Like this:

Anyone who even remotely knows my grandmother would know the major way to have beef with her is if you don’t return her utensils. She loves feeding people. Love is an under statement she is bit of a maniac about cooking and feeding. Her fans are  a wide range from the most hard to reach politicians and artists to our maid’s little children, they all love her bouts of manic-feeding.

She doesn’t care if you call her and tell her the goodies were yummy, she doesn’t care if you thought you had never eaten better kajuche laadoo. Of course all that is important, but secondary. The primary thing to remember in order stay fed is return her steel ware. Always always return her steel ware. If you don’t she remembers and you’ve just isolated yourself into starvation of free homemade deliciousness.

It has become such a family joke that my grand father insists on gifting her dabbas and equates them to diamonds. After 55 years of marriage he sure knows his wife.

I was reminded of her obsession when I began to manage a kitchen of my own. My studenty kitchen will never compare to Munuaii’s delicious laboratory and I wont even try matching up to her high standards of curry, but I have inherited the deadly gene.

Every time I cook for friends and they don’t return my utensils my blood silently simmers.

I collect ridiculous amounts of jars. I have even at times bought jams and sauces for their pretty containers, and I guard them ferociously.

I love cleaning them with pipping hot soap water and drying them on the off-stove just like her. I dint realize my attachment to these inanimate lovelies till someone broke my favorite glass jar and I saw my heart in pieces on the floor…Yes we are maniacs, we have the vessel mania and I can only blame my genetics this time:P

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