Food and the Man

Of Cooking and conversation with a Maestro.

- Sheila Kumar

“Mealtimes,” pronounces the man with the air of an oracle, “should be Sybaritic.” I reflect that Arundhati Roy would love this gent — He Who Speaks in Capitals. I am in the august company of The Man Who Can Cook Anything, the Garden City’s Epicure Number One, henceforth to be delineated as E1.

He’s tossing a salad for me, an artful concoction of kidney beans, baby spuds, mushrooms and beet surronding a mound of fresh prawns draped in mayo. His ponderous manner belies the quicksilver movements of his ringed hands as he dices, peels, minces and reaches for dressing from the stone urns and jars neatly ranged behind him on a stone ledge, talking all the while.

“Mealtimes should be a time for Inspired Food, Intelligent Conversation, some Laughter, little Rambles to explore one’s surroundings. And the time to linger over a Superior Wine.”

He turns towards me, but I cannot reply. My mouth is full. The prawns slowly start to fill the insides of my mouth, with their distinct flavour. I start to feel light-headed.