Chocolate cake for the soul

Saturday morning: It was cold; it was wet and I was just not feeling the weather.

Saturday evening: It was cold; it was wet but I couldn't care less and this is the reason why.

Old-fashioned Chocolate cake, darling - plenty of good for the soul.

Yes I realize 'Christmas is still on' in my house and shame on me for not tending to the post-holiday ritual of taking down the tree. But would you look at the cake - Who can think 'tree' when we have 'cake', right? I knew you'd understand, poppet.

P.S The cake was for a dear friend's birthday. Her delight at the cake was obvious but I also hope that it scored with Rosie, our baby to be.
A few short weeks later: We have now discovered that Rosie is a boy, and according to his Mommy, showing signs of indignation over being referred to as a baby girl. Yes, he can hear us in there!!

Reflections

I realize it is a little too late for retrospections about the year that passed (and my goodness what a year it was) but I wanted to still pay homage to the non-stop year of surprises which was 2011.

To say that it was a year for big leaps was an understatement. Oh I leaped alright! My baby sister got married, we added a brother to our family, old job took a dive for the worst, new job came in at a point of saving grace, return to home country after a decade, new frontiers in faith, a setback in a family member’s health, God’s healing hand on the situation, many gastronomic adventures, birth of friendships, logging the most time spent in a plane in a year, chocolate molten cake and laughs with fellow high-schoolers, a blast from the past, three countries I’d no longer just know from a map, posing for pictures in the city that never sleeps with lovely artist friend, experiencing freedom from some shackles, Christmas and New Years with my family, and lastly the year I baked the most banana bread.

Goodbye 2011.I am steeped in gratitude, Lord.
Welcome 2012. (Or dare I say it...the year I went to Paris!)

A quick note from the road

Dear Poppet,

I have missed you. It has been ages, I know. I miss being in the kitchen. I miss lazily and greedily savoring cookbooks and food blogs. I miss baking on Sunday. Most of all I have missed regaling you with my adventures on the road.

I have loved every minute of this journey that started in the highlands of Scotland, to the busy streets of London, to the curries from Malaysia and soon the familiar desert tunes from Dubai.

The people, the cultures and most importantly darling, the food has made me weak in the knees. I have tired to catalogue every sight, smell and sound in my memory.

My little suitcase is plump with new shoes, bottles of aged whisky, a tea-set, flowy dresses for tiki nights, a Scottish book of cakes, preserved and spiced strawberries and guavas, aromatic beverage mixes from the orient and a new shade of lipstick. I may end up sitting on the luggage to zip it down but such is the price for wanderlust.

I have a hundred pictures and a thousand words to share with you.

Much love,
Your Singleton.

How to beat MMB (Monday Morning Blues)

(Disclaimer: If you are a morning person and welcome daybreak with a 30mm smile and a tune to your whistle, I apologize in advance for the ranting below)

I am not a morning person. And because I'm not a morning person, a few non-sensible routines will have to be completed to ease me into a more chipper state of being when 7am comes around.

In the mornings, I like to lightly run my fingers through my wardrobe before I pick an outfit to wear, inhale the aroma of fruits that I pack for a mid-morning noshing, make a mental note of the shoes that I've yet to take out into the world and gaze at the pink and orange sky while I ponder upon Psalm 19 on my way to work.

The sequence of these activities help me start most days right, except for Monday.

Monday - Ugh! Enough said, right? It has always been my least favorite day of the week.

However, today I was able to beat the Monday morning blues from the most unexpected source.

The antidote to my weariness? A chocolate cherry tart (courtesy of passionateaboutbaking.com)

Let me explain.

When Sunday evening came around I was slipping into my  usual bout of dread for the week ahead. I seem to have more of these now than I did before. Like a looming cloud I can't quite shake off every time the weekend comes to a close.

I puttered around the kitchen and opened the fridge to survey its contents when a bunch of cherries caught my gaze. To me cherries were always the more jubilant ones of  the fruit kingdom. But at that moment I wasn't able to peel my eyes away because (and this will sound crazy in a minute) it seemed like those cherries were returning my stare with (again this will sound crazy) what can only be inferred as a dare. I know what you're thinking - Fruit that dares? This singleton is off her rocker. Believe me, even as I type these words the insanity of my confession is leaping back at me.

 Ludicrous as I continue to sound, in that moment my mid-day snack had transformed into a band of 'cocky and challenging' ruffians daring me to get out of my slump and do something. Something besides the moping around in the jammies because tomorrow is a Monday.  I rose to the challenge.

I blitzed through recent recipes that I'd bookmarked until I found "it". A very indulgent cherry tart that I would in a mere two hours into the future be savoring triumphantly. I bet those cheeky cherries didn't see that coming.

The dread was gone. One bite of this exquisite tartlette and  I had vanquished the blues. As pathetic as it sounds, slicing those cherries, steeping them in tangerine balsamic vinegar and then slathering them atop my miniature tarts felt very cathartic. I had conquered the "cherry bully".

When Monday came-a-knocking, I was still basking in my glory. A morning grump was I, no longer.

Bring it on Tuesday; I'm ready for you too.

P.S. I still like cherries. This is an exquisite dessert and I would make them again minus the combative spirit.  Chop to it, chickadee. Give it a try. Don't wait till " the fruit starts talking".

Mosaics and Memories

Monsoon wedding

On the ninth day of the seventh month there was to be a monsoon wedding. This being the first in our family just made it all the more endearing to us.  Every detail surrounding this event had to be perfect. So the three women in our family (plus bride) decided to collectively plan this beautiful wedding for our precious child.

One little detail that I must mention - the wedding planners are located in three different countries with four different time zones and orchestrating a ceremony from 40,000 miles away.

You can see our conundrum.

But we are “missionful women”(an inside joke) and so we would embark on the voyage to Wedding Planning. Our journey would begin in January until we see the shores of India in July. In the meantime numerous emails, excel spreadsheets, lists, phone calls, nervous breakdowns, flowcharts, hugs, invitation cards, “I heart you” notes , a dozen menu changes, magazine saree cut-outs and irritable family members would pass by our ship; but we vowed to stay on course.  Onward we would go, until we reach the banks of Kerala in the horizon, the setting, for our beautiful monsoon wedding.

January and February were spent scurrying to find a suitable church and a reception hall. The cities of Trivandrum and Thiruvalla were finalists contending  for the ultimate honor of being  city to host the wedding celebrations of Gigi and  G-man (Groom-man). After two months of serious deliberations a decision was made - Trivandrum won!

And then we met March...

The parents of the bride hit the wedding preparation with such fervor and numerous weekend trips to India as if March madness had descended on us. Thus the  caterer, the decorator, the choir and music, the wedding invitations and the videographer were finalized.

By the time we’d arrived at April and May, decisions to make got harder. Why wouldn’t it? After all it involved four women trying to decide on a color scheme for the bridesmaids dresses, the flowers and our very own wedding sarees. We scoured sareeworld.com, bollywood magazines, style blogs, photographs of friends who were recently married and even hindi movies for inspiration. My sweet mother sent us email forwards with pictures of  sarees that bollywood actresses had worn to award ceremonies, movies, weddings and their very own baby showers (someone had the bright idea of sharing the pictures of Aishwarya Rai’s sister-in-law’s baby shower) in the last six months. This was the information highway and we were transmitting latest fashion trends at the speed of light.

I considered myself a recent  graduate with a  degree in Indian fashion and a minor concentration in Sarees and the art of draping. And in spite of it all, our search for the perfect saree was as elusive as ever. Cookie and I were still in hot pursuit of “the one”.

On June 30 the five of us were united and months of ‘email hugs’ turned into sporadic hugging sessions thereafter until we bid each other farewell.

Exactly five days before the wedding Cookie and I made a discovery. The elusive sarees we’d been searching for all along finally crossed our paths in the space-time continuum.  We were besotted and ecstatic all at once. We’d finally found, henceforth, what would forever be known as ‘the sarees we’d draped that monsoon day when our baby sister entered wedded bliss’.

A couple of days before the wedding, we'd enrobed our banisters with tulle and flowers for when Gigi would make an entrance in all her wedded glory. Friends and family flocked home to congratulate and wish the bride-to-be.

On the eve of the wedding, the pressure was mounting and the list of things to do just kept expanding. At that precise moment, Cookie, Gigi and I decided to leave the madness and retire to La-La Land.

La-La Land came into existence on July 8 and would belong to the three of us alone and here we would remain young single girls forever. In this land we would have the ability to fly (as deemed by Princess Gigi) because walking is a chore that young girls should not have to worry about.

 We could be on swings or climbing trees all day long and there would be orchards of dark chocolate with hazelnuts. The elves of La-La land would serve the most scrumptious varieties of magic ice-cream that never makes you fat.  A moment on your lips but never on your hips. The streams by the orchards would render the sweetest songs and occasionally belt-out hip-hop if the mood arises (Again Princess Gigi likes her hip-hop every now and then). We would giggle and hide in La-La land from the grown-ups on earth.

Alas we had to return to greeting guests and running errands. But La-La Land would remain for us to retire to whenever we need to run away from nosy aunts who always probe the question  "Why you have no man?".

And then one Saturday morning, two lovely people were joined together, to love and to hold forevermore. My Gigi was the prettiest bride ever (yes, I'm jaded and rightfully so). Two sisters looked on as one of their own went from a young lady to a wife.

Now we have a brother and my parents have a son. Let me tell you that it's a joy to add another place mat at the dinner table. Welcome to the family, G-man!