Under Pressure

If there’s a sound that catapults me back to childhood, it’s the rattle of a pressure cooker. I would watch in awe as the star soloist in my mother's kitchen ballet performed. A silver nozzle engaged in dizzy pirouettes, swirling maniacally, until a whistle marked its aromatic finale. Out came other worldly meals: fluffy pulao, silken dal, and potatoes, gracefully bordering steamy and soft.

Intimidated (who isn't petrified of prying it open a few milliseconds too soon, only to face an eruption that would probably put that volcano in Iceland to shame?) I never envisioned possessing a stainless steel gadget of my own, until I was provided one by my mother-in-law last fall, a warm nudge encouraging me to replicate the gastronomical traditions of Gujarat, the northwestern Indian state that both our families call home. It sat in the desolate corner of a cabinet for months, as I airily assured myself that there would always be time to go the languid, slow boil route. But watching lentils cook is right up there in the entertainment category with paint drying, and I soon relented.

I’d like to think I’m solely upholding heritage but my reasons for perusing the vessel are far more utilitarian: it whittles down an otherwise sluggish ordeal, docks dollars off the energy bill and hardly takes up real estate in my microscopic, metropolitan kitchen. Vinod, as I have not-so-creatively christened my cooker, thanks to the letters emblazoned across his shiny midsection, marks my first--albeit, reluctant--foray into the world of Indian cooking. We'll see where I go with it. For the moment, I face a looming graduation date, a myriad of half-written job applications, a dreary employment market and the occasional bout of homesickness. When it all gets a little overwhelming, I am comforted by the fact that a fragrant, hot meal is just a few screeching whistles away. So along with my cooker, I blow off some steam.

This post is dedicated to my friend, Sima Thakkar, who just launched a brave new website for those who approach tradition with a healthy dose of trepidation, just like me.