The wife decides that we don’t eat at home enough, and so we’re going to cook for ourselves today.

Me: “Do you really want to cook? Can’t we just order pizza?”
Wife: “No! I’m going to cook, and you’re going to help me.”
Me: “Are you sure?”
Wife: “Of course. What could possibly go wrong?”

And so, according to the commander-in-chief’s orders, we get started. The wife decides that we are going to make “Vegetable Hydrabadi Biryani“. That’s because that is the first recipe in the “Cooking for Dummies” book.

Wife: “OK, it says here that we need to ‘cut into fine pieces onions, tomatoes and some capsicum‘. You can start with the cutting, while I start boiling water.”

“I’m just slave labor. This should be illegal.” I mumble under my breath.
“What did you just say?” the wife asks suspiciously.
“Nothing, I said the boiled water smells delicious!” I say with some sarcasm. The wife gives me a fleeting ‘THE LOOK’.

I get to the cutting. My first victim is going to be a tomato. This is my first close encounter with a whole tomato. I have a knife, and the poor tomato is going to feel the pointy end of it. I’m fantasizing - All the tomatoes come to life and run screaming all over the place when Aditya The Monster comes with the knife. The thought of tomatoes running wildly through the kitchen makes me smile.

“What’s so funny?” the wife asks.
All the tomatoes stop running and fall back on the table.
“Nothing” I say, and my thoughts move in a different direction.

“How does one cut a tomato? Does it have seeds that you need to take out? Do you first need to take the skin off the tomato? You have to do that for potatoes, no?…”

I’m holding the tomato in my hand and poking it with the tip of the knife to see if it really has a peal-able skin. The wife notices, and trying to help, says:

“You cut it into half, and then into smaller pieces”
“Yeah, I knew that!” I say haughtily. I’m embarrassed, but don’t want to admit it. I proceed silently to cut the tomatoes.

“The book says ‘Add all the vegetables into the boiling water with some garam masala’” says my wife. She takes all the vegetables I’ve cut and puts them into the vessel. Just then, her phone rings. She picks it up, and on her way out yells: “There’s a new pack of garam masala over there. Add it into the vessel.”

I cut open the new pack of garam masala. How much is “some garam masala“, exactly? I know that garam masala tastes good, so we need plenty of it. And besides, if they sell it in packs, that probably means I need to add the whole pack. That’s what we do with maggie.

Impressed with my own logical deduction skills, I pour the whole pack into the boiling water. The wife is still chatting on the phone.

What followed seemed like special effects from a big-budget hollywood movie. The whole solution turned grey at first, and then slowly into black. The vegetables on the surface started sinking, showing themselves on the surface briefly before being consumed by the black liquid. It looked like they were getting sucked into a black hole at the center. It was now looking like an active volcano, the kind you see on national geographic. Black, boiling lava, ready to explode into a geyser that will blow my preciously cut tomatoes to the ceiling.

“How’s it coming?” the wife yells from the drawing room, still on the phone.
“It’s coming along nicely”, I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice.
“Don’t screw it up!” She yells, laughs, and proceeds to boast to her friend on the phone how she’s making me work.
“Do you think I’m so stupid that I can’t even make simple biryani?” I yell back.

But the damage had already been done. My beautiful hydrabadi biryani was looking like an evil potion brewed by the witches. I had to do some damage control.

To be continued…
[Update: Second part is here]

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