Thursday, March 22, 2012

Food with love...

I was having a conversation with a stranger in the train on my way to home in weekend. She was a management trainee with a reputed bank. We were discussing about food and then topic turned to the quality and taste of food, and how she hated to eat each day at the same place. I told her about my experiments with the food and my life at hostel in Pune.

And once I got down at station and reached home, I was chewing this topic for a while. Over dinner my mom gave me simplest dish ever possible I guess other than maggi, buttermilk with some spices and simple wheat bread.

What was in that made it taste great, and over the year never make me tired to eat it? After a thoughtful time with this thought, I have discovered that it taste good because she make it with all her heart. A mother when cooks, puts her heart in to the cooking, an outside thought, anger never reaches her hands which makes food.

If you ever feel the taste of the food is not good, something missing in taste than it’s possible that there is something which is troubling our mom. And that’s the indication which tells us, go and speak to her. Comfort her. I have been noticing this over past few years that taste in the food is unchanged, but never made me bore to eat it. And on rare occasion I found something missing in it, and when I did found missing, I knew she was worried because of reasons, like me going to hostel or some house matters troubling her, but apart from that, her love which flowed in food made it taste of the life.

It’s not just the taste at home by mom, but if you notice in outside food even it play an important part. I know a street vendor who sells such items, and he always wears a smile and cooks with the enthu and care for people coming to eat. And one day he was irritated and that reflected in the taste of food. I am sure, things we do with love; care always finds its way to tell the person that it’s made with care and love.

It always leaves an impression, and it makes us believe even objects pass on the feelings, though without words but they speak.

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