Puris for Puris

My dear friend Priya Puri is a fabulous cook, and usually honors her guests with food she's prepared herself. Yesterday's round of events, however, which started about seven-thirty in the morning for me and ended at eleven at night (and I'm not even family), involved so much preparation that she decided to bring in a caterer for her evening party. Her daughter-in-law, a young physician with two small children, a large house, and little training in the preparation of Indian food (since she's from Poland!), likewise had her midday party catered.

Although Priya is a vegetarian, she provided some meat dishes for her guests at her evening dinner. Beata's luncheon, however, was meatless in deference to the religious ceremony that had preceded it. Which suited me just fine, as I'm a vegetarian myself. It's nice to go out on occasion and be able to eat anything and everything in sight.

When I say "catered," I don't mean food brought in by a caterer. I mean caterer brought in, to cook food onsite, and serve it hot and fresh. With that, plus some upscale adjustments to the usual offerings of Priya's restauranteur of choice, the result was better than anything to be found in any Indian restaurant around here, although not as good as Priya's own cooking, or the food I had in India.

The hit of the luncheon was probably the puris, fried dough which puffs up to a tasty pillow the minute it hits the hot fat. You haven't had puris till you've had them straight out of the pan, still burning your tongue a little. I can make them, but I don't, as frying seems unhealthy to me.

Not eating fried food, but preparing it. I believe the fumes to be carcinogenic, and I can't stand the lingering smell all over the house, including in the upstairs bedspreads and curtains. Cooking in the yard (and not just the occasional steaks and burgers on the grill) is an ancient idea whose time has come again, imho. I must remember, when my ship comes in and I dig up and redo my whole backyard, to plan for that.