. We can and must aim for something higher. Our mothers and kitchens demand that of us.
Aside: I was at Nick’s Pub in Bloomington last night, to get a sandwich and was delightfully surprised to see water, beer and cocktails being served in glasses, which can only be described as glass jars/bottles. In India, fruit jam or pickles would be bottled in such jars/bottles. I was rather preoccupied with writing a blog posting on a new conversation that we began in Chicago this week on language instruction and pedagogy. So my ethnographer’s cap wasn’t on and I didn’t ask the waitress for an explanation.
6 Comments
I take your point about giving and refinement, but to take a contrarian position: how much of this ideal of giving and cooking for others is intricately tied up with the fact that it was always mothers who cooked, as *mothers*, and that this kind of “maternal” nurturing was frequently inseparable from broader gendered patterns of exploitative labour? I think it’s really important to de-gender cultural codes of hospitality and high culinary aesthetics (which are important to retain, I accept), because for too many women forced into a lifetime of work in the kitchen whether they liked it or not, it was often more drudgery than anything else, no?
OK. That’s absolutely valid and the spanking is deserved. and i do want to take it in the right spirit. but may i also say, i remember my mother the most when i am in the kitchen, more than any other place. doing the chores in the kitchen, especially doing dishes, is still very appealing to me because i would do that every day with my mother; each time i wash dishes, i remember my mother. embodying the maternal in some form, internalizing that within me has always been an important part of who I am and want to remain. This doesn’t capture my mother entirely; she was a fabulous professor of Kannada literature, from what her students tell me and someone with extraordinary strengths and skills. i learnt all of that from her, (except cooking actually) in the kitchen. I agree with you entirely on the need to de-gender cultural codes and actually, the place I want to achieve that first and foremost, is in my person and in my kitchen.
Thanks for responding seriously, P. My comment wasn’t intended directly at you, as at all of us, myself included: my post also had a lot of nostalgia for my mum’s cooking, when I know for a fact that cooking was never her first or second or even third love, but still, I also think of invariably think of her as I try (in vain) to master my kitchen. I agree, I don’t want to reduce that memory to a scripted narrative of gender exploitation. I guess it was more of a question of whether such a de-gendered code of hospitality is at all possible while acknowledging its history, and if so, how? Starting to do one’s own dishes is definitely a start! Cooking some dosas and chitranna, or even better, kadubu, come fall sounds even better!
“broader gendered patterns of exploitative labour…”
“important to de-gender cultural codes of hospitality and high culinary aesthetics…”
to “guys” like desiknitter and chandrashines, who embody the paternal in some form, i have just two words: lighten up.
life time of work, drudgery, etc, are all convenient adjectives to use in a safe, sanitised intellectual hothouse, but they are assumptions that only reinforce the gender stereotypes.
it can be argued, as henri jean-levy argued three centuries ago, that a housewife works as hard as the one who goes to what we think is a real job, probably more so.
in assuming all that desiknitter does, we do such a woman a serious disservice by shooting from her already over-burdened shoulders.
Speaking of sanitized intellectual hothouses as opposed the hot house that kitchen is, dear Citizen Kane, wish we didn’t need Henri Jean-Levy to make our argument about how much work a housewife does. well, i won’t speak for desiknitter but i sure do embody the paternal in some form but i hope the maternal too would be part of me. anyway, wish you could also see the ‘lightened up’ part of the exchange.
kadubu may require some training in my mother’s kitchen but dosas and chitranna, desiknitter, that we shall do come this fall.
for kadubu you dont need any training. if you prefer malenadu kadubu, drop in to my house any day of the week. i am trained by an expert- my mom-in-law.
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