In a previous tag, Usha had accused me of twisting things beyond recognition, and masochistically, then got me into this meme on table talk. Tells you something about women in general, as her husband might care to testify, if we could get his jaws unwired and surgically separate his tongue from the palate.
Now, bozos and bazookas, this is about as straight as I can talk. It doesn’t get easier or simpler than this. Be warned. Mind it!
What’s your favourite table?
My operating table, but that is where I make my bread and butter. That is different. Like how one of my old girlfriends used to have sex on her kitchen table. This gave a different twist, if not aroma, to food. I gave her up for her
awesome oweful table manners, believe me.
What would you have for your last supper?
If I am able to eat: Indian sweets, chocolate cake; if I cannot swallow but liquids, then Milkmaid.
What’s your poison?
Sugar. I have a strong addiction to it. It is only recently that I am controlling it. Rather like how Mr. Chidambaram is doing such a splendid job controlling our inflation with his poisons.
Name your three desert island ingredients.
Nicotine, wine, and chocolates.
All to be served by cheerleaders, or Kingfisher Airline hostesses. Do notice the class it took not to scream “I want Penthouse centerfolds” when it came to choosing.
What would you put in Room 101?
Cheerleaders carrying the above.
Which book gets you cooking?
What was your childhood teatime treat?
Nice biscuits. White bread, thickly layered with Amul butter and coated uniformly with sugar. This, future historians will attest, has affected my psyche on a permanent basis.
What was your most memorable meal?
Too many, and too painfully in the past to revisit. I, Indian accent in tow, have many fond mammaries of people I have shared dinner with.
What was your biggest food disaster?
Cooking an Italian dinner (lemon pasta, spaghetti carbonara, Moussaka-not Italian, really, etc.) for a group of elderly women (friends of a MIL) who, horrors, loved it to the extent that they invited themselves over for their next meeting! It almost led to a divorce, I tell you.
What’s the worst meal you’ve ever had?
I don’t eat what I don’t like. It is rather similar to how ladies don’t do it with men they don’t like. Except their husbands, of course. Husbands cannot be similarly accused, as we know.
Who’s your food hero/food villain?
For every man, it is his mother. For me, too, but if you think of a hero as a person who snatches the heroine in victory, then ME.
Nigella or Delia?
Do I need to eat them? Are they names of cheese? What exactly, I wonder, am I supposed to do with them?
Vegetarians: genius or madness?
Madness is an old cow-eaters’ disease. Vegetarians are genial asses. Ass far as generalisations go.
Fast food or fresh food?
Who would you most like to cook for?
(Background noises: “Liar! Flatterer!!”)
What would you cook to impress a date?
Starters: gnocchi, fried cheesy potatoes with Italian herbs, insalata caprese.
Soup: Cream of mushroom.
Entree: Fusilli with walnuts, Fettuccini Alfredo, mushroom risotto, roasted veal with olive, lemon and sage relish.
(Pun-lovers: try my take on pasta.)
Dessert: Walnut cake with butterscotch ice cream, double truffle chocolate cake.
Alcohol: mostly a variety of wines.
Make a wish.
And risk it coming true: are you normal-crazy or a Minister?