Mood: Aggravated. I hate when stuff disappears
Listening to: Deewane Dil Ko Jaane Na – Alka Yagnik and Sonu Nigam
My western audience (I know, laugh it up, but leave me to my delusions of having an audience) may be thinking that I am talking about pickles. The green cucumber sticks brined in dill, spices and salt for a while. While I do like the occasional pickle, this is not what I’m referring to.
What I’m talkin about is Indian pickle. It’s made up of a vegetable (my favorites are green mango and tomato, but not together), a metric ton of salt and chili powder, oil and a few spices. It is a red chunky paste that looks like this in a bottle, since I couldn't find any on a plate:
Priya isn’t the only brand, but it’s one I like. For a western palate, pickle takes quite some getting used to. I had my first taste back when Daddy G and I were dating and I hated it. Slowly over the years, I have become a huge fan of pickle. If you want to try it, go very, very slowly.
Mostly, I eat pickle with upma. Upma is cream of wheat cooked with carrots, peas, a few spices and cashews, if you’re kinky like that. I could quite possibly eat upma and pickle every single day. Not every meal, but still. My housekeeper makes it and she nails it every time.
I dump so much of that stuff in my upma, I’ve been asked by more than one Indian:
“Um… do you know what that is? You do. Okay. Are you sure you wanted that much? You are. Um, can I get you an antacid?”
No thanks, I’m enjoying. And I’ve never gotten indigestion from pickle either. All that salt and chili kills any errant bacteria.