Culinary will simply mean “of or for cooking”. Cooking relates to FOOD rather than cooking stories for me! As everyone would accept, except a few (sorry Mr. Molecular foodies) that food necessarily sustains life, I mean that’s the purpose of it. Taking it to a new higher level does not necessarily solve the purpose what nature had envisioned for food but rather makes it to a super luxury and an experience to take back; which is very acceptable to me. Rather I do that myself all the time. Food has been holding a sacred place in all the cultures and traditions that I ever know, even religions for that matter. Thanks to the continuous efforts and experiments from all Chefs and Mothers worldwide that Food has eventually taken a form of art which we now address by the word “culinary”. I am no way trying to compare the Mothers to Chefs, I hold Mothers in high regards.
Gastronomy is another thing. It would essentially mean the art and practice of choosing, cooking and eating good food. Gastronomy is more of a social element to study. It will relate the people to food of a particular region. So, my journeys in time have taken me to and through a lot of gastronomies and eventually a lot of cooking and culinary. However, the very beginning of my getting introduced to food is quite an eventful tale.
I remember an occasion where a journalist (trust me, media plays a big glamorous role in this sector of being a Chef) once asked me “Chef, what is your first memory of food? (Another interesting fact here which I went to share is that no matter who knows your name or not, even if your company promotes first name culture, you always get addressed by “Chef”, that too with a CAPITAL C).
This question actually got me up and thinking before even giving a well-trained crap answer from my media manager. Anyway, I had done my practice well and gave a very media friendly diplomatic answer which I am sure made me sound like a born prodigy with a knife and apron! While in my mind I was still struggling with the answer. I went back to the memory of my first food still struggling to get what it was. Trust me, I knew that the first food what I had was surely my Mother’s milk but I could go nowhere near to recall how it must have tasted like. That brought me to the next phase where I had much clearer memories; the first thing that I remember clearly was a mashed apple which my mom used to give as an infant food. There it was my first memory of food – Mashed Apple! Wasn’t it just great? A fresh ripe plum apple carefully chosen and cooked till tender and soft in a pressure cooker, trapping all its flavors and aromas…oh, it was beautiful! Believe me, I do not remember anything else from those times but my pea sized brain well registered the taste, flavor and aroma of the simple apple mash.
Strange but I do not remember anywhere close to what a lot of packaged infant and baby food tasted like, which I am sure was fed to me as I saw my childhood pictures with the colorful baby food cans in them. All I related to my first memory of food was a mashed apple. Looking at the transition, the similar apple mash which as blissful to me then would not appeal me now! What will appeal me now is the same apple mash but with little cinnamon, caramelized sugar or hints of honey! I can already visualize apple pie somewhere! So what is this transition? Is it the education combined with experiences and training that my palate or taste buds have gone through with each passing day of my life? Maybe or maybe, it is just me. I am not very sure if my mom will still choose apple pie over a fresh apple, but then, you cannot compare again; like I said, the Mothers to the Chefs.
Since childhood, I had been quite choosy about food. Thanks to my generous upbringing and the fact that I was the only kid (read heir) in my entire family. I would usually get all what I wanted. I never wanted to have candies, chips or chocolates to a major extent. My demands were more to the visually tempting foods like a roast chicken, kebabs, street food and barbecues. I would just tell my mother that I want to eat something every now and then, not that I was always hungry or obese as a kid, just that I always needed something to tickle my taste buds, I used to call it “chatpata” (there are certain things you cannot explain in English, well, this is one of those). Sometimes my mom will toss this question back to me, “ok, tell me what exactly you you want me to cook?” I usually had no answers. When I would complain about the vegetables like Okra and bitter gourd or egg plants for that matter, my mom will take me to the vegetable store and ask me to choose what I wanted. But going to buy and choose vegetables with her was fun! I am sure I was a cute kid (or my mom was cute?) and that is why most of the vegetable vendors will give me a carrot or a tomato or a radish to munch on while she was happily bargaining for every penny’s worth. Sometimes, I used to think how would the poor chap survive and sustain his business after everyone bargains so much with him. Nevertheless, that was my first experience of raw vegetables and the sweetness of carrots and pungency of radishes is still fresh in my head.
Occasionally, I will get treated for the ice cream from the vendor in the old rickety bicycle. I still remember his face, I sometimes wonder of all the years of seeing him and he never used to get older. He was always the same old chap, even when I grow to a handsome teenager! I would not like the expensive cones but loved the iced lollies (orange, mango), or the make shift vanilla milk cones where the ice cream was skillfully arranged on top of a waffle cone with a rusted steel spoon by my ice cream uncle…we used to call it softy! That was my first ice cream memory! Then came the western companies with the live ice cream machines for the real soft serves. We will flock to the neighboring sweet shop for a more than double expensive cone, and I will always struggle to read the name on the machine called “carpigiani”. Now as a professional, I used this particular brand for making my ices and sorbets.
I grew up in New Delhi, India. It is a cultural melting pot as it is the capital city of India. I love the street side food from here. I have a very fond memory of the chaat from this place. We had this young guy from U.P. selling chat on a basket kept in his head and he would carry the earthen pot with spiced water covered with a bright red wet cloth shouting something which sounded like “gogaawaaaaaaeesss”. I still do not what he meant but it surely was a welcome cry! I loved his combinations with sweet sour tamarind and mint chutneys and little spices on the papri chaat with curd and golgappas (my mouth is watery again!). I do not say that his were the best of product but for a child, it was accessible and cheap. Until today, I cannot forget his signature mustache which looked like a captain’s mustache. I saw him after like ten years once and his mustache still hold firm and looks the same.
Another of my fond food memory is fresh fruits. There was this Bangladeshi fruit vendor who will sell bananas only. He will carry the banana basket on his head and shout “kele lelo..kele company!”, something will catch my attention as to why is he saying kele company (translated to branded bananas by some company). I do not know if he is influenced by the capitalism that he will try to tell everyone that his bananas are branded, or was it the sarcasm he is putting at the Capitalists? I was too young to judge that but surely I did think on this. He seemed like little crazy in the head at times but then who is sane enough. Eventually, he diversified his business from just bananas to mixed fruits. My parents in particular loved papayas for some reason. Sometimes, the point of bargain will shift from money to sweetness of the fruit! I used to wonder how this guy guarantees the sweetness of the fruit. I learnt about the artificial ripening process from this guy. He secretly showed me the small packet of carbide which he carried in his head basket to ripen fruits. First memory again!
There have been so many first memories in my life. First fish, first meat, first kiss, first accident in the kitchen, the very first perfect omelet for that matter.
Going forward to the first day at the culinary college, I was all dressed up in the Chef’s white with a strange funny looking apron and a tall hat. It was weird at first but then, when you see everyone like feels comfortable, like sauna, first you feel that only you are fat and people are staring at you, but after two minutes you realize that everyone else is fatter than you. It was the first session with our Chef Professor who seemed like a malnourished kitchen helper (no disrespect meant). It was about equipment identification and egg cookery. This was the first magical thing as I was here able to relate to the whys of cooking and see instant results like coagulation of proteins on application of heat and more. It was just wonderful.
There were so many firsts to come and I was so much looking forward to them. The culinary journey never ends. It is a constant road to quest. Live curious.
Signing off now, my kitchen is calling me now. Another journey tomorrow from the culinary school and beyond.
