Cocktail Experiments

I have been on and off experimenting with cocktails since last year. Thanks to friends who introduced me to the world of Vesuvio on Santacon Day in San Francisco. After hours of waiting outside Vesuvio (only the awesomest pub in SFO) and literally making my way through a mob of crowd much like we do in an extremely crowded bus, we found ourselves a small spot at the end of the bar with every table filled both in and out. My friends being gentlemen obviously gave the only seat available to the lady and surrounded me in a semi-circle. We started to order our drinks.It then struck me that me and K were only experimenting with beers that cocktails never crossed my mind.

I have heard from a lot of my friends that cocktails are pretty good for evenings and not to forget “Sex and the City”. I read up the menu and spotted a particularly interesting drink named “Jack Kerouac”. I told myself this was probably SF’s way of thanking the progenitor behind the hippie movement that originated in and around San Francisco. I ordered the drink – I honestly don’t remember what was in the drink except I kept drinking it a lot. And then it started – this curiosity to experiment with different kinds of spirits.

Last year I made a cocktail and named it Fraulein Maria. This year — K was fixing somethings at home and there was a lot of hardwork and sun involved. Unfortunately there wasn’t any beer at home for him to keep cool. So I decided to make him a summery cocktail. He normally would never drink anything girly but this new cocktail concoction of mine is as girly as can be but with surprisingly neutral flavours!

So what am I going to name this pretty drink? Pink Pearl – because the color reminds me so much of a delicate pink pearl.

Pink Pearl

0.75 oz – Tanqueray London Dry Gin

0.5 oz – Jose Cuervo especial tequila

0.5 oz – Triple sec

A splash – Lime concentrate

0.5 oz – Raspberry Lemonade

A thin peel of Navel Orange

Racist Trash

* I am not trying to generalize my opinion about all Americans. I still know people from different diversities here in the US. And there are a lot more nicer people that I have come across than two racist people mentioned in this post. All I can say is to everyone, when you see injustice staring you in your face, please stand up. Even if it is not happening to you. You could be saving lives by doing the right thing.

It has happened. The day I dreaded for so long. The day I was abused by two racist people here in the US.

Before coming to the US, I was afraid. Scared to be victim of a racial challenge that has been a perpetual event in this country of freedom and opportunity until today when I was asked to shut up from speaking my mother tongue and hide my proud identity. Why? Because I’m not English. Because I have brown skin. Because I speak one of the oldest languages in the world.

Until this very day, I knew there was a black-white divide in this country (and before all you other countries start to talk, we all know it exists in every society and at every level… we are specifically referring to Racists here) but never knew why so many African-Americans got furious for everything from petty things to gigantically immoral things. And now I know why. It is such a big deal. You just don’t realize it until it hits you in your face. All along, I was angry that the African- American community here in the US are abused verbally racially to the point where it has become a cry neglected and ignored by crass trashy racists. Now I am pissed.

Me and a bunch of my relatives were partying. It was like any other day at home. Good food and wine. At around midnight, me and my cousins wanted to get some food. We hit iHop – the typical 24 hour American fast food known for its round-the-clock breakfast menus when a trashy couple sat in a table next to us. After a couple of minutes, the man from that table walked over to ours asking us to keep it down with a ton of attitude (NO. I’m not exaggerating). That’s fine. We are civil people too and if you thought we were loud, we’ll for sure keep it down so all of us can be happy at the end of the day. We apologized despite the guy’s attitude and went on chewing through our dinner when the woman spoke of things I have only seen in movies.

“You come to our country and you talk what we talk,OK. You people can’t talk whatever shit language no one even cares about here.”

And the racist comments continued.

Was that really necessary? My blood was boiling and I could not eat anymore. I stopped right there when my cousin decided it was time we all stopped taking crap and gave them an ear load to think about which did not really stop them from talking junk. They moved to another table. The waitresses at iHop could not stand up for what was staring them and every other person in that restaurant today.

Why should we keep quiet? Why should I not travel wherever I want and live wherever I want? Why should we let them talk their racist trash and just go about doing everything like it doesn’t matter? Who is to tell me I can’t be who I am in a land that was supposed to be the land of freedom and opportunity.

I wrote a long time back that I had changed my opinion of the United States. I still stand by it. I love this country. But my hatred for the racist trash that lives here continues and so will the fight. After all, what goes around will come around.

To all my Indian ancestors

Thank you for setting all the wrong examples in the world by being and achieving things that I can in very simple language describe as “pain in my a**”. When I think of all the delicious home made goodies (sweets and savory), I can literally feel all sorts of emotion bursting through my mind and mouth. The feel of seedai crumbling inside the mouth, the smell of oil and ghee wafting through the air after a day’s bakshanam made for Diwali every single year, the clinging and clanging of tongs and the iron kadai… every bit of it is enough to drive people away from home crazy. 

In the sudden realization that I would have to do the same for my future, I told myself that I should start learning all this right away so I can pass on all the inherited way-better-than Grand Sweets recipes to the future bloodline. Using the Sevai Naazhi I borrowed from my dear aunt in hopes of a bakshanam-ful Diwali last year, I got the recipe from my mom and set up all that I needed to make a simple Mul Thenkuzhal.

After making the dough using butter, salt, jeera, hing and water, the food genius that I am started to work the naazhi to churn out professional looking Thenkuzhal. All I can say is, “Bleddy”. Who the heck invented naazhi and who on earth had all the patience in the world to invent recipes for bakshanams. I chose to use the traditional naazhi, the one that is T-shaped with the upper block of steel pressing the dough down the star-shaped disc. Why? Because I was told that this would be the easiest. “Bleddy” all of you. The end result is good alright. Infact I never thought I could have ever made anything like this with my own hands, but was it worth the pain and hard work? I don’t know. Really.

Working the naazhi requires iron hands. The kind that is a 1000 times stronger than the block of stainless steel used to push the dough. After quite sometime, I decided to use some more water to soften the dough. That actually worked in making mul thenkuzhal just like the pros all round and disciplined. Even after an entire blogpost, I cannot get out of my mind the pain I endured and how much my hand hurts as I press this post.