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judy smith Nov 2016
Whether in Montreal, where she was born and raised, or in Delhi, where her award-winning brasserie sits, the stylish chef’s love for gastronomy has always run deep. She came to India to chase her passion about eight years ago, after leaving behind an engineering career and having trained at the esteemed ITHQ (Institut de tourisme et d’hôtellerie du Québec). In 2014, she introduced unusual combinations like oysters with charred onion petals, tamarind puree, and rose vinegar when she became the first Indian chef to be invited to host a solo dinner at the James Beard House in New York City. Also presented there was her very own coffee-table book called Eating Stories, packed with charming visuals, tales and recipes.

In pursuit of narratives

“I am studying Ayurveda so, at the moment, I’m inspired by the knowledge and intuition which comes with that, but otherwise I completely live for stories. Those of the people around me — of spices, design forms, music, traditions, history and anything else I feel connected to.”

Culinary muse

“I truly believe that nature is perfect, so I feel privileged to use the ingredients that it provides, while adding my own hues, aromas and combinations…it feels like I get to play endlessly every day.”

After-work indulgence

“My favourite places to eat at are Cafe Lota and Carnatic Cafe in Delhi, and Betony and Brindle Room in NYC.”

Dream dish

“This salad I created called ‘secret garden’. It’s so beautiful to look at and has such a unique spectrum of flavours…all while using only the freshest, most natural produce to create something completely magical.”

Reception blooper

“Most people make the mistake of over-complicating the menu; having too much diversity and quantity. Wastefulness isn’t a good way to start a life together.”

A third-generation entrepreneur from a highly distinguished culinary family, she runs a thriving studio in Khar where state-of-the-art cooking stations and dining tables allow her to conduct a variety of workshops and sessions. Her grandfather is remembered as the man who migrated from Africa to London to found the brand that brought curry to the people of the UK — Patak’s. She took over as brand ambassador, having trained at Leiths School of Food and Wine and taught at one of Jamie Oliver’s schools in London. What’s more, Pathak is also the author of Secrets From My Indian Family Kitchen, a cookbook comprising 120 Indian recipes, published last year in the UK.

Most successful experiment

“When I was writing recipes for my cookbook, I had to test some more than once to ensure they were perfect and foolproof. One of my favourites was my slow-cooked tamarind-glazed pork. I must have trialled this recipe at least six times before publishing it, and after many tweaks I have got it to be truly sensational. It’s perfectly balanced with sweet and sour both.”

Future fantasy

“As strange as it sounds, I’d love to cater my own wedding. You want all your favourite recipes and you want to share this with your guests. I could hire a caterer to create my ideal menu, but I’d much prefer to finalise and finish all the dishes myself so that I’m supremely happy with the flavours I’m serving to my loved ones.”

Fresh elegance

“I’m in love with microgreens for entertaining and events…although not a new trend, they still carry the delicate wow factor and are wonderfully subtle when used well. I’m not into using foams and gels and much prefer to use ingredients that are fuss-free.”

This advertising professional first tested her one-of-a-kind amalgams at The Lil Flea, a popular local market in BKC, Mumbai. Her Indian fusion hot dogs, named Amar (vegetarian), Akbar (chicken) and Anthony (pork), sold out quickly and were a hit. Today, these ‘desi dogs’ are the signature at the affable home-chef-turned-businesswoman’s cafe-***-diner in Bandra, alongside juicy burgers, a fantastic indigenous crème brûlée, and an exciting range of drinks and Sikkim-sourced teas.

Loving the journey

“The best part of the job is the people I meet; the joy I get to see on their faces as they take the first bite. The fact that this is across all ages and social or cultural backgrounds makes it even better. Also, I can indulge a whim — whether it is about the menu or what I can do for a guest — without having to ask anyone. On the flip side, I have no one to blame but myself if the decision goes wrong. And, of course, I can’t apply for leave!”

Go-to comfort meal

“A well-made Bengali khichri or a good light meat curry with super-soft chapattis.”

What’s ‘happening’

“This is a very exciting time in food and entertaining — the traditional and ultra-modern are moving forward together. Farm-to-fork is very big; food is also more cross-cultural, and there is a huge effort to make your guest feel special. Plus, ‘Instagram friendly’ has become key…if it’s not on Instagram, it never happened! But essentially, a party works when everyone is comfortable and happy.”

A word to brides

“Let others plan your menu. You relax and look gorgeous!”

This Le Cordon Bleu graduate really knows her way around aromas that warm the heart. On returning to Mumbai from London, she began to experiment with making small-batch ice creams for family and friends. Now she churns out those ‘cheeky’ creations from a tiny kitchen in Bandra, where customers must ring a bell to get a taste of dark chocolate with Italian truffle oil, salted caramel, milk chocolate and bacon and her signature (a must-try) — blue cheese and honey.

The extra mile

“I’ll never forget the time I created three massive croquembouche towers (choux buns filled with assorted flavours of pastry cream, held together with caramel) for a wedding, and had to deliver them to Thane!”

Menu vision

“For a wedding, I would want to serve something light and fresh to start with, like seared scallops with fresh oysters and uni (sea urchin). For mains, I would serve something hearty and warm — roast duck and foie gras in a red wine jus. Dessert would be individual mini croquembouche!”

Having been raised by big-time foodie parents, the strongest motivation for their decision to take to this path came from their mother, who had two much-loved restaurants of her own while the sisters were growing up — Vandana in Mahim and Bandra Fest on Carter Road. Following the success of the first MeSoHappi in Khar, Mumbai, the duo known for wholesome cooking opened another outlet of the quirky gastro-bar adjoining The Captain’s Table — one of the city’s favourite seafood haunts — in Bandra Kurla Complex.

Chef’s own

AA: “We were the pioneers of the South African bunny chow in Mumbai and, even now, it remains one of my all-time favourites.”

On wedding catering

PA: “The most memorable for me will always be Aarathi’s high-tea bridal shower. I planned a floral-themed sundowner at our home in Cumballa Hill; curtains of jasmine, rose-and-wisteria lanterns and marigold scallops engulfed the space. We served exotic teas, alcoholic popsicles of sangria and mojito, and dishes like seafood pani puri shots and Greek spanakopita with beetroot dip, while each table had bite-sized desserts like mango and butter cream tarts and rose panna cotta.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
i have a break at 12 o'clock
will you please come over
you don’t have to knock
i’ll leave the door open
it will be unlocked
a bouquet of flowers
i’ll have in stock
a vase and a candle
a knife and a blade
a face and a cigarette
its all about the way we explain
i mean rationalize away
do time-lines justify our decline into tyranny
send me back again to sublime infancy
retrofit the celibate instigator
lemniscate the elephant’s fingerprints
impress me with wit and charm
storm troopers unarmed
star-gazers, shadow-haters, sand-blasters, ice-skaters,
morning's lovers, fathers, daughters, shoulders and elbows
rub brows and crease foreheads
wrinkles in your timelines
define lines as destiny unwinds
reminds me of blinding light
the heights of old empires
sire warriors, stories as tall as soldiers
for real, heal the split between mind and body
kindly, lovingly, bump up against me
and kiss me again
i am music fused together with eternity
space and dust and rusted armpits
a hundred diamonds, drops of sweat
skin like leather, weatherproof, foolproof too
determine to use it all
for you are the muse of all
do as you need to
fuse it together lest it come apart again
return to heaven and mend the tear
split the hair or the atom
magic is a language
tragic is the cancerous neglect of syntax
emptiness is manic
gargantuan attacks of presence
defenseless, we are taught worthless ****
neglect it, but remember important words
stories, looms of drawings
forming in my mind’s eye
i cannot be bought or controlled by pirates
the best moments are private
you are not invited
so go home and create your own zone of entertainment
its necessary
your gentle fingers
blessing my soul
courage to roll with life’s blows
no need for stoics
or poets who deny reality’s arguments
slippery slopes
walking tight ropes
can you cope with all this mistletoe
restring your bow
dance in the snow as if everyone knows
you are crazy in love with the whole
motionless vision swift as an arrow
roofless rooms
prom queens flip you off and turn you on
sons and daughters, lions of the prairie
a child portable and small
respects the walls that you’ve made
they are not your cage but your shelter
self culture is affluent and not arrogant
sand mandalas tall as waterfalls
golden rainbows pour from the faucet in the sky
like mighty images
wisdom bridges the gaps in our imagination
i can’t wait to get this on the page
written in stone, reflecting thrones
made from the bones of pharaohs
consciousness narrows as you approach
are you a cockroach, coach or a student
strokes of wonder for different folks
cold call your own homes
do you prioritize lightning over thunder
words over rubber
sandwiches to clutter
are you interested in diamonds or other
precious gemstones
that flutter like butterflies when i utter
emeralds like butter
do you waste time arranging your clutter
stuttering utter nonsense
frequencies wasted, gentleness chased away
fantasies radioactive
magic lacks targets
darkens our fathers
keep chasing actions
satisfaction is attractive
your eyes are like fragments of rubies in the fire
i see beauty in desire, features in the sky
i look skyward and see higher
minds are wired to remain stagnant
stranded in a lack of entertainment
change this and make your own amazement
wonder over thunder, lick me down under
gone asunder like the burning acropolis
topple this bottomlessness
can't stop this, its impossible
i wonder do you make blunders
in underground mountains
we shout words like fountains shoot water
curtains topple over
and form a blanket over our consciousness
after our performances
swarms of crazy people leave the theater
shattered and too stunned to speak
to ****** to leak they keep walking down south
toward Plymouth Rock,
Mammoth Mountian or Rehoboth Beach
take stock of the situation and just move
first one out is rewarded
sordid and sorted like straw from the hay stacks
caskets of black iron casings
tastings of wine whose shelf-life is expired
past due cheese overripe and stinky
like mustard dusted with lightning
striking on time is all that we have
thinking that was a close call
we fall down and get up, remove the uppercuts
and lowercases from our mouths
doubt is a ***** word heard too often,
coughing from a coffin she offers me her hand
cold as ice cream, these nouns are deafening
love is lazy like a muffin
and hot like a dumpling
but a liaison with time cannot be rushed
i have lived long enough to learn this
a privilege to give birth to this moment
again and again vintage feathers
send me your sweaters
detest impostors who give robotic answers
i am in wonder at all this grammar
that i was unaware of
ignorant as mustard
and smooth like custard
in this blustery weather
i am glad i wore a sweater
and have an umbrella
to keep me dry and safe
i am in love walking toward the gate
and boarding that plane
i am your heart served on a plate
with a side of coleslaw, soul food for dinner
you are a winner and i am your hunger
a porcelain gravestone
a copper bathtub with claws
stored in your basement
storerooms cold as a skating rink
please don't think, unless its about me
let sentences drift away
while we chase arguments from yesterday's
armistice

A foolproof plan
is only as foolproof as the fool
that came up with the plan
Showman  Feb 2013
Coop Scoop Poop
Showman Feb 2013
Cocoon. Gloom. Womb. Doom. Room.
Don’t!
For most, words doth froth forms.

Oh, foolproof.  
Lord John, Jov, Thor, Job.
Lord John knows Thor's job

Now. Photoshop. School Of Rock.
Tomorrow. Hop On Pop.
Zorro Snorro.

Who?
Wrong!
Whom?
Mr. Roboto; old clown of Oslo won’t.

Yolo. Boom!
iamtheavatar Apr 2016
We are all hypocrites,
passionate on
crime, ***, and drama

We are all hypocrites,
building our
two-dimensional dioramas

We think fast,
our half-witted brains
conniving

We talk fast,
our foolproof tongues
praising

We love to hate others,
and bask in the glory
of their demise

We hate to love our brothers,
for all our speeches
are mem'rized

Stepping stones from naivety
Our vainglorious insanity
Romanticizing reality

The hand that
feeds us
is our enemy

When will this stop?

**iamthe_avatar ©2016
Note to self.
brandychanning Jul 2023
some years back, not too difficile to recall,
revive and animate those memories of love and disasters,
but the distance is comparable to half-a-dozen
eighty day trips around the world, many frequent
flyer  miles accumulated with trips to love disasters,
interspersed with the days of shock and awe believing
(sigh) that stumbled, fumbled my way in what we silly
call true love, which is really the high of believing
that you deserved the easy way, but now know, there
is no easy way, and romance is a hard earned privilege,
and sensory deprivation can  fool you, absence makes
you vulnerable, don’t be vulnerable, stand up right,
**** out, and eyes smiling but phasers on full, nonetheless…

this not a downer, but a dis-claimer, even I claim the
never be sure of the 100% foolproof methodologies for
discerning the genius of genuine,
when the risk is the reward
maybe when your 22, even 23,
you’ll be better at true discernment,
but until then be wise,
there is no saving the day,
till your knees are scraped,
and crackling and cracking
heart seem like the same thing


but they’re not
do not confuse
causality with correlation
love is not your cause, be-all,
or even the end-all, do the  work
on your self to betterment
24/7, knowledge to be wiser
comes with vive les expériences!
and

someday you’ll senses will be tickled,
and the aroma of possibilities will
arose that dormant hunger, and may
be a correlation to another human in the
immediate vicinity, a man, swimming
in your moat without permission, then,
check him out and maybe, jump in,
once you’ve passed the red cross lifesavers
test, cause the murk is murky, and is never
fraught with just rose water, but jump a
few toes in and if you’re still sinking,
hell he’ll
find away and give him the rope to help
you climb a board, yeah, a broad tough as
clear varnished nails with a heart radiating
the nuclear fission of Strontium 90.
Strontium-90 has applications in medicine and industry and is an isotope of concern in fallout from nuclear weapons, nuclear weapons testing, and nuclear accident, and fallen love

Wikipedia
Andrew Rueter Apr 2018
To kiss someone's lips
Or grab them by the hips
One must enlist
In the power dynamic
Inside every relationship
There are surprises
Of different disguises
I must ignore the lies of
Reachers and settlers
Stalkers and meddlers
Those who are aloof
And those who are goofs
The process never foolproof
When animals hide their hooves

I took that dubious bet
I thought it'd be fun
A game of Russian roulette
With a fully loaded gun
There were unfair rules set
That's how you won
A one hundred percent threat
I'd be hurt a ton

It started effecting my health
When I couldn't be myself
Because my self emulation
Amounted to self immolation
So I sought your consultation
For the vacation
Of placation
But you took advantage
At least from my vantage
I could see your rampage
Straight from the Stone Age
Like a time traveling mage
That summoned a cage

There was a pattern
We kept going around
Like the rings of Saturn
Until I hit the ground
You made me foolishly wait to test me
And then hated when things got messy
Now you claim that you're a blessing
For what you do after *******
You must be jesting
Confidence cresting
Never confessing
Or addressing
The emotional underbelly
You just like to undersell me
Saying that I'm underwhelming
I'm talking to a tundra telling me
That it makes me a better me

Apologizing not part of your plan
You tell me you don't understand
You must think I'm stupid
To treat me so putrid
My patience you've used it
So the dead weight loosened
Once I let go of your noose hand

You come back begging
You incorrectly pegged me
As forgiving not petty
I guess you never met me
Or at least said goodbye to the best me
After never acting on the behest of me
And making me think less of me
You've become a pest to me
Not part of my destiny
Just part of the generic sea
Of those I let be
E Townsend  Dec 2015
Re- (Again)
E Townsend Dec 2015
Reglossing, rewashing, removing, returning,
she kept using the same cloth to wipe up this mess.
All of the same mistakes constantly repeating,
spools of half-hearted "I'm sorry's" unwinding,
foolproof promise to cover for her missed absence.

I persist reloading, rewinding, replaying
watching the film of our lives together, pausing
at moments where temporarily, I confess,
unpredictable happiness ceased repeating.
This trainwreck of a show carries on, blistering
slides that I want to swipe clean, but her name suppress
stained slates developing, deflecting, destroying.

I throw away the footage, romanticizing  
sheer ideas of finally making progress
forgetting her. But relapse results repeating
bad habits. There is not a remedy. I cling
to the seasons of the past, wanting to digress
reminding, rewinding, removing, regretting.
'Til the cloth clears again, chaos keeps repeating.
Mark C  Jan 2013
www.snakeoil.com
Mark C Jan 2013
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ever wish there was a magic pill?  
ken lost ten pounds in two days
michael was sick and tired of being fat –
he just turned off the hunger switch

F-plan G-plan colon-cleansing He-man
EZ-detox capsules buy one get one free…

i started dieting at the age of twelve
hopeless puking and desperate
i call this year my miracle year

blissful as a bar of chocolate
that’s when I decided
**** thin happy wins
More or less glued together from spam emails and their associated web sites
Takunda Zanga Jan 2019
Why do I love?                                                    
Is it because I want to feel loved in recoil or is it the thought of love in absentia soldiering me to asset love.

Tell me what love is?

Love is the reason I want to get out of bed early in morning to watch the sunrise in her presence,                                           
Love makes my feet numb and my heart seek solitude whenever she stands next to me or sit beside me in the bus on the journey to free my heart.                                                  
Love takes authority of your heart’s emotions desire that feel like a burden, not to her they aren’t,                                                  
Love gives you perception, to see her for who she is, not what she can’t be but what she’s worth.                                                           ­ 
Love is a ****** who invariably needs rehab to stay on track and feel alive where there’s oblivion in array.

Ask me what love isn’t?  

Love isn’t waiting for you across the street,
Love wants you to play a game of chase, chase me if you fancy me love said.                                    
Love isn’t a pack of sheath you keep in your ripped side pocket jean for a quickie,                                                         ­              Love isn’t a puppy nor a cub you can teach to play a game of fetch nor play dead,                                                            ­  
Love isn’t your wrecked black sedan you can panel beat back to its mint right condition,                                                       ­ 
Love isn’t your typical Cinderella fairytale were the glass slipper is fated to fit foolproof,  
                  
Why do I love you asked!      
        
I love to know love, what it’s like to put her in rehab ahead of enemy lines and what it’s like to see the perception of her own personification.
C Apr 2011
We cannot seem to understand
that one perceives personally with limited scope,
a minuscule allotment, a slippery vision of time.
We believe to hold witness to a great single minded river,
this metaphor is bought wholly
and sold solely to sweeten our short life-
As one word often leads to the next,
a parent sires child
thinking this is the most powerful measurement of truth
we use to falsely foolproof our assurances
and assuage any feeling of being a victim,
eaten by time.
It is a shared dream of the dead man's final words-
they carry weight, meaning and purpose.
Needing to be painfully comprehended and carried self evident.
A literary reflection of our need for death to matter,
to have matter and be of substance is a view of ourselves linearly,
as a line drawn between birth to death
then- maybe
a cathartic eternity.
Bathsheba  Dec 2010
Snow
Bathsheba Dec 2010
I cautiously peep out the bedroom window and immediately spy snow.

More snow!

****!

I have already been trapped inside this house for five days now and I am beginning to get serious cabin fever. Something has to break and it has to break soon. As I stand here I am strangely mesmerised by these fanciful flakes as they fall seductively over a garden that has long since been abandoned.

The garden itself is actually heaving a huge collective sigh of relief at all this unwanted attention. Someone or something has finally acknowledged its hidden existence after so many many long years of neglect. The garden is stirring; there is a new vibrancy in the air, an unknown quality has begun to tease and tantalise the remains of a life once lived.

It’s funny the things that you notice when you have too much time on your hands. The old derelict outhouse, for instance, forsaken since Freddie left back in ‘72 takes on an almost ethereal quality. Gossamer threads subtly woven together now delicately frame and highlight his old stomping ground with a wicked wildness and urgency.

I must close the curtains and return.
Return to what?  

“Right …. stop your maudlin girl, time is only relevant now, remember that, always.”

I slowly walk through to the front parlour and collapse into the battered old fireside chair. It stills my beating heart. I so love to read and interpret the intricate patterns stitched so expertly into the very fabric of its soul. I have a very vivid imagination and can spend hours recreating different scenarios courtesy of my patterns.

My patterns.

Sometimes for example I imagine a paddock full to bursting point of millions and millions of tiny black spiders. Each one hell bent on weaving the perfect and foolproof web. Millions of eyes darting here and darting there. Cautious of their peers. Always cautious. Consumed and driven with the need to spin. Their seedy beady eyes are very dark and very seductive. It is a rather a frantic scenario, I grant you, but it does sort of lend itself a certain amusement.
Honest!

Another one that amuses me is the one that involves ‘The Butcher’, should I go on? Ok I will. Well, initially I was unsure until that one bright spring morning when it finally showed itself. Cheeky really! Actually, funnily enough it was just after the last heavy snowfall, what some three years back now. I was sitting down eating a particularly nice plate of kippers when it just jumped out at me. I can honestly say that I do not know where it appeared from but appeared it did none the less.
Quite shook me up really.

There he stood (The Butcher) in all his glory, in all his garb, with the biggest meat cleaver this side of the county. There was blood a plenty. Dripping of his face. Dripping of his hands. Dripping of his arms. I guess you get the picture. I laugh now, off course, but not initially. He also has these big huge bulbous eyes and a squashed boxer’s nose. And if this is not scary enough, at his feet are the remains of the entire cemetery of Standfield. All in various different stages of putrification.
Nice!
Bones and flesh merge and spurge forming a sea of rotting corpses. One huge heaving mass writhing at the filthy ***** feet of The Butcher. It makes me smirk!

I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. That can’t be right. It says that it’s nearly 2pm. How can that be?  I have only just sat down and I know that when I woke up and peeped out of the window it was just after 5am. Strange! Still, I guess the clock has simply stopped and maybe needs re-winding, that’s all. I’ll sort it out later. These things are sent to test us, aren’t they?  
Been happening a lot of late.
Bless.

“Oh, that’s right listen to Freddie and not me. What’s new? This is all so ****** pointless. How dare you ask me my opinion if you are not actually interested in the response? Why bother? Look Freddie, I know it’s not your fault but you do so enable the old fool. How about supporting ME for a **** change? Look at me Freddie, not HIM, look, what do you see? It’s ME Freddie, open up those blind eyes of yours. I am here. I am real. Touch me Freddie. Please, please ….”

The clock strikes six times. Six! Does that mean that it is now six in the evening or is it six in the morning? I feel confused. I don’t like the snow. It scares me. Reminds me. I do not want to be reminded because I live in the here and the now. Now is all that is relevant to me. Time is only relevant now, see I remembered!

I attempt to stand up from the battered old chair but immediately collapse back down into it. Defeated. The curtains have not been drawn correctly in the front parlour and I can see through the tiny gap straight into the garden. A winter wonderland assaults my eyes. I try to shut it out. It is bearing down on me. I am struggling. I am struggling to breathe now. My heart is pounding and desperately trying to escape from my body.  What shall I do?  Help me? What, you think that this is funny. How? What part of a fellow human being having breathing problems is actually funny, prey tell? That’s right then, pretend it’s not happening. Maybe it will go away ….. just like Freddie did.
An Uncommon Poet Oct 2014
1:30pm, Friday Afternoon;
before me was an hourglass figure
lost in her own beauty
lit by limelight
illuminated with every smirk and grin
she dropped her robe
wearing her armoured skin
I studied every inch of every curve
from her waist to her unsupported *******
her uncovered belly and vulnerable legs
her beauty was bulletproof
she was foolproof
solely dominant in her free flowing wind
she ruled the world
without speaking a word
she found men drooling
but they would degrade her
they would lessen her
women would study her
in the privacy of their homes
but squint their eyes at a pass by
i don't see the issue
why must she be put down
I've stared at her for 9 minutes now
the difference from hips to waist
the body she's accepted she can't replace
I do not see insufficiency
nor lack of anything
as a matter of fact she had everything
I was lost in reality
not the falsified dismantled claim
of the jealous fool
she put pity on those of insecure judgement
she was not a *** object standing before me
she was an invaluable soul
weighted by comments
locked in her mindful safe
it is now 1:43
and admittedly
I was lost entirely in her persistent and almost torturous stance
as a young woman naked and vulnerable
but trusting of me to adore her
instead of disguise her truth in snide  
she was a weightless soul
carrying the weight of the world

— The End —