dr.melanie’s debut dinner

dr.melanie works long and hard at keeping me motivated in the headless kitchen. she oooh-s and ahhh-s seductively over the gorgeous texture and flavour of my daals and soups and thai curries, moans over the divine creaminess of my impromptu experiments with paneer, coos over the perfect way in which i assemble salad, powder pepper, boil water…and yes, she means every word of it!

but even so, there came a day some weeks ago when the doctor was cornered into taking the desperate measure of cooking dinner. this was the horrific eventuality she had dreaded and evaded ever since erica flew back to the states...the day when her favourite diet of paneer salsa wrap, pop corn and coke would begin to lose its charm, to the point where she would have to take recourse in the headless *gasp* kitchen.

setting aside her reservations regarding cooking, the doctor elected to get creative with potatoes, the comfort food classic, for her debut performance.

first, she cooked the potatoes the long way: by bubbling them in an open vessal until they were soft enough to slide a knife through.

next, she placed the boiled potatoes on a platter and coarsely quartered them with their jackets left tastefully on.

thereafter, she opened the fridge door wide and stood critically contemplating its contents for a long time. i wonder what would happen if we put some cold blobs of butter on those piping potatoes…and hmMm, some nice blobs of cheese…mmmMMMm! since the doctor is a woman of action, each piping hot potato peak was soon drowning under a gleaming deluge of melting butter and cheese. swiftly, generously, fearlessly, dr.melanie's sure hands applied the brick of cheese to the scraper.

voila! she exclaimed as the trembling mountain of cheese gently began to sweat into the steaming potatoes.

wait, wait, wait…one last thing! i exclaimed, as she handed me a fork and took one herself.

wHAttttttTTTTTTt?! the doctor snarled back at me, clearly impatient to get started on a feast well earned.

p-pepper...this needs p-pepper to make it p-p-p-perfect... i stuttered, cowering under her blazing eye.

the good doctor put down her folk, pounded the five colour malabar pepper melange, sprinkled it like confetti over the platter and stood back to survey her mouth watering masterpiece one last time before she devoured it for dinner.

kundi mallipoo

that means an asshole that is as velvety, sweet and fragrant as the chameli. it is the holy grail that the animal kingdom sniffs for when looking for love, when making friends and even when simply saying hello. they have it figured, i assure you. whether you kundi mallipoo someone is the acid test of the chemistry your bodies cook up.

for instance, kubla khan’s furry pink asshole always makes my mouth water. if thirty two years of tam brahm conditioning on notions of purity, and the floating specter of my mother recoiling in disgust hadn't been holding me back every single time i see it winking up at me, i swear i’d have my tongue up it right now. (yes, yes, retching’s one of the occupational hazards of eating at the headless kitchen. please pay attention now.)

acp pappoo singh’s asshole inspires a completely different gustatory instinct. it’s prissy pucker as he minces across the room with his tail held up in disapproval of me sets my teeth on edge. the only reason pappoo singh hasn’t been served up as pussy rump roast with a side dish of pickled prissy pucker is because kubla’s addicted to pureed prissy pucker for dessert. (no, this is not because i kundi mallipoo kubla so much that i’m a slave to his desires. well, not entirely. it’s because to be considerate of each other’s refinements is the second clause in the headless kitchen’s bylaws. the first clause is to eat the early bird and save the worm for bait.)

there is a high possibility that if you are still reading kind reader, you would have begun wondering where all of this is headed. my apologies for taking such a meandering approach to the main course, but at the headless kitchen we do not endorse the domino’s fuckedupfoodinaflash philosophy. now that we have clarified this point, here are the first recipes from the headless kitchen’s diaries:

pussy rump roast

step one: find a fat cat with a juicy rump.

step two: precisely follow this recipe for roast beef on simplyrecipes, taking care to substitute a hearty cut of pussy in place of the heart attack elise has up there as her base ingredient.

step three: save any leftovers for pussy roast pinwheels and you’ll be the host with the most at your next house party.

pussy roast pinwheels

step one: defrost the remains of your pussy rump roast. if i were you i’d also oven toast them with a dash of olive oil to restore their flavour and texture.

step two: take your pick from any of these pinwheel recipes.

step three: don’t forget to garnish with a toothpick ornament even if you are dining solo. remember, there’s no pinwheel without a toothpick – i think it’s just shocking that pinwheel recipes so often forget to point this out!

pickled pussy pucker

step one: cull that phucker’s ass.

step two: pick your pickle. this is an elaborate decision making process with a number of key variables – like which part of the country you trace back your gene pool to, what you have at hand or can purchase with convenience and what your gastronomical pretences are. as for me, i'd pickle pappoo’s asshole in vinegar like these devilishly tasty little onions they serve up at moti mahal.

pureed pussy pucker

step one: be at the right place at the right time in the right position, viz directly in line of sight, smell and taste of pappoo’s poopy fresh ass.

yeh mera maggipan hai

the only way to cook the perfect maggi is my way.

the cook must understand that the end result can never be ‘his/her special’. because maggi is always personal. it’s a refinement everyone of us is born with. give a baby its first bite and it’ll smack it’s lips and tell you exactly how to make it next time. therefore, the first step to the perfect forkful is always the maggi inquisition:

1. you like your maggi allfuckedup or unfuckedwith?

2. please specify:

option a) cheesy / buttery / no dairy…cooked with ketchup / with ketchup on the side / lashed on top / hold the ketchup…with veggies / eggs / sausages / any exotic ingredients you have discovered and cannot do without – eg: truffles, etc

option b) no frills

3. what’s your consistency?

option a) soupy / pan fried / pao bhaji style / dry / gooey / slightly undercooked / glutinous

option b) ‘woh wali’ feeling

4. please describe ‘woh wali’ feeling precisely, take your time…

5. anything we haven’t covered (please be specific. provide references if possible eg: we didn’t discuss what to do about the masala)

step two: always discuss masala. this is a critical point. some like it mixed into the boiling water before the noodles go in, some like it sprinkled in after the noodles have cooked, some like them to cook together, some like to add a packet and a half of masala, some like just half a packet, some like to chuck in a maggi soup cube as well.

step three: proceed as directed.

step four: hijack the maggi and make it your way instead. (hint: put in a pinch of salt, mix in a 100g pack of amul butter / 50 g (half a pack ) of amul butter and a cube of amul cheese, top off with exactly 5 drops of tabasco and a dash of ketchup.)

step six: enjoy your share and offer to clean up any left overs. it’s only good manners.

mentalie’s tip: it’s never just two minutes, it’s the perfect maggi. there’s a big difference.



*note to the wise and wary*
empirical evidence reveals that maggi is a highly addictive substance. you are liable to have maggi flashes for the rest of your life. they’ll catch you off guard. they won’t be denied, no matter how much you fight them. when the maggi sweats come, drooling and pooling up in your mouth, there’ll be only one way to go – charging through to the first forkful and then, charging on to the last. you won’t have the time for civilities with maggi. you’ll shovel it in, poach your tongue and throat with it, slurp it up, lick it up, and then look deep into the plate / bowl to make sure there’s not a drop hiding from you at the bottom. then you’ll stick your finger in and wipe it clean, just to make sure. some days, maybe you’ll go back and make yourself another bowlful. so you can eat it until you are SICK and swear never to look at maggi…until next time.