Thursday, January 26, 2006

Etched on my culinary memory are

The first twenty two years of my life I could cook , or rather I was let to cook only boiled eggs, bull's eye, omlettes and Maggi noodles. Then I boarded an airplane and landed half a world away from my mother's cooking. Thus started my culinary riots. My partiality for eggs, however, didn't ebb away. So what better way to start, than with the very first things I learnt to burn? Two eggs waiting to be yoked into a single omlette, isn't there a poetic beauty in it ?

1 comment:

Bindu Vijayakumar said...

Dear Reshma,

There defintely lies a poetic beauty in that..

yep hats off..