So today here is a story of two people who are willing to take things forward, but only time will decide if their story shapes towards a happy ending. There is certainly something special about love stories. That even the most unromantic person wants to know more about them. I don’t know how good I am with writing stories with romantic angles, but I am sure you will let me know at the end of this post in the comments section. So let’s get started.

The quaint café story…

Gautam texted Paula asking “Hey, how are you doing…Did you like the birthday present.” Now waiting impatiently for a reply, he opened his Instagram and searched for Kritika Kirmani. There was one hit and he clicked on the profile to check Kritika’s picture, this wasn’t the first time he was doing so. Since two days after they met at Paula’s home on her Birthday, Gautam was thinking about Kritika all the time.

Gautam was 27 and Paula was his friend from MBA College who recently turned 25. At Paula’s birthday all her friends from college and current job gathered for a small party. This is where the sparks flew between Gautam and Kritika. Gautam was trying to remember how he saw Kritika while she entered the lift in Paula’s building. He smiled shyly and was expecting a smile but that didn’t happen. Then he got that long due smile after Paula introduced them.

While he was in his own sweet thoughts, Paula replied “Hiii…I liked the gift.” Now Gautam was thinking about what to say next as he actually wanted to ask about Kritika, but he feared to be judged if he asked directly. So he responded “Glad you liked it…” Since Paula knew Gautam from past 6 years she responded “You want Kritika’s number? Isn’t it…” followed by two laughing emojis. Gautam was clean bowled after reading this and was smiling at himself.

He texted back “How every time you decode my texts…? Anyway yes I know she is single and would like to know her as a friend.” Paula replied “The way you were sheepishly following her and staring at her in awe on my birthday, it is well evident that you were smitten.” She followed the statement with a winking emoji. Gautam was blushing and embarrassed at the same time. “So is there a chance?” He dared to ask. Paula gave him the number after asking Kritika’s permission.

“All the best, this mission is not going to be easy.” Paula texted this warning note. Gautam was happy and ignored the warning in brutal overconfidence and replied “Thank you girl… You are the best…” Followed by so many smiling emojis. Now came the toughest part and that was to send a text to Kritika. He was recollecting the events from the evening of the party, just to pick a cue and text in some direction. He remember she telling a friend about how she is not having a strong palate for spices and the Biryani was too spicy.

He begun typing “Hey, Gautam here…I hope you are over the Biryani trouble by now…” He read it in his mind, and found it very absurd…He deleted the words and was thinking hard to come up with something better. His brain searched another memory which was, Kritika telling Paula that the cocktails were amazing and she liked the martinis absolutely. So here was a chance for Gautam to open the conversation. He typed “Hey Kritika, Gautam here…got your number from Paula, just wanted to tell you that the Margaritas were also great that day…” He sent the message.

Now it was too late to do anything. He saw the read receipt and was anxiously waiting now. Kritika checked the message and smiled. She was a hard nut to crack, she responded “Ohh, is it! I am not a fan of margaritas.” Gautam read it and saw that only one exclamation mark and one full stop, which meant she was not leaving room for any conversations. Which was like too much analysis from his end. Gathering all the courage he sent another text, “Ohh I will remember this, even I don’t like them, it is just that they were so good and a friend told me to try…”

To this Kritika replied “So you often give into the peer pressure?” she smiled mischievously after sending the reply. Gautam felt embarrassed and waited for some time to respond. After 10 long minutes Kritika added “I am kidding, was just checking how your perseverance is.” After reading this, Gautam felt relaxed. The conversation took off and the ice was broken. Few days passed like this. Now came the time when Gautam thought of asking Kritika out.

He asked Kritika for a coffee, to which she replied “Only if you find a place which I would love to go to…” This was a new challenge in his path. Her Instagram bio read “A modern girl with a soft corner for quaint things…” He thought quaint cafes for the first date, would be a great start to begin with. He searched on web “Quaint cafes in Mumbai…” There were many results but none specifically mentioned quaint cafes in the title. So he clicked on random 3 results.

First was ‘Romantic Cafés in Mumbai’ it had a list of 10 cafes from which he picked the Lake View café and asked Kritika “Since you like quaint places, how about Lake View café at Powai?” She said “If you are searching for a quaint café for me, then this is not at all quaint. It is too modern.” He knew that it is not going to be easy. He went back to the list and picked the Artisan café which was at Bandra. He texted her again asking if Artisan will do. She replied “Gautam, do you really know what quaint means?” she added lots of laughing emojis to mock him.

Gautam was smiling at her replies. He was into the game seriously and wanted to leave no stone unturned. After all, it was after ages that he met someone so lively and graceful that he actually wanted to take things forward. He took one more from the list and landed it in Kritika’s inbox, it was Grandmama’s Café. Her response was “Only expensive furniture to make it look quaint, it adds to the ambience but does nothing to the quaint quotient.”

Gautam closed the first result and went to the list from next result. He suggested the Kala Ghoda café after checking the pictures from the web. Kritika seemed too picky about her choices, she said “yes it seems old though, but it is not natural in feel.” Now Gautam was a bit restless and he wanted to win this challenge anyhow. So he scanned the entire list and saw Café Mondegar and Leopold Café in the list and thinking about their charm he sent it to her. Her response was “Now you are talking Mr. G, but these are too crowded all the time.”

Gautam was glad that now he knew what kind of places will work, though she rejected the previous two. He asked his guys friends to suggest some old cafes, as using the term quaint cafes would have not worked here. Came many suggestions in the chat group, some he already pitched to Kritika and some were simply dumb options. Finally someone put a link on the group which read ‘12 Historic Irani Cafes that will Captivate your Heart!!!’ He clicked it and unlocked the Pandora’s Box. He loved the blog so much, that he forwarded it to Kritika and asked her to choose one.

She took a while to read it, by the time she finished reading it was dinner time. “These are the places that I love, and this list made me hungrier than I usually am at this time.” Gautam was happy after reading this. He texted back “So which one is it? Which seems like the quaintest from the list of these quaint cafes?” Kritika told him “The list is in itself an ode to the quaint cafes and it is difficult to choose one.” Before Gautam could respond, he saw Kritika was typing…

“See I have been to these places before and each time I visit them, I just grow more in love with them. The Chicken Pattice of Kyani & Co. is worth dying for. Plus the place is really quaint, the oldest standing Irani Café of Mumbai, I hope you knew this. The Bread Pudding from Sassanian is mind blowing and it has made me break my dieting vows so many times. Similar is the case with B. Merwan’s Mawa cake which makes me go weak in the knees. The lacy cutlets from café excelsior, they just melt in mouth.” Kritika sent this long text which seemed like an essay to Gautam…

Gautam begun typing, but he was bombarded with another essay, Kritika texted “The Berry Pulao from Britannia & Co. is ultimate rice dish. Sali Boti from Café Military is the best you can have. Café colony’s mutton keema is outstanding and ginger biscuits from Yazdani, Ohhh My Goddd!!! Just quickest way to my heart. Ideal Corner’s Mutton Dhansak is delicious. Have never been to Café Irani Chaii though…How many of these have you been too?”

Finally Gautam got a chance to respond. “You didn’t mention Byculla Restaurant & Bakery, Regal Restaurant & Bakery and Koolar & Co.? Did you missed reading them?” Kritika replied “The ones at Byculla, I have never been to, Koolar & Co. was near my college so I have been there with my group a thousand times at least.” Gautam dared to ask, “So madam, would you like to visit it for one more time with me?” Kritika smiled while replying “Ummm!!! Yes maybe…Only if you plan to be there from breakfast till lunch.”

Gautam was surprised to know that his date was going to be an early morning one. Yet he was happy that finally it was a date. So it was decided that they will meet on a Saturday and spend the day together till lunch. But on the day of the date, Gautam got some emergency work. He literally requested Kritika to not cancel the date but to meet at lunch. Kritika found it disappointing that Gautam was unable to stick to the plan. But she thankfully didn’t cancel the date.

They met at the Koolar & Co., Gautam got some chocolates to make up for the delay, added a handwritten card to it and gave it to Kritika. It read ‘Quaint collection of chocolates for the girl who loves quaint things. Please accept the apology.’ That melted her heart and she smiled finally. Now they were comfortable in each other’s company. They gobbled the keema pav and ate the caramel custard. Since it was late in the afternoon the place was quite uncrowded and was perfect for a first date. Till the time their talks finished it was 4:40 p.m.

Time for some Irani Chai and Bun Maska, they simply devoured the heavenly combination. Now Gautam asked her if she would mind coming with her to south Mumbai for a quite stroll. Kritika was so happy with the experience so far, that she agreed. They took a cab and reached in the fort area where most of the Irani cafes were located. Took a long walk around the marine drive and just when Kritika had to leave, Gautam called his friend and asked for the parcel that he instructed him to get.

Gautam’s friend came near Churchgate station and handed over the parcel to Gautam, greeted Kritika quickly and left. Gautam handed over the parcel to Kritika which had another note in it. “Chicken Pattice of Kyani & Co. just so that you don’t have to die, lacy cutlets from café excelsior to satiate your craving for melt in mouth feeling. A plate of Berry Pulao parcel, with B. Merwan’s Mawa cakes to make you go weak in knees and some ginger biscuits from Yazdani so that you will remember me for at least few more day…Accept with a big smile…”

Kritika was shocked to receive such a surprise. Gautam saw that she was speechless and smiling in awe. He added “So madam, I went to B. Merwan early in the morning and then to Yazdani to get these for you. So postponed our meeting time. The traffic was worse and so had to meet you for a late lunch. I hope now I am really forgiven.” Kritika though touched by the gesture, didn’t want to show it right away.

“What about the other dishes that I mentioned to you?” She asked. “I left them on purpose, just trying my luck to get a nod for second date in one of these quaint cafes.” Kritika couldn’t control her happiness now. She smiled and gave him a hug and said “Not bad and I am impressed. So what are you doing on next Sunday?” Gautam looked in the heavens, thanking all the Gods. The date ended with giving them both some butterflies.

Closure:

I hope you liked the story. I don’t know how it panned out. Just let me know if this love story in search of quaint café was worth it. If you are shy about commenting down below then you can always write to me on foodie_khiladi@sh119.global.temp.domains or DM me at foodie_khiladi007.

For the curious reader in you, I would like to mention that this story is a work of fiction and is not inspired by any other work. It is my imagination in total and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidence. All characters are fictional and are not from any literature.

Of all the quaint café, which have witnessed many of such love stories since decades, which one have you been too? Would you love to go on date in one of these places? Let me know in the comments. With this your foodie_khiladi signs off for the day, in a hope to see you soon in my next blog post. Till then keep smiling and spreading the smile.

Yes today’s blog is a personal one. It is based on true incidents that are based on rice kheer made by my grandmother. The first sweet I remember which I liked from the sweet shop was Mahim Halwa. The first sweet that was homemade and which I like was rice kheer. Kheer in India is pretty staple. Easy to make, easy to digest and fulfilling. So my mom’s mom had this recipe of hers which is yet to be decoded. A recipe that I just can’t forget.

When it started?

I certainly can’t remember the exact year or date, and I am bad at calculations. So I would just say that I started loving the rice kheer right from my playschool days. My mother was a working professional and so while she went for work, she used to drop me at my grandparents’ place. This was the part which I hated the most. I know that I created a scene every day while departing from my mom.

My grandfather used to receive me on the bus stop and then take me home. This was like a routine, when I used to create havoc at that bus stop. Perhaps it was my charm that in spite of doing these things, the bus conductor uncle always waited patiently for me to be transferred to my grandpa. Now once the transaction was done, I used to feel very sad. Eventually I learnt that acceptance is the key.

So I figured out and made myself understand that even though it is tough to leave mom every morning, but my granny used to make some delicious things for me and grandpa used to take me with him for walks in the parks and the market. The playschool timings were not long and hence I had so much time. Somewhere around this phase of life I remember eating the rice kheer that my granny made. Since, then and till the date I am just not over it.

She used to make the rice kheer frequently as I was pretty vocal about my liking towards the kheer. So this kheer was my only motivation to stay away from my mom. Perhaps it was my first exposure towards emotional eating at an early age. Whatever it was, I just loved my granny’s rice kheer. It was just pure bliss.

Was it that fantastic?

From a neutral perspective it might not be that fantastic or extravagant. But you are reading a blog from the person who cherishes his first belongings. So personally the answer is “Yes”. It was not just fantastic but outstanding. Or else what explains my craziness of eating almost 4-5 bowls at a time. By bowls I am not referring mini bowls here, I am referring a bowl with the capacity of 250 ml.

Now when I look back and think of it, I really wonder how I managed to stuff that delicious rice kheer in that little tummy. I know that on the days when granny made kheer for me, I wouldn’t eat anything else. The kheer was my starter, main course and dessert. You know what makes it special, I never got bored of eating that kheer. Once I turned 5, we moved to Rajasthan and now the longing started. It was not often that we came to Mumbai, but whenever we came I used to visit granny and she fondly made the rice kheer for me.

While being away from my granny and her kheer, the next best version of that kheer was made by my mom. Though from a neutral perspective it was simply amazing, as it had all the ingredients in extravagant quantities, huge portions of servings, but for a kheer connoisseur like me it was the kheer that no longer tasted the same. I was a kid and I was well equipped at ignoring the difference, but as I grew up I started thinking over it. And once such thought has made me write this blog.

The Recipe of the kheer that no longer tasted the same

Even if I give you the recipe and exact protocol then too nobody can come closer to my granny’s recipe. It were the most basic of ingredients that she used. Soaked rice, jaggery, milk, cardamom pods, turmeric, salt, water and shaved coconut crush. She used dry-fruits like cashew and raisins only occasionally. She used to make the kheer in record time. When I try to make a kheer it takes me more than 1 hour to finish it.

From soaking the rice to adding the pinch of salt, her way of working out was just too good. As a kid, I regret that I didn’t notice how she cooked it. So I really do not know the exact recipe. I just know the ingredients and the process which is like a general knowledge for any Kokani guy. My mom knows the exact recipe but her rice kheer tastes way different that my granny’s version. Maybe my granny added a secret ingredient that nobody could identify or decode.

She poured in lots of love. Yes, she loved me like anything. It is said that for a women, her daughter’s kid is much dearer. I am not sure if this is categorized under biasedness, but there is underlying love too. Love is neither right nor wrong, it is just love. My granny loved all her grandchildren but with me it was special. Maybe I asked her to cook that kheer which gave her joy. So she used to pour in lots of love that made the kheer super delicious and comforting. I used to gulp down bowls of the kheer in no time.

If you think that she was the fastest to make the kheer then I was the fastest in finishing it off. I used to stop only after I could see that a very little was left. My granny taught me so much of discipline but in this case she made an exception and allowed me the gluttony.

Why I say that the kheer no longer tasted the same?

The kheer no longer tasted the same, because my granny left this world in 2013 to be at a place way more beautiful than this. Just a year before she passed away, she made the kheer for me. Which I clearly remembering eating 4 times bowl after bowl. You know what startles me! I clearly remember the kheer that she made for me in my childhood and the kheer that she made me for that last time, both were exact the same in taste. A simple kheer was the testament of her love towards me. A love as constant as the taste of that kheer.

She was not the strongest person I knew, she was ill for the major part of her life. Yet she managed to make that kheer for me each time I demanded and requested. A kheer that was not rich with lots of milk. A kheer which was not royal with lots of dry fruits. A kheer which was not aromatic with lots of condiments. A kheer which wasn’t sweet as a dessert is supposed to be. Yet that kheer is the thing I still long for.

I kept seeking that love in every rice kheer I had, but couldn’t find that. My mom kept trying hard and she still tries till date to make a kheer as good as my granny. She asks me each time “Nini saarkhi zaali aahe ka?” It means, ‘is it as good as my Granny?’ To which I very half-heartedly reply “No”. I know the efforts and I do appreciate them, but the taste that lingers in my mouth and transpires in my heart is of the kheer that my granny made.

My mom tried putting in more milk, more dry-fruits, and so on, but each time it tasted different. Good for everyone who haven’t tasted my granny’s kheer, but for me it is simply not what I am looking for. This is why I say that the Kheer no longer tasted the same…

So was it the end?

A person with a sweet tooth can’t say that it is the end. My mom never gave up on me. She till date tries to make rice kheer which could come closer to my granny’s version. But you know what! She started making this Sewaiyan Kheer, which I generally don’t like. No matter how good a Sewaiyan kheer is I never ate it. Since my granny passed away, my mom kept trying and she made a Sewaiyan kheer for me and told me to try it.

I tasted it and I was in love again. My mom makes the best Sewaiyan kheer, at least for me that is the best. So the Sewaiyan kheer was my consolation for the rice kheer that no longer tasted the same. My mom jokingly says that you pray to God that let granny come in my dreams and teach me the exact recipe. Somewhere deep within I think that she left the recipe in my sub-conscious. I feel that if I make the rice kheer myself then it will taste the same.

I haven’t ever tried making a rice kheer like her. I have made Phirni so many times. Maybe while finding solace I started liking Phirni as it too is made of rice. But never have I ever tried making a rice kheer like my granny. I feel that I have inherited that recipe from her, but at the same time I am scared to try. What if I make it and it doesn’t taste the same? I will be crest-fallen. The feeling that I have inherited that recipe is beautiful only till I don’t attempt the recipe myself.

Someday I know that I will take this leap of faith. I will attempt that recipe and make a kheer like my granny did. The love she had for me was that secret ingredient. Maybe I need to find that love or let that love find me. Maybe now, maybe many decades later when I become a grandparent, I will be able to recreate the kheer that no longer tasted the same.

Closure:

Was it that perfect pinch of salt along with love that was crucial or the turmeric that made the difference, or was it the tender coconut crush that worked the magic. I will only know when I attempt and succeed. What you think? Will I succeed? Let me know in the comments. So is there a dish that your granny made and that no longer tasted the same? Isn’t granny’s love just phenomenal?

The takeaway from this story is that, each person has their own specialty. Plus each person has a different taste in their hands. No two people can make the exact same dish. There has to be a difference in the taste if not in the appearance. This is why bigger restaurants don’t change the chefs and the cooks frequently. People like me are picky at times and are easily turned off by the change in taste.

I would love to hear your stories. Do write to me on foodie_khiladi@yumandaweome.com or DM me at foodie_khiladi007. Let me know if you miss your granny’s dishes. This one was a tribute to the love of all the grannies of the world. Love you all. I hope you liked the blog and will share it with all the possible people who would love reading it.

With this your foodie_khiladi sings off for the day in hope to see you soon in my next blog. If you are here for the first time then do subscribe. If you want to ready more such stories then check them out here on the link. See you in my next blog, keep smiling and spreading the smiles.

Today I will be sharing with you the story of my first cooking experience. And just to be clear, it was not Maggi noodles. No, it was not about shooting for the stars, but I already knew the process of cooking Maggi and the confidence in me was at all-time high. So what next! Was it chai? Was it rice? Or was it an Omelet? Any guesses? You can pause your reading here and comment down below, your answer. Then come back and continue reading.

I grew up watching my mom all the time. Especially in the kitchen, where she was at her best. I used to be mesmerized by her style of cooking and making that magic happen. So it was already written in my destiny since then, that I will take up cooking either as a fond hobby, passion or profession. Keep reading to know more revelations.

First Cooking Experience is always special

This is a universal truth. Whoever cooks his/her first dish, that person flaunts it to everyone. Especially in today’s tech-savvy world, first thing the rookies do is to click photographs of the dish even before tasting it. Thankfully when I cooked my first dish, the cellphone era was in its infancy. I remember asking my mom for permission to cook. It was not a one day approval, rather it was almost a month long application. But cooking always fascinated me, I was in love with the sight of my mother cooking my favourite dishes.

So for the love of food, I persisted for permission. Initially I was given permission to do a small task from the entire process. I started with stirring the gravies which were left for simmering. I was given the task of mixing the veggies and the masalas. After few days, I was told to sauté the onions. But I did every single task dedicatedly and without any tantrums. Maybe even as a teenager, I understood that this was the best possible way to learn my basics. I knew that my mother was an amazing teacher.

I am not saying this out of my love for her, but only few people know that she was my official class teacher when I started my schooling journey. So I knew that if she can pull of teaching studies to kids then teaching how to cook will be cakewalk for her. So I just obeyed my Masterchef mom and tried to absorb as much as skills as possible. Many Dals, many veggies, and many chicken gravies later I was qualified to handle the gas stove on my own.

Then the next phase was to teach me the right way to do things. Frying the onions was probably the first fine tuning I received. The mind blowing aroma of the onions getting fried in the oil still leaves me smitten. I started understanding about the color of fried onions that are required for specific dishes.

Then it was followed by adding the red chili powder and turmeric to the dishes. Which is at time calculative but at times it needs to be intuitive. How veggies can soak more flavour from masala, how to cook tender chicken. I was observant all the time and was eager to go on my own. Then after lots of complicated dishes and my involvement in cooking them, finally my mom approved my request of cooking. Now came the big day when finally I was going to make a dish independently.

My first dish

Did you guess what that dish was? Not to worry, let me reveal the name quickly before you stop reading the blog. My first cooking experience was to cook Anda Bhurji (The Indian spicy scrambled eggs). I don’t know whether that surprised you, shocked you or made you feel something else, but yes I cooked Anda Bhurji from scratch as a part of my first cooking experience.

Though it was my mom who chopped the onions and tomatoes for me, because handling knives and sharp objects was not a part of my passing curriculum. So here I was standing in front of gas stove with lots of excitement brimming inside me. I lit the gas, and put the Kadhai on it, maybe this is one reason that till date I love to cook most of the dishes in Kadhai. I poured in some oil which was in generous amount. Now once the oil was piping hot, I added the chopped onions which all sizzled for a good 4-5 seconds before the fuzz mellowed down.

The aroma of onions getting fried had me hooked and since then, this is the kind of high I want to smell in every kitchen. I kept sautéing the onions till they turned translucent and were about to turn brown. I added salt as per my intuition stirred it well and then pushed in the chopped tomatoes. The water from the tomatoes crackled the cooking scene with amazing sound and that sour aroma which makes you drool by looking at it.

Then next went in the turmeric powder, red chili powder and some chopped green chilies. Now this was the point that the potential chef in me awakened and I started stirring the ingredients vigorously. I remember splashing the kitchen tiles with some spiced oil. Then finally I smelled the cooked masala and I knew that it was the time of the real test. As I was instructed that breaking and adding the eggs needs to be done faster, or else you won’t get a fluffy Anda Bhurji.

Yes a little pressure mounted on me, but with a clear head I started breaking the eggs one by one. According to me I was doing it fast, but with respect to my mother’s standards, I was pretty slow. So she turned down the heat in order to save the eggs from burning. I finished cracking 6 eggs into the kadhai and then washed my hands. I can’t cook with hands that are smeared in eggs. I don’t do it even today. So once my hands were clean, I started stirring the potpourri with love. Scraping right from the bottom and making the sound of spatula striking the brim of Kadhai, just like you hear it on the streets.

Finally after 10 odd minutes or so, the Anda Bhurji was ready when I turned off the gas and my mom sprinkled the chopped coriander to finish it off. The Bhurji smelled delicious, and I anticipated it to be good, but self-evaluation doesn’t count here. The real test lied ahead when my father was supposed to taste it. But gladly both my parents tasted it and it was pretty amazing in taste. Though the salt was a bit on the lower side and I got the feedback, but myself being a non-halophile I always end up putting less salt in the dishes.

A New Chapter begun

Pulling off a decent dish in your first cooking experience gives you immense pleasure and a confidence boost. It affirms the faith of your mom that you can cook and makes your dad happy. Daddies become happy because now they don’t have to rely on mommies for delicious food. Mommies are happy because in case her kid has to leave the house for education or career, then she knows that her kid will cook well now.

So from a simple anda Bhurji to a complicated dish like Zereshk Berry Pulao, my journey has been wonderful so far. I have made few dishes, some turned out to be great in the first attempt, and some turned out to be abysmal in the first attempt. Yet nothing beats the confidence boost from the first cooking experience.

When I decided to take control?

It was during my mother’s second pregnancy when she was expecting, that I learnt how important cooking is. I was 7 years old and we were in Rajasthan, when we were about to welcome my younger sister into the family. It was my mom’s absence from the kitchen while the delivery period that posed a big question. My dad never cooked before it. So each day my mom used to instruct him how to cook.

Though I am grateful that my dad did a pretty decent job and I was well fed, but me being a kid whose mom cooked wonderful meals couldn’t keep mum about the taste. I used to complain about the lack of taste or texture or aroma to my mom when we visited her. She told me that I should be thankful for whatever comes my way. Gratitude was value that my mom taught me. Apart from the value education, the main point was that my dad was just an okayish cook.

This made me realize, how I need to be a good cook so that in emergency situations I could be the savior. While growing up, I thought that my wait for emergency situations, rather everyone should learn to cook, irrespective of gender. But keeping the moral angle aside, I actually fell in love with cooking. Right from my first cooking experience I carried forward the spirit of this art. Hopefully I will delve deeper in the subject of cooking, with years to come.

Closure:

So how did you find my first cooking experience? What was your first cooking experience like? I would like to hear from you. If it is a short tiny tale then comment down below. If it is a long story then do mail me at foodie_khiladi@sh119.global.temp.domains or DM me at foodie_khiladi007. I would be glad to hear from you.

I hope you enjoyed the narration and will share this with your loved ones. What are your thoughts on cooking? Don’t you think that it should be equal responsibility of all the family members? Perhaps those who have never cooked, are missing a major tool of satisfaction. The satisfaction that is visible on the face of the patrons who eat what we make it for them. So if you haven’t been a cook yet, then let this be the push that you needed. Good luck!!!

With this your foodie_khiladi signs off for the day in a hope to see you soon in my next blog post. Till then keep smiling and spreading the smiles.

Missing Ingredient Story begins…

It was a long busy day on a weekend. Raghav was busy with the food preparations and cooking operations. A 26 something guy who was relatively new to this place, which was Delhi’s most famous restaurant the ‘Roshan-e-Hind’. Just 8 months at this place and within a short span of time he worked hard to gain respect from his mentor Ustad Naushad Kohinoor.

Ustad Naushad was second generation chef who was with Roshan-e-Hind and grew up learning about cooking from his father Ustad Salim Kohinoor. The culinary magic ran through his veins and it was a hereditary boon passed on to him. Though most of his fine skills were the ones taught by his father but the basics and traditional secrets were taught to him by his mother.

He was a chef who didn’t live for laurels, for him simplicity and freedom mattered the most. Being just 35 years of age he still had 20 years of experience, as he started working here since the age of 15. He was often approached by big chain of restaurants to work as head chef but his loyalty towards Roshan-e-Hind was beyond fitting into accolades.

Apart from his exemplary cooking skills, he was famous for finding out the missing ingredient from any dish without even tasting the dish. He was well respected in his circle for the proficiency he has achieved. Raghav used to be inspired from his Ustad and wanted to reach these kind of skill levels. This maybe the reason that in a short duration he became Ustad’s favorite disciple by working hard as per Ustad’s instructions.

Raghav started learning about cooking and culinary skills after he turned 18, when he had to leave his home to move away for further studies. Till graduation he stayed in Lucknow and for Post-graduation specialization he was in Hyderabad. Post this he worked in a small fine dine restaurant for almost 3 years and moved to Delhi for better exposure.

“That fish is not going to be crispy after you fry them.” Ustad said to one of his cooks who was 24 and on his first cooking duty. Confused and panicked the 24 year old Rajiv looked clueless. Ustad asked with a little smile on his face “Beta, can you tell me how you fry a fish?”

Rajiv was stumped and nervous at the same time. A simple question but when asked by the head of cooking operations there is no scope of error. He started slowly in a hushed tone “Cleaning the fish thoroughly, deboning it with precision, washing it with cold water.” He glanced at the Ustad for any clue if he was missing any point. Ustad was at his poker best with no expressions at all. Rajiv was tensed, yet he gathered courage and continued “Add salt, pepper and our secret seasoning then put the fish on a heavy bottom pan on medium heat. Fry till the seasoning start to burn and skin becomes crisp.”

Ustad smiled and kept a hand on his back to ease the tension. Ustad said “Rajiv, everything was perfect except one crucial step you missed. You didn’t pat dry the fish before seasoning it. This is where you won’t get a crisp outer crust and a moist inner mass.” Rajiv was little embarrassed and apologized for the mistake. Ustad comforted him and told him that he will learn everything eventually so do not worry and focus on your work.

Raghav was patiently observing the entire episode and he was simply awe-struck. He approached the Ustad and told him “Each day I think that this is the best you could offer your students, but the very next day you come up with a new thing that startles us.” Raghav was smiling in admiration. Ustad replied “Son, when you cook for 20 long years, then you definitely learn tips and tricks that transform you as a cook.”

A week passed by and another weekend arrived. Raghav was given the duty of making a huge batch of Dal khichdi and Dal Tadka. Each one was cooked in a large cauldron with heavy copper bottom. As always, he called upon Ustad to check on the taste. Ustad walked in that section and inhaled the aroma with a deep breath. His nostrils swelled up for a second and when he exhaled, out came the words “The Dal Khichdi lacks salt.” Adjust the salt and you are good to go.

Raghav was shocked at hearing this. He was so confident and sure that he added the salt to both the dishes. Now he was in dilemma, about how to check it in front of the Ustad as it might have offended Ustad. Ustad Naushad gauged that dilemma from Raghav’s face said “Go ahead Raghu, taste it and then add salt to it. No pressure!” Raghav felt more embarrassed after hearing this. Now he couldn’t deny the order of his mentor, so he took a spoonful of dal khichdi, blew it to cool it a bit and then tasted it.

Raghav realized how miserably he has failed. At the same time he was so much impressed with this skill of Ustad that he couldn’t hide his excitement. He always heard of this special skill from other staff, finally he experienced it by himself today. He pleaded Ustad to teach him this special skill. “Ustad please teach me this secret skill of yours and I will be forever indebted to you.” “Please Please Please…” Ustad was enjoying this moment. Of course who doesn’t love flattery? The ones who say they don’t love flattery are definitely liars.

Ustad said, “I will not teach you this because these skills are better acquired on your own through experience”. Raghav was crestfallen which was visible on his face. Ustad put his hands on both shoulders of Raghav and continued “Raghu, you will someday become a better chef than I am, this is the reason I want you to learn these things on your own by experiencing them.” Still there were no expressions on Raghu’s face. “OKAY! I will tell you only about the salt, rest everything you will have to learn on your own. Is it fine?” Ustad added in an effort to cheer Raghav.

Raghav’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you Ustad, you don’t know how much value these lessons add to my life. You are not just a best Chef, but a best person too.” Ustad laughed at this and replied “Fine we have a deal, but I want something in exchange to make it a fair deal.” Raghav was perplexed on hearing this. Ustad told him “Do not worry, I won’t ask you to make anything that you couldn’t.” Raghav was relieved on hearing this.

Ustad said “So Raghu, before I tell you one chapter of finding the missing ingredient, I want you to write a short poem on cooking or food, as I know you are good at this.” Raghav felt anxious because he never shared his poems with anyone. To share something with Ustad, he has to come up with something better. He couldn’t afford to miss the deal and hence he agreed. He was given 2 days for the task.

Two days passed by quickly and finally after the day ended and the cleanup was done. Ustad and Raghav sat at the back yard of the restaurant. Under the open sky, but barely visible stars due to high pollution levels of Delhi. Raghav bought a kettle which had this aromatic Kashmiri Kahwa and poured it in 2 glasses and offered one to Ustad. He knew that Ustad won’t consume alcohol and Kahwa was the only drink that pleased him.

They both started with casual talks and then came to the point finally. Ustad ordered “Let’s get started Mr. Chef in the making!!!” Raghav hesitantly started his narration only after warning Ustad that this is not his best of work with words. He knew he could only manage an ultra-short poetry which is going to be more of a shayari. Yet he went on with it because he had no other choice.

Khush hojate khane waale…jab dil laga dete hum jaise banane waale…
Achha khana mil jaaye kahi…toh wohi aashiyana bana de saare zamane waale…
Rasoiya wahi asli…jo khane me halki si Rajaiyat laaye…
Aisi baariki hunar ki…jo khane wale k mann ko bhaaye…

Lagega jab aisa majedaar Tadka pyaare…
Daude chale aayenge khane ke shaukeen saare…
Swaad khane ka jab dil ko chhu jaaye…
Hunar rasoiye ka tab ubhar k aaye…

Zaika ho, Nuskhe ho aur namak swaad anusaar…
chuninda masalo k saath jab daala thoda sa pyaar…
Ungliya chaat jaaye har koi, aisi dawaat pe jo aaye…
khaatirdari aisi ki mehmano k mann ko bhaaye…

Khush hojate khane waale…jab dil laga dete hum jaise banane waale…
Achha khana mil jaaye kahi… toh wohi aashiyana bana de saare zamane waale…

Raghav was in a trance, even after finishing the poem. Ustad was clapping with joy as he genuinely liked this light take on their culinary journey. He applauded Raghu and raised his glass of Kahwa to which Raghav raised his glass and they clinked the glasses and said “CHEERSSS!!!” Ustad kept praising Raghav for next 5 minutes and by the time the Kahwa glasses were empty.

Now was the time for Ustad to hold up his end of bargain. Raghav was expecting Ustad to start. Ustad knew how eager Raghav was to know the secret. Ustad started “That day in your Dal Khichdi the salt was missing and I told you without tasting. Son this is the easiest thing that anyone could have asked me to do.”

Raghav knew all this, yet he was listening patiently. Ustad carried on “When you cook something with turmeric and forget to add the salt, then the pungent aroma of turmeric floats in the air. The reason being, salt mellows down the strong aroma of turmeric and this is how a seasoned chef finds out the missing ingredient. Which was salt in this case.”

Raghav was smiling in disbelief that a simple tip like this could make a huge difference and such simple tips are often underrated in cooking. Raghav replied “When did you learn this Ustad, who taught you?” Ustad looked at Raghav and said “5 years ago I was cooking at my home and my mother enters the kitchen and challenged me in the same way that I did to you.” Raghav was surprised to know that this skill of Ustad was not as old as he thought.

Ustad told Raghav “See this is why I tell you, you will eventually learn many more things on your own and at its own sweet time. You do not need to rush anything. Experiencing things before learning them is more important in cooking.” Raghav was obediently nodding his head in agreement. Somewhere in back of his mind he was extremely satisfied that now he can practice a skill which no culinary school can teach. After a good exchange of words they left the place with new insights about their cooking journey.

Closure:

This was all about a short story on the missing ingredient. A no fuss story about two culinary experts who have learnt things in their own ways. Did you know about this cooking tip? If yes then let me know in the comments below about any more tips that you want to share with other readers. The characters and the names of the places are completely fictional and are work of my imagination.

The poem is my original work, which you can feel free to share with your friends and family without giving me any credits. Just kidding!!! Though not required, but a little credit will be much appreciated. I do write such crazy stories and you can check my other food stories on this link here.

With this, your foodie_khiladi signs off for the day in a hope that I entertained you and it was worth your time. If you have any queries or suggestion then feel free to DM me on foodie_khiladi007 or mail me on foodie_khiladi@sh119.global.temp.domains See you soon in my next post. Till then keep smiling, keep sharing and keep spreading smiles.

Few years ago you must have come across a post on either Facebook or WhatsApp titled ‘Suspended Coffee’. Where a person goes to a coffee shop and observes people ordering extra coffees than they require, then taking only what is required and leaving after paying for the entire order. Only to see that someone in need asking humbly if there is any Suspended Coffee available, to which the coffee shops do check and give away the suspended coffee which was already paid in advance by someone else. This heart melting story went viral.

If you remember then I am glad, because too many such sweet posts cross your screen on regular basis that you tend to forget quickly. So this Suspended Coffee is a concept which was revised in 2011 in Naples, Italy. After small Italian towns started this movement in solidarity after the government announced cultural budget cuts. In December 2011, Neapolitan authorities declared an annual “Suspended Coffee Day” marking an official date for this movement. But in reality this movement is very old which was practiced and was lost in the post war economic boom as quoted on the Wikipedia page.

Short Story on Suspended Coffee

It was a bright sunny day in the seaport and market town of King’s Lynn. ‘The Coffee Shop @ Goddards’ started their operations for the day. Harry a 30 something guy walked in the coffee shop at 10:30 and placed an order of an espresso. He was on call with someone who was about to meet him at this place. He placed the order and sat in a corner waiting for that person.

10 minutes later, a 22 year young student entered the place and very awkwardly asked the person on the counter “Any suspended coffee available?” The counter guy glanced at this boy in surprise then checked the balance and said “Yes, we have two available.” The student took the coffee and seeming a little embarrassed he went outside the shop.

Harry was watching all this happen and out of curiosity he went out to meet that boy outside. Harry knew the concept, the only doubt he had was ‘why a well-dressed young guy asked for a suspended coffee?’ He approached the boy who was holding the coffee cup with both his hands curled around. Harry said “Hey young man, this is Harry Anderson. What is your name?” The boy replied with a smile “I am Oliver Jones.” Harry said casually “Why you came out with the coffee? It is too sunny out here, and you could have had it inside.”

Oliver almost whispered in low tone “It is not for me, but for a homeless man on the street who asked me to get it for him and I don’t know where he went.” “There he is.” He saw the old man approaching, he handed the coffee to this old man and said “Have a nice day sir”. The old man replied “Many thanks young lad.” and he left.

Harry was left speechless by this incident. He offered Oliver to join him for a cup of coffee. Oliver obliged and they both went inside. Sat on the same table. “So are you going to explain me why all this happened?” Oliver sat relaxed and responded “This whole system is flawed.” “Generosity is out for the offering but what about the social stigma attached?” Harry was listening attentively but was still confused. “Can you please simplify it for me Oliver? I am 9-5 office goer who is aloof from most of the recent developments in the social stratosphere” Harry added in a jest.

Oliver’s coffee came on the table, he had a sip of this refreshing suspended coffee and rolled his eyes in pure bliss. Harry was waiting for an answer. Oliver noticed him and said on a lighter note “First of all thanks for this suspended coffee, which you sponsored for me.” He kept his coffee cup on the table and continued in what seemed to be a monologue to Harry.

This concept of Suspended coffee was to help the poor and less privileged people to afford a cup of coffee without losing their dignity. The intent is no wonder a good one, but it has its own flaws. The people out there who really need this suspended coffee are not the ones who have a pleasing appearance. They always seem to be in rags and shabby clothes. This makes them hesitant to approach any café and ask for a suspended coffee. Because they feel they will be considered as nuisance to these classic places that are intending to help them.

So this is the reason that old guy approached me as he was uncomfortable to come inside and ask on his own. Maybe this is the social stigma that still comes with these generous offerings under noble deeds. Harry was stunned at this explanation. He was well aware of this suspended coffee movement and even forwarded that viral story to his friends a few years ago. But never ever he thought that this could be an angle to ponder upon.

“I am speechless, never in my wildest dream had I thought on this.” Harry admitted this in embarrassment. “This mean there must be many people out there who must be facing the same issue.” Oliver nodded “Yes plenty, this isn’t my first time of doing this.” Harry’s mind was now running at rapid pace this was something which made him think hard. He asked, “But how can we fix this? Is this really in our control?” He started putting forward random suggestions.

“Can we have Suspended coffee cards which people can buy upfront? And later donate it to someone who they think is in the need of it?” Harry asked Oliver. Oliver raised his hand and said “They have one such shop in Melbourne, where you can buy subscription card for suspended coffees and hand it to the people in need who can claim the free coffees whenever they want.” Harry was listening patiently and was happy to hear something like this.

“Do you have any more insights Oliver?” Harry asked again after glancing at the shop’s door, the person whom he was about to meet was yet to show up. Oliver said, “There are many things that can be done and to start in a best way is to start with educating the person next to you.” “If you allow me I will state what I think needs to be done.”

The subscription card is one great idea. The next thing is carry out a drive in all possible cafés to introduce this movement. Maybe not only for suspended coffee, but for suspended meals too. The poor and homeless need free meals more than coffees. So anything suspended should be more than welcome. This will really be a great movement.

“But don’t you think too much of this act can lead to false impersonators taking undue advantage?” Harry asked slowly. Oliver said “Yes it is a possibility, but every good thing has a flaw but that should not discourage us from doing that one good thing.” “Let me continue I will tell you how this can be addressed.”

Going by someone’s sole appearance won’t help out, you never know a well-dressed person must have lost his job recently and is tight on budget. A well-dressed lady who can be a single mother of 3 who can’t afford this luxury. These people can’t be judged just because they asked for a suspended coffee. You never know who is going through what. So a suggestion their online website should accept applications. A kind of application where a well to do person can nominate a person who is in trouble. Because if self-submission is allowed then many fake people will use this in a wrong way.

Thus a testimonial from a trusted source can be considered legitimate. Thus this list of potential people in dire need of help is available to the world. Now the generous samaritans can see the data and choose to pay all the suspended stuff for them. For example, someone can buy a week’s groceries, or a coffee subscription and so on. If what I am saying is making sense and is feasible then this will solve a major problem. And above all trust and transparency is paramount for the success of this movement.

“But the social stigma for homeless and poor will still be there and these people are hard to trace.” Harry emphasized on a big challenge at hand. He carried on “So maybe these people should be told which places to visit, as the places offering suspended services can assign board at the front and back door. The hesitant ones can approach from the back door.” Oliver was glad that Harry was able to suggest few developments.

“Such a brilliant idea Oliver, you are a genius.” Harry was so impressed by this young lad. He was smiling brightly as if the solutions have been implemented. Oliver asked him “Hey, Harry not a big deal, but this is all in my thoughts and your mind, I don’t know how this will work out.” Harry responded “Where there’s a will there’s a way, let me go to their official website and send them a mail regarding this suggestion, I will keep you in the loop.”

By this time both of them finished their coffees. As the person who was about to meet Harry cancelled the meeting Harry had no other option but to leave. Harry went to the counter and paid for 3 suspended coffees and asked the owner of the café if their ideas made sense. The owner was open to these ideas and agreed to be a part of it. They parted ways after shaking hands and exchanging their contacts. But he was very glad that he met Oliver and had a very emotionally engaging day.

Conclusion:

This wonderful concept, is spread across 20 countries and thousands of coffee shops. The noble intentions are quite evident. Just what makes me cautious is, because of few bad social elements this concept should not stop or be ignored. Or per say, if you come across one such bad experience you should not start ignoring the higher purpose. Which is to help someone in need.

Suspended coffee culture is a simple thing which broke out with this humble movement. What as a person we can do is, if you see someone who is less privileged then go to that person and at least feed him something! Because chances are rare that in developing countries the less privileged will have the courage to enter such places which are offering suspended coffees or suspended meals due to the social stigma. Plus they won’t be aware of any such thing because these are the people who do not have phones to access social media or news.

So as simply as it can be done, help someone in need if you feel from your gut that this person is in real need. Do not go by appearances, the appearances might be deceiving at times. Educate at least one person you know about this suspended coffee concept and ensure that they apply it in whatever way possible. Any kind of suspended generosity is welcome.

Let me know what you think of this concept. I must say, a lot can happen over a coffee. A movement based on coffee went viral and it is spreading slowly into the world. Giving everyone a hope that all has not ended. Good things are still out there and we should take a responsibility to keep it flowing.

With this your foodie_khiladi signs of for the day. With a hope that you liked this concept based post. I hope you will share with your friend circles. If you are here for the first time I do write such decent posts and you can check all of them here on this link. See you soon in my next post, till then take care and keep smiling. For any queries and complaints you can either mail me on foodie_khiladi@sh119.global.temp.domains or send me a DM on foodie_khiladi007.

Story of my first Pizza

Do you remember your first pizza? I guess yes, or maybe no. Was it from Dominos or was it from Pizza Hut? Was it from a local restaurant or was it from a sandwich stall? I am not sure how many of us remember the first pizza we ate. On the contrary I very well remember my first pizza.

I will tell you my first encounter with pizza. Growing up in a typical Indian middle class family, junk food was kept at bay from me. Or I shall correct myself a bit, expensive junk food was always kept at bay from me. Because I ate a hell lot of Vadapav and Pav Bhaaji but that was always pocket friendly back in those days when 90s kids like me were growing up. So are you curious to know, when I met my first pizza???

It is an old saying, you never meet anyone by yourself. You only meet someone when you are destined to meet. True in my case with pizza. Till my 2^nd class I was in Jodhpur, Rajasthan and the school canteen culture was not so famous there back in 1998. Luckily for me, I returned to Mumbai for my further education. And guess what!!! My new school had a very big canteen. The big canteen is not the highlight here, this big canteen served some delicious food including pizza. This is the highlight.

You enter my school and the first thing you smell is the aroma of the hotdogs and the pizzas mingling very nicely with the vadas and samosas. Only if the aromas could sound like something then I wonder this kind of aroma would have definitely sounded like a Beethoven’s 6^th symphony. A school canteen serving pizza is really a blessing for the students. Did your school serve pizzas? My school canteen served the best food at very affordable rates. Please excuse me for not coming to the point, but as you know, backstory really matters. Thanks for being so understanding.

So here I knew, that my school’s canteen served pizza. Now the next line is going to surprise you, or rather shock you. The pizza was sold in 2 versions, a half pizza for 15 rupees and a full pizza for 30 rupees. Did these prices shock you? If yes then I am so sorry, but it is a truth. I always wanted to try this pizza since the day I was admitted to the school. The only problem was, I always carried my lunch box which my mom used to pack for me daily without fail. She does that till date by the way.

So even though I was tempted by the aroma daily, I couldn’t have the pizza. Now the next problem was, back in school I never used to get any pocket money, which I didn’t get till my second year of Degree College as well. This is another story for some day later.

I remember, how my mom and dad used to clearly keep a close tab on what I was fond of and used to ensure that I got it at an appropriate time. They always ensured that I didn’t get things too easily. This was their way of teaching me, to value all the little things that comes my way. So after my repeated pleading for the pizza from school canteen, one fine day my mom agreed. I was told, if I be a good boy then soon I will have that pizza.

Few weeks passed by, my graph of good behavior kept going up. I used to do my homework on time, packed my bag on time every night. Behaved very nicely in the school. This was all because of that 1 pizza, which I wanted so dearly. On top of that, Dominos was freshly entering the Mumbai territory. So I used to see few outlets with this amazing pictures of cheese stretched pizzas. This used to make me more curious about how a pizza could taste.

Might be this waiting for pizza made this story so memorable that I couldn’t just forget it. The anticipation of how it could really taste, and the imagination built on the basis of that delicious aroma. All these factors hyped up my craving for that pizza. Then the day finally dawned, when my mom gave me 15 rupees for a half pizza. I was super excited since the previous night, as I was told about this in advance. I guess I hardly slept that night, imagining about that pizza I was going to have. I woke up early and was so happy when my mom gave me the money.

In the school bus, I was thinking all about the pizza. How this could taste, I was unaware. Will it be worth the hype, I was not so sure! Yet I was happy. Because by that time, I formed a belief that a dish with such a heavenly aroma could never taste bad. Plus my classmates frequently used to eat it for lunch and all their friends used to finish it in seconds. As I was new to the school, I didn’t have many friends. I was a very shy kid in the school back then. But it was good for me, I didn’t have to share my pizza and that made me much happier.

I reached the school, I went to the canteen and got my parcel of pizza. They used to serve the pizza on a rectangular paper dish and put it inside a butter paper envelop. Which all students used to carry in their hands and keep it under the desk of their seat. So I followed the tradition and did exactly the same. Which was a very bad choice actually, and you will know the reason.

I am saying this because, the aroma was so tempting that in the middle of the ongoing lecture I slipped my hand in the parcel and scrapped the melted cheese and ate it. Yes, I literally did that. Please don’t laugh at me. I was just in 3^rd standard and plus the temptation was irresistible. I bet if I give you that pizza today and ask you to hold on for 2 hours before you eat, would you be able to control? No right!!! Imagine how a poor kid like me could have controlled.

As soon as I licked my fingers, I can’t explain in words how yum & awesome it was. All the happiness hormones shot up in that one instance. Maybe this is how falling in love with the right person feels like. I was in love with that pizza. The melted cheese mixed with the perfect tomato puree with strong notes of garlic and seasoning, it was the best junk thing I had. But soon I was brought back to my senses, when my neighbor complained about this to my teacher.

I was still getting over that unexplainable feeling, till this unexpected event took place. I was confused at what just happened. I couldn’t believe that I just ate something in a live lecture and now my teacher knows that too. Now I was afraid about what was going to happen. The teacher approached me and asked me, if I was hungry. To which I said no, and then the teacher scolded me very badly. But you know what, I didn’t feel bad, I was excited that in the recess, I would be eating that damn yummy pizza.

I can’t even recollect, how the next 90 minutes passed by. I remember as soon as the recess bell rang, I cleared my desk, got the pizza out and took a first complete bite or the first official bite of this amazing recipe from Italy. I was so glad, I felt the happiness of finally getting that one thing for which you have waited so long. The same neighbor who complained about me, asked me if he can have a bite. I felt like saying no, but I was not Joey back then. I shared my food. Just kidding. I gave him a piece and we both happily ate it.

So that was my first pizza memory. A memory so special that, pizza became my favourite foreign junk food. Vadapav still remains the overall best. But my love affair with pizza started like this. Though the pizza was cold and soggy at the top but the crust was still crunchy enough. Believe me, our school canteen knew how to make yum food.

The pizza served in my school was a very simple pizza, a ready to bake pizza base, topped with a ladle full of tomato puree and the processed cheese melted while baking. Yet I till date haven’t had a pizza like that. Since that first pizza, I have had many other pizzas, but my school’s pizza will always be a memory laden experience for me. If I become a millionaire, I could give up my millions just in exchange of that old pizza. No I am kidding, rather than giving up a million I would develop that recipe myself.

Second time I tasted this amazing pizza was when my semester results were out and my dad came with me to the school. I got good marks and as a reward, I was eating a full pizza worth 30 rupees. A freshly baked pizza with the melting cheese and the perfect crust. I was so happy that, I didn’t ask for anything else for months after this. This is how my love affair with pizza started. From eating pizzas to making one. I didn’t realize that this 90s kid grew up. Do you know how to make a pizza??? Let me know in the comments below. You can check out below, my first attempt at making pizza from scratch.

This blog post is a very personal experience from my side. If you are still on the page, then I can say one thing for sure, “You know a bit more about me on personal level”. Thank you for reading the post. Maybe you haven’t asked but I will tell you, my school is I.E.S. V.N. SULE Guruji which is a part of I.E.S. group. A place where I have spent best of the days from my life.

If you liked this experience of mine which I wrote to share with you exclusively, then please share with your loved ones. At least share with one pizza lover you know. Comment down below your first pizza experience. If you are new to this website then you can find more such amazing content here. With this your foodie_khiladi signs off for the day. See you in the next post. Till then take care and keep smiling. Below are the social share buttons to share this post on your social media platforms.