Fire In My Plate

“There is something wrong with this chicken curry,” declared my brother-in-law.

I glanced up from my plate with some difficulty. My ears, you see, were burning. And I am pretty sure there was smoke emerging from my nose.

“Huh?”

“I said there’s something wrong. It doesn’t taste quite right.”

R and I were at his parents’, and my brother-in-law, who is utterly fond of cooking, had prepared a delicious chicken curry for us. He had paired it with fluffy rice. The curry tasted amazing, and I, tired out after the long drive from the airport, ate large mouthfuls before the problem became apparent. At R’s place, they always serve us food on the same plate: a gesture thought to promote love. I gave R a sideways glance; he was gulping down glass after glass of chilled water.

“I have got it!” my brother-in-law clapped his hands in a Eureka moment.

“What is it?” I asked weakly.

“There isn’t enough chilly in this! It is not as spicy as it should have been!”

The pupils of my eyes dilated. I shook my head to dissipate some of the smoke. Of course, it wasn’t spicy enough. After all, I didn’t look quite like a dragon yet, smoking up the place in entirety, and there remained a bottle or so in the fridge that hadn’t been emptied.

“Exactly!” agreed my sixteen-year-old niece. “It should have been spicier.”

R and I continued eating without comment, liberally drinking water, and reassuring the man that his curry was delightful. Fiery, feisty and uh, flavourful.

At R’s place, they adore spicy food. Green chillies? Of course. Pepper? Bring it on. Red chillies? You bet. Add to that a generous dash of red chilly powder—the regular one as well as the Kashmiri one—and what have you. Presumably, R enjoyed all the hotness too until his palate adapted to the milder flavours of the kitchen we have built together.

Whenever we visit his parents, I enjoy the assortment of foods that welcomes us; my MIL is fond of cooking too and is never satisfied until there are at least six accompaniments to every meal. I enjoy the distinctive taste of Bihari cuisine—in some ways similar to Bengali food, and yet dissimilar in subtle ways. It is just the fire that unsettles me, taking over my giant plate and threatening my innards with the sheer force of heat. I find it difficult to control the fire. Instead, I control my portions.

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I am taking up the April #AtoZChallenge 2019 and will post every day of the month, except Sundays. I look forward to your company!

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