Inspiration.......yet again. Short-lived they have been so far, let's see how far this goes. Inspired by riascollection.blogspot.com, which by the way is a great piece of work and kudos to Ria, this is going to be loosely based on my wife's and my culinary adventures. We shall start with my absolute favorite concoction, flan, or our version of it. By the way, allrecipes is a great resource, but please make sure you read the reviews of each recipe.

The first time Pinku tried her hand at it was for my first birthday after we got married. She threw the most wonderful surprise party, which completely bowled me over, and finally had this decadent, melt-in-your-mouth, goodness that everyone who was there that night remembers. She's always maintained that the credit isn't hers, but to the simplicity of the recipe, you can't possibly go wrong, just follow the instructions. I've heard of people who grab a tub of icecream and a spoon and decimate the tub in front of the tv, over the course of a evening, and I used to grimace. All that changed when I discovered flan. The only reason I would stop eating it is because I want to have some the next day as well. Every morsel is carefully sized so you can strike that balance between your tongue having enough flavor and being overwhelmed. I can go on, but I would rather not. Just as a picture is worth a thousand words, so is a taste, go try some some for yourself. You will not be disappointed.

http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Baked-Flan/Detail.aspx

Its been almost exactly a year and a half since I last posted something. This time is because Pinku won't rest until I pick this up again, which is not saying much as I never did have it going. I've promised her I'll make a more sincere effort at putting down my ramblings. We've been in Naperville close to three weeks now and have finally begun to feel settled in. I don't have to think anymore about which exit to take to go out, and I don't feel for non-existent switches on walking into dark rooms. This is not to say we have nothing left to do, I haven't got my fishing license yet, which is going to soon become an ice-fishing license, then there's an oil change before I put the motorcycle into hibernation, etc. etc..

Its been a lovely day and having vowed to enjoy at least part of it we sauntered down the Riverwalk earlier this evening. People were out en masse, having had the same idea. There were cute dogs, cuter kids, and their owners/parents all over the place. There were even three anglers near the second bridge to the west, and I had no idea you could fish there. In fact one of them caught a small bass, I think, around 6" long, while we stood there. The other two were using pieces of hot dogs as bait, although the chunks did seem too big for whatever fish may have been in that little stream. The sight has rejuvenated my angling spirit, I have to get my Illinois license this week.

On Saturday we visited Devon Ave, the oft talked about Desitown of Chicago, and there was no denying what gave it its reputation. From the betel stains on the sidewalk to the wrappers in the gutter, the people walking around inside and outside the stores, the stores that sold everything from lipstick to suitcases in a 400 sq. ft space, it could have been any street in India. Even the displays were arranged the way you would see them back home. What the difference was, I couldn't say, but it looked familiar.

That's enough rambling for today. I have a list of things to look into.

The first revival

It has been a year since I signed in, and it is with a certain amount of trepidation that I set out on this 'first revival' of 'a cent and a half'. There are going to be more 'revivals', I am sure, but I fervently hope they are going to be fewer and further in between. It doesn't take a lot to jolt someone into action. Individuals can stand on the precipice of a decision for days, months, years. All it takes is the least significant of events, sometimes, to change a seemingly endless cycle of excuses, tiresome and repeated. Inspiration can be found everywhere, but I've had blinders on for a while, the twin blinders of sloth, and what's worse, they're self-imposed.

My wife has been trying to persuade me to put pen to paper or finger to key, rather, for a while now. As I type, I feel those literary wheels (forgive my arrogance) creaking and rumbling. They have been devoid of grease for so long, the rust has locked them down so securely that they refuse to budge. Of late I've noticed a certain reluctance for words to surface to my tongue. I'll be having a conversation and mid-sentence, in character with a bad habit of wanting to use unnecessarily long words, I pause, searching for that perfect word with more than 4 syllables. The pause lengthens, I keep hunting, the search grows desperate. Alas, if the listener was a 'mallu', I knew a half-way decent one that would suffice, but more often than not I won't be so fortunate. Finally a sorry-substitute bubbles up through the morass that my mind has become.

Anyway, back to the wheels, which I believe the reader is beginning to visualize. Rusted relics of the past, they refuse to work. Maybe all it takes is patience and perseverance, I sincerely hope so. I'm going to keep plugging until they finally shatter or spin without abandon. The end of the day is not the best time to attempt this so I'm going to gracefully give in to the pressures of a student's spouse's chores. The wife and I neglected Lent brazenly for the past five weeks, so in an attempt at redeeming ourselves we've decided to stay away from the exquisite beckoning of red and white meat, for the last two. Thus the sambhar and the green dal in the fridge and rice in the cooker.

So long, fellow citizens of these economically disadvantaged times we live in, I bid you adieu.

New Year's

I'm watching three men rattling away during the Mavericks-Pistons halftime. Its either comic or ridiculous, their commentary, its become a performance, but whatever, that's not the purpose of this session. We had just got back from Santa Fe, and everyone was back at work, when the question popped up, 'What's up for New Year's?'. Something Zubin said, occurred to me, and thus was born the idea of New Orleans. The planning was quick and dirty, we needed a place to stay and it took until Saturday for us to finally find a place to stay, almost ended up with the hobos next to Canal Street.

The drive down was uneventful, but New Orleans, Canal Street, and finally Bourbon Street was absolutely great. There were literally thousands of people crawling all over the place. The great thing about New Orleans is you're allowed to walk around with your drink. They take barhopping very literally, in fact while you're walking from one to the another, you run out, there're conveniently located stalls with beers or jello shots along the way. Being a novice, I had a great time, but around me there were veterans who put them away like there was no tomorrow and the performances that resulted were hilarious.

Dining in New Orleans requires a suspension of all limits, there is no such thing as having had enough, because you can't afford to feel that way. There's so much to try, and so little time. Gumbo, jambalaya, etoufee, fish, chicken (maybe), the list goes on. We found this exquisite little english pub, in Algiers, just south of the Canal Street Ferry dock. I had my first Irish Bomb, and for that alone I am thankful for having gone. Consider the oddity, an Irish drink, in an English pub, in a French-American city, in a suburb named after an African city.

We stayed in the French Quarter, except for a misadventure into the Garden District, entirely Arun's fault, and we saw no signs of any trauma, except of course for an overwhelming police presence. Go to New Orleans, people.

Christmas in Santa Fe

I know the title is uninspiring, let's hope the rest of this soliloquy picks it up. Although I don't remember the date and time, I do recall the place and reason for Santa Fe being chosen to spend last Christmas at. I was at work a couple of weeks before christmas twiddling my thumbs when of all things I began to read CNN's Travel page. I happened upon an article by a lady who had written about her last Christmas, you guessed it, at Santa Fe. The piece was so well-written, as opposed to what you are reading now, I was immediately sold. She described the quaintness and charm of Santa Fe with such eloquence and sincerity it helped me persuade my friends to going. From that point on it was just figuring out the most economical way of getting there and staying there. Santa Fe during christmas is an exquisite experience, a conglomeration of Western, Hispanic, and Native American culture. The food, the farolito walk on christmas eve, the food, the adobe architecture, did i mention the food, the skiing, and of course the FOOD!!!!! If you go to Santa Fe, eat at Maria's, have there blue corn enchilada with the carne. It will leave you gasping for breath, and in extreme confusion, quench the fire in your mouth or shovel some more in. Skiing was great, word of advice, take the classes, and get as much time on the slopes as you can. Our instructor was great, got us all whizzing down the slopes in a few hours. As the day drew to a close, Varkey, Arun and I, decided to graduate ourselves from the bunny slope to the next level of green. We got on the lift and just kept going, finally getting off at the top of the mountain. I tell you people, it was beautiful, perfect snow, conifers standing tall, all these graceful people zipping down, and then there was me, scared *$@&less, not sure if it was time to start the flashback reel. Varkey and I started down, until I took my first spill. He waited until I got back up on my skis, and stayed until my next spill, which came soon, after which he abandoned me to my fate. I made my way down, finally, just before my sister filed a missing skier report. It was exhilirating, those moments on my back, admiring the sky, waving at skiersby, the few upright seconds, wind in my face, inching around turns, making sure I didn't take the blue slope inadvertently. Even though I spent a lot of time on my back, legs twisted beneath me, it was gratifying, I'll be going again.
Christmas eve in Santa Fe is the highpoint of the season. Farolitos, little paper bags with candles inside them, lined along Canyon Road, light up Christmas Eve. Hundreds of people come out, there are bonfires along the way with carolers every so often regaling passersby with popular tunes. Many of the stores, mostly galleries, are open. Walk around, get some hot chocolate, browse through exquisite art, watch a glass-blower at work, sing along for a while, warm your hands at a bonfire, enjoy the people, enjoy the lights, fall in love with Santa Fe.

My Virgin Post

The great world of blogging has been beckoning for a while now and for some reason it's taken this long for me to follow its call. My writing is awfully rusty, being an engineer and all. The only writing I've been doing for several years now has mostly been formulae and if I'm lucky I get to write whole sentences when making up a concrete specification. This blog is going to be an attempt to oil out the literary machinery that I think lurks beneath. We'll see.

I plan to write randomly, thoughts, events, expressions of angst, whatever comes to mind, which I believe is part of the spirit of a blog. I'm going to go back in time a bit for my first actual blog, as I have to write about Santa Fe and last Christmas, and then there's going to be New Orleans and New Year's, after which I'm actually going to run out of things to say, and as that kind of coincided with running out of money, I probably won't have anything interesting to write about for a while.

I hope this venture of mine lasts longer than some of the others I've tried. So here's wishing a Happy New Year to all of you out there.

Blogger out.