Rajendram - SHAMS KITCHEN : a perfect 10

Shams Kitchen

A Perfect 10

By Priyanka Rajendram

Edited and photographed by

Jax Jiaxin

Copyright 2014 Priyanka Rajendram. All rights reserved.

ISBN

978-1-4828-2933-4 (sc)

978-1-4828-2934-1 (e)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/singapore

12/09/2014

CONTENTS

This book is dedicated to my father and brot hers,

friends and fa mily.

And of course, t o Ma.

This is your le gacy.

FOREWORD

Of all the writing assignments that have been given to me in the past, contributing the foreword for this book has by far been the most pleasurable for me. It is the ultimate coming-of-age story of my family, as seen through the eyes of my daughter. Though thinly veiled as a cookbook featuring some favourite recipes from my wife, the book actually charts my daughters journey of self-realisation through the various stages of her life, and finally culminates in a very touching mother-daughter bonding moment. That she has chosen the occasion of my wifes sixtieth birthday to publish this story is a wonderful testament of her selfless and filial nature. Priyanka, you are the best!

Dr Siva Rajen dram

Husband & Fa ther

I like to say it would be a waste of my existence as my mothers daughter if I didnt learn to cook like her. Also, like my mother, I derive immense joy and satisfaction from feeding and hosting loved ones at the dinner table. So here I am on this quest to learn and document my mothers signature dishes, and I begin with my favourite dish, a delectable prawn sambal. Follow the steps carefully and imagine a matronly Indian lady hovering close by and reminding you quite loudly to BE PATIENT! and CLEAN UP YOUR MESS STRAIGHT AWAY!.

It has been four years since I first came up with the idea for this book. It took me three months to write and that writing happened just recently. For the longest time, I found it difficult to actually sit down and do this. I wasnt ready to be honest with myself. The essence of this book and what it represents was initially rather nebulous. The idea sounded good in my head; more than anything, it would be a nice way to honour my mother and surprise her on her 60 th birthday in a thoughtful way. However, while that had been my primary intention, I felt that something was amiss. So I hesitated for a few years, and blamed my mother (as many daughters do) for not opening up or engaging in conversation with me when I tried, but, really, I was the one who gav e up.

Truth is, the words came a little easier when I realised this was not just about my mother. It was also about me as her daughter, and about the kind of relationship I wanted for us. And for that to happen, at least one of us had to open up first. Well, thats easier said than done. Being honest with her (and myself) was like jumping off a cliff into a new dimension and was initially very uncomfortable and extremely awkward, to say the least. Our worlds and ways of being are so different, after all. This book is only the beginning of a wholly different perspective of the same relationship I have with this woman who is both remarkable and flawed, who birthed and raised me. I am eternally grateful to her, whatever our differences. I also hope for this book to jumpstart my mothers career as a culinary teacher should she feel compelled to, and should the readers demand as such.

Dearest reader, I invite you to take this journey with me as mother or daughter, father or son. I hope you will be able to share in the moments of awkwardness and wonderment as you make and share these ten dishes that will always remind me of home, and enjoy the little anecdotes that accompany each dish.

As it turns out, my mum can be pretty damn awe some.

FIERY PRAWN SAMBAL

Ingredi ents:

1kg fresh pr awns

6 big onions sl iced

3 cloves of garlic finely cho pped

1/2 stalk curry le aves

1/2 tsp cumin po wder

Brown sugar to t aste

Salt to t aste

Mari nade:

3 tsp chilli po wder

1 tsp turmeric po wder

Me thod

1. Mix prawns with marinade. Refrigerate for 4 h ours.
2. Heat oil then fry the garlic until frag rant.
3. Add onions and fry this will take a long time. BE PATIENT! It can take up to a half- hour.
4. When onions are golden brown, add a little salt.
5. Add marinated prawns and stir until no gravy rem ains.
6. Add curry leaves. Continue to mix well.
7. Add the cumin powder and brown sugar. Mix well and s erve.
8. CLEAN UP YOUR MESS!

I must have re-written this one about a thousand times. I just couldnt pen down my thoughts and feelings satisfactorily to do this experience justice. Here goes an yway:

Chicken c urry,

forever a memory of love,

a childhood dish prepared by a hero ine

who, I realise in adult hood,

I hardly know.

Can you see how Im stirring the chi cken?

Mustnt be hard, be soft when you stir.

How ironic, this coming from my mummy dea rest;

she emphasises the need for cleanlin ess

and recounts tales of her own mothers discipline and strug gles.

With an unwavering sense of justice and princ iple,

she firmly holds on to the wooden sp oon

as she stirs the pot gently, loyally, generously, kindly, patien tly

with a heart of gold, from a place of love.

I can only hope the apple doesnt fall far from the tree.

Why are you asking me all this?

I dont want to talk any more.

Her knee-jerk answers to years of questi ons

would usually put me off altogether, but this t ime

I push on with a vision of love and laug hter.

Tell me mummy, who did you want t o be?

A lawyer, she says,

a childhood dream, but

alas, that couldn t be;

it didnt come for free.

I was surprised and mortif ied

at my own ignorance and ap athy.

For twenty-seven ye ars

I was b lind;

I never knew this about my m ummy.

But why not? Why stop?

Responsibility, she says, to her own mot her

and the rest of her fa mily.

On her should ers

she rested the weight of the w orld.

How does an eighteen-year-old girl become that way?

How did she develop that ethos, I wo nder.

She replies so ftly,

fo ndly,

My fa ther.

A loved one lost when she was just thirt een

reshaped her world for ever.

She now lives, with her emotions a side,

with the strength of a pho enix,

a part of her always that little girl.

Do you miss him? I ask.

She hesit ates,

continues stirring the pot,

while cutting, washing, talking, observi ng

always the multi-ta sker.

Wouldnt you?

she says with a hint of sad ness.