Feeling smug. Made papaya jam this morning. In all the morning chaos before heading to work. And papaya achar, yes, achar, y’day morning at 7am. Pretty pleased with the results too.
All thanks to a persistent 3 yr old who’s been pestering me non-stop since he plucked a chotu raw papaya.
“Mumma, i want to eat this”. It’s raw baby. You cant eat it.
“Iska sanji banao na”. Iska sabji bhi nahi banta hai
“Fir kya banta hai. Make pickle na”. No sona, papaya ka pickle nahi banta…
He sulks, puts it in his bag and carries it home.
“Mumma, chalo iska pickle banate hain” – in the most enthusiastic persuasive tone, just the way I do when I try to coax him into doing something.
Repeat above 10 times.
He washes it. Then he goes to the maid. “K aunty, iska pickle banao na”. And they start off in their own version of Marathi, she explaining to him that its not done.
Then I start saying I’d love to, but I dont know how. “Dont worry Mumma. Mujhe aata hai. Mein tumko batata hun”. He creates a recipe. “Wash karo. Cut karo. Pickle masala dalo. Ready.” Huh! Where’d that come from!
Recite recipe 10 times.
I tell him it’s late, time to sleep, we’ll do it tomorrow.
The brat who has to be shaken awake at 8 just in time for school, wakes up by himself at 7am and saunters into the kitchen sleepily rubbing his eyes. I’m making chai. He takes his papaya and climbs up on the counter. Tells me to get some water to soak it. What for I ask him. “To make papaya achar”.
And that’s when I gave in.
I call up my ready reckoner for recipes – my Mom. But ***gasp** she’s clueless. So we decide to go with the brat’s recipe.
Chopped up half the papaya. Threw in the usual suspects – salt, mirchi, nimboo, saunf, mustard, er “sab masala” as he calls it, and shook it together. Set in it in the sun the whole day. And wala.. in the evening we actually had a yummy papaya achar ready.
Sheesh. I’m now getting cooking lessons from my son.
Similarly make papaya jam with instructions from son.
That’s what Mommy Days are made of