Desi Sloppy Joe Or Paav-Bhaji

Very early on in our marriage,  I learnt that A was a huge fan of Western Indian cuisine - a consequence, he explained, of having lived there for a big chunk of his "after-school-life".

Very early on in my role as a mother, I learnt that Anya won't try A's favorite Paav-Bhaaji unless I could convince her (or  SHE could convince herself) that her 'non-Indian' classmates also ate the same thing. 

This is how the "Indian Sloppy Joe" came into existence in my house.  And believe it or not, it was actually Anya who coined the term.  She must've been in preschool when at sleep-time one day she excitedly told me that her classmate had brought a Sloppy Joe for lunch.

What's in a name? Gajrela or Gajar-ka-Halwa

The carrots back in India were a bright-red color, very tender and as juicy as can be. They appeared in the markets every year in mid-November, gave way to purple carrots around early March before disappearing altogether till next winter.  My mom was a huge fan of gajar-matar ki sabzi (which my dad and I wouldn't even look at). The two of us (my dad and I) could munch on kilos of raw carrots, everyday, for as long as they were available; much to the amusement of my mom.  My brother held the fort for carrot-haters in my family.  But we all came together and were united in our liking for the dessert made out of carrots; called Gajar-ka-Halwa; or Gajrela, as it was known in the Punjabi families around us.   Between the four of us, we probably bought a kilo of gajar (carrots) everyday, for the entire season. And as far as I can remember, we were never out of gajar-ka-halwa for as long you could buy carrots at a reasonable price.

With Love from Mexico

This post has been just as jinxed as the trip itself.

I was so excited about our trip to Cancun last year, that when it fell apart by my sudden illness, I took it as an omen to not plan anything so far out in advance. Except that it was pretty hard to ignore the financial loss that we accrued. A fought a bit, but in the end the airlines gave us a partial credit for a future vacation.  Despite that,  we (I) couldn't muster up enough courage to plan an extended overseas trip for almost a year.  Then one day, out of the blue, A mentioned that our vacation credit was about to expire (he does this all the time, I swear, because he gets that perverse pleasure from seeing me freak out about finances). Then he sat back and watched (and smirked) while I planned this trip in a frenzy.