Anyway, she eyes the daal makhni suspiciously.
‘What’s this?’
‘Mung bean soup with a dollop of Vermont Creamery butter.’
‘Really? Which recipe?’ (She’s into online recipes these days and doesn’t trust my laissez faire cooking.)
‘Oh, you wouldn’t know…. it’s by, um, Nina Chadd.’
‘Who is Nina Chadd? I want to look her up.’
‘Later. Finish eating first.’ [Ignores me and pulls up laptop.]
‘There’s no one by that name.’
‘Finish eating. I’ll show you later.’
‘And this I suppose is your ‘thousand-layer flatbread’?’
‘Correct. Today it’s only 999 layers.’
Thousand-layer bread is a name I’ve cogged from Burmese cuisine for paratha, having discovered that the more elaborately descriptive you make the Indian name, the easier it is to sell to Americans. They like to know the inside story, and the more details and emphasis, the better. So not paratha – thousand-layer bread. Not palak paneer — soft white cottage cheese in pureed spinach. Just chai won’t cut it. Chai tea latte.
Anyway, she finishes eating ‘mung bean soup’ and declares it was ‘ossom’.
‘Now show me the recipe by Nina Chadd.’
I move a safe distance away from her and tell her, ‘Open anagram maker.’
‘Why?’
‘Put in Chidanand in the anagram maker. You’ll find Nina Chadd.’
I bolt before she could throw the laptop at me.
P.S. A couple of days later, dinner is tandoori salmon and french fries, and I’m grumbling about the salmon not being up to scratch.
Princess, snarkily: ‘Looks like Miss Nina Chadd was not at her best?’
****
We gave Santa a miss this year after kids gave him an earful last year about collapsing Arctic glaciers, melting ice caps, dying polar bears and other climate change issues – not to mention his riding around on a one-horse open sleigh and sliding down chimneys dispensing cheap Made-in-China gifts. They are up to speed on trade wars now and only want Made in America or Made in India – and that’s a tough ask.
Thanks — or no thanks — to early access to devices, Google Uncle, Alexa Aunty etc, the Age of Innocence has now advanced to around six years. At 7, all bets are off. They now discuss why Santa is overweight, why he’s always white, why there isn’t a female Santa (Santi?)….
Not yet 10, Princess wants to know the calorific value of all desserts. Not that it stops her from devouring any and all sweets that come her way. We’ll wait for weight issues to surface in a few years.
****
It was a weepy, miserable day, so cold and icy, with freezing rain, that the county issued a winter weather advisory announcing a 2-hour delay in school opening. ‘Woo-hoo! Y’all can sleep in late tomorrow! Late school!’ I tell the troopers, relieved that we won’t have to deploy the wild horses needed to haul them out of bed on normal days.
So, what do they do in the morning?
THEY PROMPTLY WAKE UP AT THE CRACK OF DAWN.
****
Last day of school before Christmas holidays. His Lordship, 7, wants to hang out with friends because he won’t see them for ‘ten forever days’. It’s butt-freezing cold, and dadsky, whose tropical blood is congealing, wants to be home by the fireplace.
‘Dude, let’s go. It’s cold.’
‘Dad, five minutes!’
‘Brrrr…. ok, five minutes’
[15 minutes later]
‘Dude, time to go.’
‘Dad, one more five minutes.’
‘You’ve already had three five minutes.’
‘No dad, it has only been two five minutes.’
‘No, you had three five minutes now and two five minutes before that. That’s a total of five five minutes.’
‘Okay, dad. How about one ten minutes then?’
P.S. I remembered only later that December 22 is Mathematics Day.
