Photo shard: Curry in the kitchen

The Boy and I just finished up a pot of Indian style curry for lunch today. Mighty tasty stuff, curry. Curries, as a whole, have been pulled off fairly successfully lately. They've been more focused on a particular culture, a particular taste instead of the wild amalgman of flavors I was notorious for for years. I've managed to stay away from those overly strange curries lately, curries that I thought were delicious, but were truly carwrecks of the senses. Back in the days before I knew better I was much too liberal with my flavorings, much too heavy handed with the heat. I made a lot of friends and lost a lot of admirers with that mean spirited curry.

Thank goodness for cookbooks. Thank goodness for common sense and learning to cook for flavor, not just for sheer overwhelming BTUs. I don't think the curry I cooked for you when you came calling was too notorious, but I know that whatever it was that I fed you that day it was hot. That much was unequivocal. It was just how I made curry back then.

I suppose I can blame it on the old powder in the cupboard. Or maybe it was the paste I over compensated with, or maybe it was the sheer cussedness of making something and wanting it to taste like a memory, instead of a recipe. When I left Everett PL I was given a gift certificate to a Asian store around the corner from the library. Bought bowls that have long since broken and a very large tin of green curry powder that's lasted much longer than the bowls. Whenever I made curry for the family I would start off with that powder, then add Thai paste to the mix and then, when things were at their most terrifying, heat wise, I would throw in a dash of common dollar store powder in the pot, too. There was heartrending crash of the continents whenever I made curry in that kitchen, but it sure was tasty. Must have been the coconut milk, or the fish sauce. Maybe it was just the scorched taste buds that made me think all was well. But it always went away and no one complained whenever I broke out the wok and made some more.

But you tried it that day and made your way through a bowl of it. I have the photo on the wall to prove it. You look sceptical, leery in that photo, as if the bowl's steaming contents might be a bit too much for you. But you took it on. I suppose it's because I went easy on the paste, or went heavier on the coconut milk. It must have been okay. Easy on the heat.

I love Saturday meal guests. You took your supper break at my house that day, my house being just a short walk from the library. It was must have been cool that day, too, hence the black sweater you were wearing in the photo. It was probably a typical weekend for me, a regular Saturday. Back in those days my time pretty much my own. I might have been working on the paint job in the tv room or putting the finishing touches to the fireplace mantle, or possibly wrapping up a bit of online selling. But I had time to pull off a major pot of curry the night before, that's for sure, one big enough for days worth of eating. I was only too happy to share, especially on a Saturday. You rarely worked Saturdays. And so, thanks to the blessings of that work day, I got lucky and had a lunch guest.

And a photo op.

The Boy and I finished up that pot of curry today and I thought of you. As I mounted that little photo shard of your moment on my wall this morning I thought of you again. Pots of curry, thoughts of you and the circles of life go on and on. Thank goodness. Because I'm still on fire, and it has nothing to do with curry, not one little bit.

Your WHMB