On a more lighter note, it means you cook for yourself. You clean rice stuck at the bottom of the electric cooker yourself.It means if someone mixes sambar powder in water with some salt and gives it to you,you have no choice but to have it.
It means you call a capsicum, green pepper.You call a ladies finger(the vegetable), okra.It means 5 out of 7 days you live on frozen vegetables.
It means you know the 47, no, 43…no no.It means you know the 40 tables by heart.It means you choose the lower end brands rather than the more famous ones.Exactly the opposite of what you did back in India.It means Sam Watton is God.
It means you miss your mom’s parupu usili.It means you do not get authentic sev puri, pav bhaji or even good old bhel.It means your dosas are not exactly round.It means you can only make idlis with ready to eat mixes.Whats the use, your sambar is gonna taste shit anyway.
And so we set, on a 3 mile walk to East Chatham Street which had an Udipi Cafe.We found out at the bus stop that the particular bus we were waiting for doesn’t run on weekends.Made it to the nearest point accessible and took a walk from there.We were quite determined to have some authentic Indian stuff and were stingy enough not to call a cab.
Found the godforsaken place after 55 minutes of walk. Once we were in, we meant business. Idli , Masala Dosa, Sambar, Chutney, Rasam, Poori, Aam Ras, Fried Rice, Tomato Dal, Paneer Butter Masala, Dal Fry, Uthapam, Raita, Chettinad Rice, Payasam, Gulab Jamun.All this on one plate.In multiple rounds of course.Finger licking delicious!The last time I had so much food was at Rajdhani in Bombay back during May.
In case you are wondering, an Indian couple dropped us back home.The drive hardly lasted ten minutes.So much for Idli and Dosa.This is what it means, to be in America.I am lovin’ it!