How easily the mind forgets, before I left Panjim I squeezed in a cookery course ran by a local woman called Brancana. I was to meet her at the Detriot Institute (a grotty little shop front, that was easily missed, that had once been used for giving lessons in Portugese and now served as her internet 'hub') and from there we were going to go to her house. I arrived promptly at 12 noon as requested and she swiftly locked up the Institute and I was informed to 'follow me'. She nipped in and out of the traffic and back streets of the Fountanhas in a manner that I could only help but feel she was trying to give me the slip. It was at this point she started to break into a trot and started weaving nimbly through, what felt like peoples back gardens, I struggled to keep up and when she eventually relented her pace and came to a stop she informed me that they were doing gas works nearby and she wasn't for hanging around.
So we arrived at her 'Heritage Home' (which is just there way of saying old, crumbling, musty smelling building) and she sat me down in front of her two large shrines of Mary and Christ next to her dresser filled with Disney paraphernalia and disappeared into the next room. After some time she reappeared with a large tub and a number of jars of spices, she talked me through their uses and held the open jars to my nose where I obligingly sniffed and feigned that I could tell the difference between her garam masala and her chaat masala. It this point she burst into a very rehearsed speech, welcoming me to her home, despite having co-inhabited with her deities for nearly half an hour now, this uncomfortable production continued for around 5 minutes were I was then subjected to a bit of Q&A. After this she handed me an apron, a number of sizes too small, in fact it felt more like a bib that anything else, and directed me through to the kitchen. It was small and consisted of 2 gas hobs and a small area for preparation, I was given a number of tasks to do however they consisted mainly of cutting carrots, peas and onions into imaginably small pieces while she would throw bits and pieces into pots and pans in a slightly secretive manner. Once we had everything bubbling away we started to make the chapatis, despite, in her mind, this being the simplest task, I found the job of keeping all the flour on the work station a little difficult and her temper rose at every grain that floated floorwards. When it came to the rolling stage she became enraged that I wasn't 'rolling the dough' but pushing it around, she demoted me back to rubbing on the ghee only letting me roll out the final two, which when they were cooked she told me were the best (whether this was true or she feared I was offended by her manner I shall never know). We sat down to eat the rewards, a channa masala, dal fry and paolo rice and her daughters promptly arrived to fill their plates, telling me that the rice was their favourite and that they would leave me some, how kind. At the stroke of 3 Brancana stood up and wished me well for my onward journey, I took that as my hint to go.
So we arrived at her 'Heritage Home' (which is just there way of saying old, crumbling, musty smelling building) and she sat me down in front of her two large shrines of Mary and Christ next to her dresser filled with Disney paraphernalia and disappeared into the next room. After some time she reappeared with a large tub and a number of jars of spices, she talked me through their uses and held the open jars to my nose where I obligingly sniffed and feigned that I could tell the difference between her garam masala and her chaat masala. It this point she burst into a very rehearsed speech, welcoming me to her home, despite having co-inhabited with her deities for nearly half an hour now, this uncomfortable production continued for around 5 minutes were I was then subjected to a bit of Q&A. After this she handed me an apron, a number of sizes too small, in fact it felt more like a bib that anything else, and directed me through to the kitchen. It was small and consisted of 2 gas hobs and a small area for preparation, I was given a number of tasks to do however they consisted mainly of cutting carrots, peas and onions into imaginably small pieces while she would throw bits and pieces into pots and pans in a slightly secretive manner. Once we had everything bubbling away we started to make the chapatis, despite, in her mind, this being the simplest task, I found the job of keeping all the flour on the work station a little difficult and her temper rose at every grain that floated floorwards. When it came to the rolling stage she became enraged that I wasn't 'rolling the dough' but pushing it around, she demoted me back to rubbing on the ghee only letting me roll out the final two, which when they were cooked she told me were the best (whether this was true or she feared I was offended by her manner I shall never know). We sat down to eat the rewards, a channa masala, dal fry and paolo rice and her daughters promptly arrived to fill their plates, telling me that the rice was their favourite and that they would leave me some, how kind. At the stroke of 3 Brancana stood up and wished me well for my onward journey, I took that as my hint to go.
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