Thursday morning started like any other Thursday morning. Moreover, it ended like any other Thursday morning as well. However, Thursday evening... now that's the story I want to tell. U had cramps in her leg and had limped in to work. She was about to limp back home in the evening, when Y suggested we go over to her house and help her with dinner. U's leg must've been really hurting bad because she's didn't bat an eyelid and said, "Yes!"
So, Y, N and me descended on her house discussing plans for the night's dinner. U's kids were rightly horrified when they came to know that the night's dinner was dependent on our culinary skills. We quickly settled on a menu of
French toast(N),
Spanish Omelette(me and Y) and
Maggi(everybody). U, I think, got a glimpse of the things about to take place, and she hastily added
Tomato rice to the list, and volunteered for dinner duty as well!
U's son was made to run about for the eggs, cheese, bread and Maggi, while Y chopped tomatoes and I got the easiest task of chopping up onions. Now, I love making omelettes. There's something about the smell of eggs frying on a well-oiled frying pan, which feels erotic to my taste buds. So, obviously, I did a good job of chopping up the onions! The eggs arrived and N got busy with the French toast. "Add some milk," "beat the eggs faster, more vigorously," "the frothier, the better is the batter," "add some salt," "dip the whole bread," "no! chop it up in four pieces and then dip it." Finally, my rumbling stomach got to taste the exotic creation. What do you know! It tasted good. So, obviously, now expectations from my culinary skills went up.
Well, once I got the eggs, and tomatoes, grated cheese, onions, and chopped up green chilies, I bravely went and walked up the aisle. It was like being asked to walk off the plank of a pirate ship! U was standing behind me like Captain Hook, waiting to see when I would blow up her kitchen. The beaten eggs slid out of the bowl and into the pan, sputtering as they hardened to the warm caress of the oil. The tomatoes and onions rolled into the bed of soft eggs, in flirtatious foreplay. The grated cheese melted around the green chilies, drowning them in lusty juices of milky white. The omelettes definitely looked orgasmic. If Y had not interrupted me, I would have finished it right off the frying pan. The moment I got it out of the pan, N stole half of it, put it between two bread slices, and walked around the house saying, "not bad for an amateur!" Amateur! Me? What nerve!
Anyway, then Y had her go at the omelette, which looked more like Spanish scrambled eggs by the time it was off the pan. She said she was making scrambled eggs from the start, but I told her what I believed, and as a result was not allowed to touch a teeny-weeny morsel of the very delicious looking dish. After, this entire hullabaloo, Maggi was child's play. We added all the remaining vegetables and cheese too, and it turned out to be the best instant noodles I have eaten in a long time.
U's tomato rice was out of the world. V and P turned up too. P kept U's daughter busy, playing chess with her, while the U's son just couldn't take it any more and ran out of the house to play with friends. V made some heavenly coffee afterwards. We chatted until 1 a.m. afterwards, mostly about Y'’s impending marriage and my non-existent one. And everybody had oodles of noodles to eat. I had to walk Y home after that, but even that was a small price to pay for such a perfect evening. I said out loud, "We must do this again sometime," before we left. But I doubt U shares my enthusiasm! Miraculously, the cramps in her leg cured themselves overnight and she was a-ok the next day. I think it was my omelette that did the trick!
