Family Recipe
by Harini Vansantharaj
The kitchen counters slowly begin to clutter as pots and pans eat up their surface area. There’s two of everything: two cutting boards, two sets of knives, and two women, as if this were the setup of a competitive cooking show. The newly purchased matching set from Costco rivals the traditional wooden spoons and stained equipment. An ageing notebook, with spice practically baked into its paper, lies safely away from the mess.
“I don’t know why you’re so stressed—the party isn’t for a couple of days.”
The girl, mid-twenties, with short hair, breaks Amma’s concentration as she repeats her statement even louder when she is met with silence the first time.
“It’ll be here sooner than you think. You need to learn how to cook.”
“Well, I think I still have time,” Thamarai says, finishing yet another sentence conversation between her and her mother.
The tomatoes cut so smoothly, Thamarai almost cuts her finger. Realizing they’re most likely from the garden out front, she begins to reminisce about Saturday mornings. About waking up to the loud hose as her father maintained their precious garden. She looked out the window to see him still watering the plants. Her parents were so dedicated to keeping their flowers pure; it’s a shame they ended up accidentally nurturing weeds as well.
Trying again, Thamarai speaks with a smile.
“Everyone is going to be so surprised with our dish. We’ll be the talk of the event; I don’t even think Mithy Aunty’s daughter has chopped tomatoes this finely.”
“Everyone will definitely be surprised, but not shocked; you remember how you acted at the last event with these people? Screaming at your father, angry about who knows what. Such a problem child.”
“Amma, that was over ten years ago.” She sighs. “You know, I don’t even know if I wanna go. I’m closer to your neighbours than my relatives.”
“It’s family. Everyone shows up.”
“I know, and I’m still coming. It’s just going to be hard facing everyone.”
“You know, I always dreamed of cooking for your big party.”
“Amma, you know we were never that big on that stuff. It was just easier this way.”
Amma then passes eight large bell peppers into her daughter’s hands and gestures to her to begin chopping.
“Hello? The recipe only calls for six. Are more people coming?”
“You need to eat more.”
The kitchen fills up with the crisp sounds of the knife hitting the board. The two fall in sync and the mouth-watering aroma can be tasted from outside the neighbourhood. Amma begins to relax until she sees Thamarai wipe her eyes.
“So dramatic. What did the onion do to you?” she jokes.
“It’s science. Onions are supposed to make you cry.”
“That just means you haven’t been cooking long enough. What is it? McDonald’s every day?”
Opening her mouth, Thamarai realizes there was nothing she could say. As much as she wished she didn’t, she misses home-cooked food.
“You need to start eating better. It’s not all about you anymore.”
Thamarai rolls her eyes and decides to move on to the next step until, for like the eighth time today, she gets a pang in her bladder. This is the most annoying part of this whole thing. Thamarai leaves the kitchen to rush up to the washroom. After washing her hands, she instinctively walks to her old room, only to be startled by her appa standing right in the centre of it.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, Thamaraj—I was just thinking about old times. So, outside the window and jump off the roof?”
“Ah no. If you walk a little to the left, you can slide down the gutter and then leave through the backyard.”
“I see, I see.”
“Well, I wouldn’t fit through there now,” she laughs dryly.
The silence in the air is reminiscent of the car earlier this morning. Appa had offered to pick her up and after some back and forth, Thamarai agreed. The route from here to Thamarai’s was around forty minutes. He said he would pick her up at 9 AM.
Thinking of the forty minutes, Thamari turns to him and says, “Thanks for picking me up.” But now she can’t stop thinking about how earlier this morning at 9:10, Thamarai thought he was late because he forgot her new address. And then at 9:30 she believed maybe he hadn’t. Zoning back into her bedroom, Thamarai is startled by her appa’s soft voice.
“Anytime Thamarai. And sorry for being late, I thought I was going to pick you up at the train station.”
“For a minute there, I thought you weren’t going to come.”
“I didn’t know you still needed rides.”
Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort she smiles. “The car makes me feel like I’m coming home from school.”
“Siennas are good for that. You guys still don’t have a car yet?”
“We’ll have to get one soon.”
“Get a Sienna. Ten years later and it’s still driving you around.”
“Okay. Well, it’s not like I could drive ten years ago.”
“I was happy to drive you around back then and because he doesn’t have a car, I wanted to drive you now.”
“I told Amma I could’ve taken the train.”
Thamarai tries to calm down. She looks into her appa’s eyes. All she could see were the drawers she took money from, the nights he had stayed awake waiting for her, and the forty-minute ride he was still so willing to give her.
“But still, thanks for the ride.”
“Why did you think I wasn’t going to come?”
“I mean, you were late.”
“We are always there for you. You are the one who doesn’t show up.”
“I like taking the train! I get to sit and listen to music and—”
“Thamarai, can you please just stop? I always wanted to drive you.”
“You wanted to know where I was, where I was going, who I was with.”
“You chose to leave from your own room window over asking me to drop you. We just wanted to help you, Kanna.”
“Appa…”
“No, it’s okay. Go back downstairs. I think Amma needs help”
Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen, Thamarai looks to Amma vigorously cutting vegetables. After her talk with Appa, she is determined to finish the dish. The smell of the ingredients simmering comforts her. These dishes take hours, but they are worth it.
Amma begins to relax until out of the corner of her eye, she sees Thamarai pour two cans of coconut milk instead of one. She immediately scolds,
“Thamarai! What about your appa’s blood pressure? Now he can only have half as much.”
“Sorry, ‘ma. I didn't think. It’s just, not everyone likes it spicy.”
“We always make it like this and I have never received any complaints from someone who couldn’t handle it.”
“Well, this time, not everyone likes it spicy.”
“Everyone loved my curry before. What changes this time?”
“It’s family, ‘ma. Everyone shows up.”
Thamarai reaches to continue stirring the milk, but Amma raises her voice. “You’re watering down my recipe!”
“Maybe the recipe needed to change. Not everyone was raised in India where you were only allowed to eat spicy curry. It’s different here.”
As if the bitterness from the words is contagious, a sharp smell drifts from one of the pans. Thamarai immediately notices it’s from hers and tries to save the sautéing peppers and onions, but it’s too late. They're burned.
The burning smell is so pungent, Thamarai starts to cough. She looks over to see Amma’s eyes watering.
“Seriously? I thought you were too much of a pro to cry from onions.”
“Everyone is going to be so disappointed.”
Thamarai sighs. “I know I’m not the best cook, ‘ma, but everyone’s still going to eat it, right?”
Amma reaches for a tissue. She loved onions, but why did they have to make her cry every single time they met.
Speaking louder this time, Thamaraj repeats, “Amma, everyone is still going to love it, right?”
“Your appa won't.”
Thamarai and Amma sit in the uncomfortable silence. While packing up her bag, Thamaraj mumbles,
“I don’t care anymore.”
Thamarai wraps up her knives in a towel and puts them in her bag. Thinking out loud, she whispers,
“Thanks for trying, with the garden and the rides and the dinners that took hours to make.”
She packs up the curry that Amma wouldn’t want anyway. “Michael will love it.”
Stepping out the door, she instinctively checks behind the flower pot. No key. She lost her way back inside. Wiping a tear, she remembers Michael's words when they first met, “not ruined, just different.” She puts her hand on her stomach.
“It’ll be our family recipe.”