Improprieties of the enlightened Malayali

Malayali has always prided himself for his enlightened culture, tolerance, and sense of fairness.
Not always implemented of course. But on the whole, commonsense prevail. Fingers crossed.
So I am hoping tht we will wake up from this stupor too.
I am talking about our social media activities. The posting and the sharing of events and incidents that happen around the world. Informative, funny, many of those do expand our horizons, grant us exposure to a whole new world, a world which was so remote, so alien to us once upon a time. So what there are too many fake stuff among them all? In the end, we hope the good will outweigh the bad. Because I do believe in the enormous power of this awesome and awful machine to educate, to awaken and to democratize us. And it is all so easy to access too! Even those who till the other day looked down on modernity, on art, music and literature, people who were literate but were afraid of imagination and creativity and just plain humor, are all on a sudden clicking away to glory! Of course, many of those same folks in between were hit by a tremendous surge of guilt and fear too. Are we supposed to have fun with this? Are we supposed to be happy? Or free? Isnt that sinful?
And sure enough there are those cunning dividers lurking around who will now make sure that people don't get too cozy or too friendly, aren't there? They have to take back control, the power. Not too much of the democratization. So then comes the religious  and political sharings and postings and so on.

Enough with the preamble. What made me write this right now is a post that I did not see. A post that was, thankfully, not shared with me. There have been other posts like this. But this one is too close to home. A person related to me, distantly, but since we all live not that far apart back home, he is someone we know really well. I remember him even though I have not seen him in a long time. It is from my mother that I learn that he had taught me a little when I was very young. And that is why she let me know of his passing away. It was a shock to her as he was younger than her, and the manner of death was sudden and obviously, tragic. He was on his way to  a visit to his doctor along with his brother in law. Both lost their lives in a horrible traffic accident. Very sad, a great loss, especially to his family. But what was  disturbing was that someone recorded the accident, including images of the person lying dead, with his clothes in disarray, you can imagine the rest. And he posted it on social media. When I listened to this, I was taken aback by the total lack of respect for the dead man, for his family, for the dignity of a human life. This did not happen in a big city. Actually it happened not far from his home. It is a small place where eveyone knows everyone. I know this is common now all over the world. Newspapers and tabloids have done this all along and now the internet is full of these kinds of news. Well, that is how our attention is captured by the media to events that should shock us. Freedom of speech, freedom of expression in full active mode. For good, for bad, for fun, for a whim.

But this is on a kind of personal level, a first for me.I can't imagine what goes on in the minds of those who relish posts like this. Just because something is easy to do, just a click, it doesn't mean you have to do it. These kind of posts do not  add to our knowledge or understanding of the world or of our fellow human beings. It does not make us look smarter or more worldly wise, nor does it help advance the frontiers of human civilization. But still many dismiss basic human sensitivities and record such private, intimate events, and post, and others fall into the trap of "sharing". Of course many do it for the money. How easy has it become to feel that we are important , intelligent and  aware of what is happening around us through a little click! Because that is what all the sharing means in the end.

But what was even more shocking and disgusting and shameful was the fact this post was shared by my own relatives. Why? Maybe they have convinced themselves that they are doing this to share the pain, to understand the awful tragedy, or is it a scare tactic on someone's part? Showing others that this is what happens to all in the end? As if no one knows that already! Or is it plain meanness or just plain ignorance?Maybe I am wrong to feel this anger and sadness and shame? Maybe this is the norm? I don't know, all I know is that there should be some line which we shouldn't cross. Some boundary that we need to keep. That there should be respect, and the knowledge that some acions are inappropriate, improper. To me, this is disaster porn. A callous disregard for the feelings of others.

Would be great if we shared our love, not inflict pain and insult on others. At least be aware that this is not an alien, isolated being who lies dead there. To remember that he is someone's son, father, husband, brother, someone's relative, friend ... Would be nice if we stopped and thought about it a bit  before posting or sharing something like this. And that goes for me too. Malayalis can do better than this, we don't have to copy the bad stuff from around the world, there are plenty of good stuff that we can copy, that we can aspire to.

And I record my regret and sadness that this person's  family have been subjected to this cruelty, this indignity, in their time of  loss and sorrow.

race and gender

race vs gender and other related issues

Having lived this long, one thing I am sure of is that it is almost impossible for all women to unite. I am stating some by now obvious facts here, maybe. Starting with our personal relationships, depending on where we are geographically, many of us are conditioned by our patriarchal culture to please others, please men and/or other powerful authority figures, and also to compete against other women for the attention of a man. Then there are those of us who are plagued by the “ I am not a feminist, but....” syndrome. Again, that fear and need for approval is behind that.

Next, there is the envious, begrudging group. (Now this is applicable to all humans, not just to women.) Not just envy, but the strong desire to see the subject of our envy bite the dust, be hurt badly , or even die. She or he may not have done anything good or bad to you, but just the fact that s/he exists, or that she is successful gets to you. Greed, and the uncontrolled longing for their lives, to grab what is theirs, to conquer and possess. The very obvious example is colonialism. But this is all around, again, within our immediate circles, and this plays out in gender and race areas too. These days, especially with the booming social media, and the celebrity culture, people seem to be lessinhibited in displaying this kind of hatred. But then this is the same envy that makes some men commit atrocities against women. A milder but still destructive form of this occurs in our personal relationships too. Now, if you venture into in-law territory, unless there is some sort of miracle, you can say goodbye to female sisterhood! Along with this goes the entitled group, which believes that they are the only ones that deserve anything good, deserve to win all the time. Class differences play a big role here too.

Now let us assume all this can be overlooked when it comes to a common cause, say, child abuse. Soon something even more elemental comes in. The past. History. (Now, when we talk about history, or racist and sexist historical figures, we could say that they were products of their times. Even Gandhi was said to be racist towards Africans in the early days. But later when he experienced racism from the whites, he realized his mistake. But there are a few who trascended the values of their times, which is incredible).

So, Unresolved issues from the past. Race. When Oprah, the great advocate for women, supported Barack Obama rather than Hillary Clinton, I realized that race won. Granted, there are times when gender and race issues unite, but not always. When I listened to Mruduladevi’s speech yesterday, (shamefully, I have to admit that is the first time I heard that voice, by which I mean, their story, or a small part of it, in their own voice, words) I became aware again that the past is coming to wake us up, that mere gender membership is not enough for women to unite. So much pain and anger of a whole group has to be addressed. If, even in this age, I say, ”us and them”, when I talk about my countrymen, something is seriously wrong.After all, if we went back far enough, we may find that we are all related -- yes, upper and lower castes, North and South, Hindu and Christian and Muslim and Parsee.

Listening to that speech made me feel guilty, ashamed , and rightly so. But I also felt a sense of futility, and a feeling that I had no right to say anything in the face of this powerful collective experience. Or rather whatever I say would be inadequate or worse, patronizing. But then if all of us feared that or more unpleasantness, and kept quiet, we will never come close to unity. We have to talk. Dialogue.Add to this, the other big big divider - religion. Divisions within religions. Catholics, do not be complacent. “Upper caste” “ first Christians turned Catholics” apparently threw the Holy wafer at the “low caste” “new converts”during Mass — learned that from Mruduladevi’s speech. We still do not even think of marital relationships with the Dalits. (They may not want it either, I am sure , but again, it is the principle).

Even though the Indian Constitution calls for secularism, the patriarchal culture will not relinquish its mighty weapon of controlling the masses, amassing wealth for themselves and their allies in the political and business world. Another important function of religion is of course, to keep women in their place. And many of us do fall for it, or have no other way, we are so intimidated by it all. And no one wants be a pariah, which means it is no longer just gender, but class and race too. Because think about it, we know what religions can do to pariahs - the outcasts, the so-called low caste,to widows, to orphans. 

Note: finally, if we have a handful of girl friends who gets you, and with whom we can be ourselves, then count yourself lucky. Thank goodness for small blessings!

Taste of a pioneer Thanksgiving November 5 2018

An early Thanksgiving and a culinary history lesson :
This weekend we visited the pioneer homestead in a forest preserve nearby. It is a replica of an early settler’s home. A few ladies organized and hosted the wonderful throwback Thanksgiving dinner. As I was looking for a pared down Thanksgiving this year,( I agree, the previous ones were progressively becoming excessive! due to many reasons 😋), the visit was doubly helpful and timely. But above all, the short trip was very satisfying - the curvy road through the autumn hued forest, a river flowing along the side, the deer peeking through the trees and darting across at times, all leading to the little wood cabin.

Like a fairy tale setting, with the tall yellow leaved trees and ravines in the background, the little cabin sat daintily in the clearing. The little front porch with its wooden benches invited us in to the golden warmth of the house. The soft light of candles added to the ambience. This apparently used to be the main room with its wood floors and fireplace. There were cast iron pots hanging over the fire in the hearth, in which a soup with locally picked mushroom and herbs, and a persimmon bread pudding was getting cooked. A wooden staircase led to the loft/attic like area upstirs. It had a small window overlooking the forest. There were looms, churns, and other home appliances displayed here.

Outside, close to the house is a little vegetable patch. A little away, in a Dutch oven with fire over and underneath, a chunk of venison was being slowly cooked along with carrots, parsnips and celery. There were heavenly corn fritters, and cranberry sauce , all cooked the old fashioned way. The bread was homemade and it had homemade goat cheese on it. There were walnuts, pecans, and chestnuts, all available back then in the area. Even the persimmons are from around there!

The gracious ladies, all dressed in period costumes explained that in a mid level household in the 1800s, a typical Thanksgiving dinner consisted of pork, and wild fowl like goose and duck. Turkey was not that much prevalent. Apples were, and so were squashes and beans and nuts, and of course, bread. They liked vegetables in a creamy sauce too.

This lead me to read further about old Thanksgivings, say, around the 1600s, when even the current staples like potatoes, wheat flour , cranberries, and sweet potatoes were absent. That took me to the 1800s, and to Sarah Josepha Hale, an editor of a ladies magazine who tirelessly worked to bring about the modern Thanksgiving traditions. Amazing . Amazing woman! She convinced President Lincoln to declare the Thanksgiving day as a holiday, pointing out that it will unify the Civil War ravaged country. Do read about her. (Btw, her Thanksgiving menu shows that I still have scope to expand my menu! Thankfully, I will follow the Midwest one, more similar to this little cabin one)

All along, that little cabin reminds me, we dont really need that much, do we? A little place with not much ”stuff” so that when we leave we dont leave as much debris for others to sift through. And that fire! That, I am sure would have awakened some shared, warm, collective memories from our buried primeval pasts in the minds of all those who came there!

And what an engaging way to preserve and share the history of a place! This of course is not a rarity here. Wish we did something like this back home!

Prof. N. Natarajan on Mothers and Virgins : A Novel

First let me tell you that the novel reads as a novel well with its narratological innovations/mix/collage whatever we call it.A  narrative/novel  is  molded/welded as a drama with its  dramaturgical  make-up: “Welcome to the Nazrani Show”, [the narrator/dramatist  introducing]  Anarkali’s matrophobic and matrophillic affiliation with her mother], Intermission, Curtain and in between, the Chapters camouflaging as Scenes which  alternate with Anarkali being third-personized and Annakili being first-personized. And in the last chapter/scene we see the contiguous merger of the doubles, Anu and Anna in the present tense and the novel /show starts and ends in Kombodinjaapplakkal /Kerala and in between we are/were in paradise ill or well /America.

 In fact the first scene/chapter starts with the present  in Kombodinjaapplakkal/Thrissur/Kerala  in the  present tense  and slides to past /paradise/America  and  we are allowed into the stream of consciousness of  Anarkali whose child/girl/marriage/divorcehoods trickle like water to wet us in the past tense. At the same time in the present tense she [an American-returned]  is ideological in her leaving America/husband and economical in her having had  left for America before that, to remain a virgin even after the so-called first night thanks  to her husband’s impotence. And to top it all before her marriage she was kept  a virgin by her mother and her brothers; standards of conduct of women in Kerala – she is/was/will be always /already caught in between the  ideology of conduct and the conduct of ideology for women – no escape and no regret either because she is already/always committed to her parents whether she likes it or not.  That is the tragedy/comedy of her life. Being a history student she exposes the claims of past history of/ across the world and wants to rewrite it and succeeds in it to some extent, she thinks.

In the second chapter/scene , the narrator/dramatist allows the second woman,  Anna to narrate/dramatize  her-story herself – the intrusion we find  earlier of the narrator is not here, she is totally free to say whatever she likes , whereas that freedom is not given to Anu , she is imprisoned in the prison-house of the narrator/dramatist. This being caged imagery is not available to Anna, so she is completely free to wallow in her thoughts.

Whatever I guessed in the beginning itself that A nu/nna  are the same per son/daughter is confirmed by the  anonymous dramatist/narrativist in the Intermission, while  talking to the reader-- western and eastern. Using the all inclusive WE, the narratist [a portmanteau from narr(ator) and (dram)atist] raises the question. “By the way, do you [ i.e., Us Readers] wonder who this busy body know it all narrator is? Who is the real teller/writer of the story? And Anarkali and Anna? Do you think they are one and the same person? That one is the creation of the other? Well …. Anyway it doesn’t matter. Nothing does. After all we [ including the writer of the teller/writer and the reader] are only what we think ourselves to be.” [pp197-8]. This “We” is distinguished from the teller/writer of the story and it is this “we” who introduces the Narrator who “introduces Anarkali” [p.9] and “lets Anna introduce herself” [p.53]. But the all inclusive “we” seems to be  the narrator of the Narrator who is the narrator/controller  of the teller/writer, Anarkali and Anna. As I said earlier Anarkali is third personized / introduced/told by the Narrator and Anarkali is under the control of the Narrator just as she is under the control of her mother  first and husband next, from both of whom  she liberates herself , living alone Single.  And again it is this Narrator who “lets Anna introduce herself and tell her story by herself thereby being first personized. And  Anarkali and Anna who first met in the boarding school also meet in the last scene to pull down the curtain. Again it is the Narrator, who created Anarkali who creates Anna also, Who is this Narrator seemed to be  created by an all inclusive We. Minus the reader from the all inclusive We and the We will become identified with the writer/teller of the Narrator who gets identified with the writer/teller of the story, Anarkali and Anna. All the eggs come from the same hen! And in that case who is this we/narrator of Narrator/Teller/Writer of teller/writer, Anarkali/Anna,  it is none other than the author of the novel, A.Bernard available/mentioned on the front jacket of the novel. And A. J. Bernard on the spine of the book. What is the sex/gender of this author, that is available on the back jacket of the novel, - “Asha Bernard lives in Champaign, IL”. So the author is not Bernard who is given the initial A [ a very formidable feminist counter  to the traditional patriarchal act of giving initial to daughters/wives after father first and husband next, only a woman has to change her initial after marriage, but not being a man, she is compelled to move from miss to Mrs [ by missing miss]  but he remains Mr always/already.] So the author of the novel is Asha Bernard , [should be in the frontispiece itself, so the author  A. Bernard is a miss-nomer], so the author   is a woman, it is  whose creation/narration is the Narrator who creates/narrates  Anarkali and Anna, who seem to be two versions of the same Person – Narrator – Asha Bernard and now I can see the invisible/inevitable links between the factual and the fictional, Asha/Anarkali/Anna. Anarkali and Anna are the two complementary versions of Asha, the Schizo –Narrator  who operates through Anu and Anna providing a stark naked FORMIDABLE GYNOCENTRIC VIEW OF THE NOVEL/WORLD, that is where the fulcrum of this di-asporic novel lies. [The first night of Anu is told from her angle but not from his angle for example/ not even his name is revealed, he is called always her husband, called a spineless man by Pearl etc]

Asha the Narratist creates the  Narrator who tells the story of Anarkali who indulges in ideological writings with her Indo-centrism and permits Anna  to tell her story as a feminist – this is how the Narrator/Narratist third-personizes  and  first personizes herself  at the same time – seeing herself as object [Anu] and as subject [Anna] – the Narratist is torn between Anu and Anna who are the two sides of the same coin. Versions of a typical diasporic [Indian] wife who lived/lives in and who leaves /not leaves America.  AND more appropriately who, simultaneously wants to leave and doesnotwant to leave America/husband. And that is the dilemma of the narratist where she seems to be a Schizo [ not the Freudian psychotic patient but  the Guattarian  Schizo -- the deterritorialized hero who can think anew without subscribing to any pressure] living in two worlds simultaneously enjoying/suffering. And this schizo angst of the Narratist is fulfilled in Anu and Anna  - both possess/ are possessed by two husbands who happen to be ironically Cardiologists., which plainly means heart-specialists!? Anu negatively leaves him and Anna positively leaves him – in either case the husbands don’t occupy totally the topographies of their minds – though physically it is different. For Anu her husband’s impotence in possessing her body in sex leads to their dispossession of each. Anu is not able to detach him from his mother, from his possible lady: Lorna who arrives later to break the tie – the same thing would have happened had they lived in Kerala too - husband’s impotence, mother-in-law’s dominance, husband’s premarital love/postmarital adultery etc. This is the one version and the counter version is found in Anna  who suffers neither husband’s impotence nor mother-in-law’s dominance nor husband’s over “potence” /other sexual escapades [ for they live in Kerala]. Result with her son Ajay she lives happily with her husband John, but she wants more, so her mind uses her husband only like a curryleaf – it is a detached attachment or an attached detachment, whatever you call it. And her story is told not from her husband’s angle but only from hers.

Anu has had her sharp  eyed boy to always munch and remunch in reality and dreams – Ashok, [ his name is given but not her husband’s, giving/asking one’s name is recognising one’s culture as Anu feels , that privilege is not given to Anu’s husband by the Narrator/Narratist]  and the same with Anna who always enjoys her  hallucinations of her brown-eyed boy Ashwin.

It thus seems Anu and Anna are the two simultaneous sides of the Narratist who suffers the necessity and the impossibility of accepting patriarchal Kerala/husband /America at the same time. Hence I called the Narratist a Schizo who lives in two worlds/possibilities without subscribing to them – a lotus in the water state.  Both live in their pasts – which haunt them like hallucinations. For a schizo should have hallucinations, personal or private, sexual or ideological etc.,.

Both Anu and Anna’s hallucinations are not only personal/sexual but also cultural/ideological. With her history background Anu foregrounds a new history after deconstructing the available histories, across the centuries, of the world – both west and east – thereby trying to recover/discover the unwritten her-story of the his-tory, it is no doubt intellectually/comparatively interesting and enlightening. Likewise Anna with her Literature background tries to deconstruct the female/gender-amnesiac cultures with her anti-virgin stories and feminist writings. Her ameliorative longing, in her feminist tract, for freeing women from the pain/pang of child bearing and rearing is original and laudable – it is here they are Guattarian in creating new concepts/theories for humanity and its comforts. Anu’s The Anger of Civilizations  parallels Anna’s The Anger of Female Body, I should say.

Last but not least I should mention  the virginity syndrome  promoted/ suffered by not only Nazrani families but also men and women from all cultures  is treated in the novel sometimes seriously/tragically, sometimes humorously/comically depending upon persons involved in it with diverse definitions etc. And in all it seems it is more  a Matter of Body  than of Mind – so both Anu / Anna remain [s] Virgins even now in their forties enjoying/suffering   their sexual dalliance with their counternuts , Ashok/Ashwin – of course not in BODY but in MIND!? –really even now I wonder, even I am amused,  at the nomenclatural links between Anu, Anna, Ashok and Ashwin  as well as at ‘A’s proliferating with A-SH-A, the author of this very interesting/illuminating gynocentric novel. And no doubt the novel also turns out to be a very recent Cultural text in its debunking classical positions/practices in religion/history/philosophy/society/family i.e. . all the dimensions of its culture. which needs further elaboration not done here.

With Lots of wishes to her to further bloom as a novelist!

Best

nn

 

Thank you very much, Dr NN , for this analysis of my novel. It has been over 10 years since I wrote this, and I am happy that you read this and took the time to write these thoughts down.

what is this "birdday"?

These days, I can't escape listening to educated Indians wish someone a happy birdday, on their birthday. what is that? and why?
Boggles the mind.
Same as someone saying 'TUUMERIC" for turmeric.
and "ceyyular" for cellular.
and cardamon for cardamom, and cinnamom for cinnamon.
and naming Indian food, "curry" and saying it is a spice.
or calling native Americans, Indians.
Or spelling definitely as "definately". And saying"mischievious" for mischievous.

Again, mindboggling. Now, if it is a quirk of an individual, I wouldn't mind. But when a whole group of people repeats it, it becomes annoying.

But I guess, this is how things become standard, how boundaries are blurred.

Local affairs - restaurant-wise - Part 2

So we were on the subject of searing and browning. How a lack of that can make or break a dish. And tasting for salt and pepper. Giving it a little more time and effort will make so much of  difference, especially when there are not many or even no spices in the dish. Love my garlic. Crushed red pepper. And ginger. And cinnamon, and cardamom, star anise, coriander and .... . Well, pardon my Malayali/ Indian palate. We are on browning though.  For instance, that is what I loved about Niro's Gyros on Springfield. The lamb slices in their gyro used to be browned. And their fries are still great. But these days, that dreaded boiled and bland effect .Sadly, had to give that up.Tried Supergyro once, and that was enough. Not going back. Now, Penn Station on Town Center Blvd, serves a great Philly and fries. The meat is browned and is flavorful. Unfortunately they use peanut oil, so sadly cannot eat their food.

Now my favorite Mexican place to eat is Dos Reales on Prospect Ave. I like that place more for the ambience too. The buzz. The life. The laughter and the sound of people talking and enjoying their respective company. And the food. Large portions. With their homemade hot sauce. Especially the fajitas, and the shrimp diablo. Now sometimes they forget to sear the meat and the shrimp and the taste does suffer. But on the whole, a thoroughly enjoyable experience. I haven't  tried El Toro yet, which gets the popular vote on that People Choice list. Will see. Also have to try the Maize.

Baxter's on Neil has quite a variety of items on their menu. I like their burger, their jambalaya is good, a nice place to have a cocktail and a bite to eat. Another nice place to go to is Houlihan's.
I like to walk to Guido's in downtown Champaign for a cocktail and burger too. Sometimes we get lucky with a great nicely mixed cocktail. At other times, not that much. But still the location is great to sit and drink and just relax. Big Grove was the first place we went to when we came to Champaign. It was around 3 on a week day and the place was kind of quiet. We had tea and snacks at the counter. It was nice and we decided to go back there for a drink later. And we did. It was nice. But then a couple of times, on our walks, we stopped by and were told we needed reservation. Guess it was our very informal attire that put the elegant reception people off. Or some other more legitimate reason. Anyway that was how we switched our allegiance to Guido's. We were all right there. Kofusion has good sushi and drinks too. When we don't want to feel full we go there. And I am not a big sushi fan.

It was by chance we stepped into Watson's Shack and Rail in downtown Champaign. I was surprised at the hot chicken I got there! Not bad! Happy me. Loved their decor too. Very country. Southern style, I am told. On the other end, Hamilton Walker's is  an impressive place in a different way. I got that old movie New York vibe there. One of those places with live jazz. Cool and dark and with those plush leather booths and chairs and mural on the wall, it is good to be in there. Food was okay too, should go there again and remind myself.

More later.

local affairs, restaurant-wise - Part 1

We have been living here for a few years now, and have eaten at quite a few of the area's restaurants. And have enjoyed the food at most of them. It is my sadness at the closing of some of my favorites that made me write this piece. Well, not surprising since these days what I seem to be passionate about is eating and more eating.

Anyway, if you ask me which my most favorite Chinese restaurant is, I would say South China restaurant on Springfield,  during 2015 - 2017 period. After that, I think they changed  hands, or changed their chef, the taste started deteriorating. For instance, one of my favorite item the sauteed green pepper and beef became boiled beef and peppers. That seared flavor was gone. Towards the end, everything got sweeter and sweeter. And sadly, now they are closed - permanently. I know they were hit by a few violation notices too. Now, the other Chinese restaurant that got all the votes on news-gazette people choice, the Rainbow Garden, we tried them. They are okay. But again the sweetness is not to my liking. Szechwan China on First Street has a pretty good hotpot, but I preferred the old South China's flavors. Golden Harbor is ok, the one great thing about them being that they consider those with allergies.

My favorite Thai restaurant is Thara Thai on Bloomington Rd. Their spicy beef red curry and rice is done to my liking. Nice portions too.  And I have been to Sticky Rice and My Thai.

Minecci's was my favorite Italian restaurant. I loved their desserts, especially the creme brulee , cream puffs and cannoli. Now creme brulee is something by which I assess the standard of a restaurant, same as French macarons in cafes. Because not all get it right, even though you may expect it to be easy for the experts. I remember having one at a McCormick restaurant in Boston. It was disappointingly runny, really watery with no sugar crust, of course. Minecci's got it right, texture wise, flavor wise. The pudding was set anyway, even if it wasn't made of all yolks and cream,and the sweetness was not overpowering. But then they are closed too - permanently.

I liked Za's too, for their soups, pizzas and tiramisu and limoncello cakes. Again, to me they had got it right. If they had a more beautiful surrounding, they could have really had a great sidewalk cafe thing going. It was a nice place to go have a coffee and a bite, (better than Pekara or Aroma).  Sadly, they are closed too.

Dublin O'Neils pub downtown was a great idea, and I liked to eat there, for that idea -- the Irish British thing. They could have made it  look more Irish, and taste more like it too. It was with great anticipation that I ordered their sausage and mash. In my mind, I had those heavenly sausages of ye old England resting on a mound of mashed potatoes, smothered in that brown onion gravy. like the ones I had the chance to gobble down in London one day. Sadly, there was no gravy at all, and the sausages were nowhere near the originals in taste or appearance. That restaurant is gone too. Now if you are wondering how I knew about these English food items, no, we did not eat these in India. At first,  I learned of these from books, as  a student. Movies came later. And while we are on the topic, the other English staples that I have seen here -- scones, strawberry shortcake, custard, -- let’s say, I prefer the English flavor and look. Just like I cannot forget the taste of the croissants in Paris. And that trip was not even good, it was a chance detour by Air India on our way from India to Chicago via Frankfurt. After a whole day of neglect and starvation, we were put up in hotels for the night. But a small group were brave enough to go out to see the Eiffel Tower and I tagged along. That is all. But the memory of those flaky, buttery, crisp on the outside, layered croissants they had served for breakfast at the hotel still stays fresh.

Speaking of sausages, one of my favorite kinds is the bratwurst. In fact, I think in a pinch, they can be used in our mash. I like them beer-poached and pan-seared to that golden brown. And with a topping of caramelized onions, they are irresistible. Again, we would think it would be easy for the experts to do it. Alas, no. I tried it at the local Octoberfest, and I wanted to cry. Didn’t  know we could make them that dry and that bland! And then came October at Wienerschnitzel. And they had this wonderfully done brats with caramelized onions to boot! Happy, happy, happy. But the next October, they took the short cut -- they stopped searing it, and the onions were too meagre to taste. So that's that. Portillo's has a brat that again, to me has that bland and boiled aura. But a little better than that Octoberfest one.

Lesson: the importance of searing and browning in the realm of taste. And of caramelized onions. That is why I love a simple onion tart, as long the onions are you know what.