Home,Sense Of Belonging and Mom Made Food

Our earliest memories of home are often connected to our childhood.The meaning of home is complex, interpretational and unique. It is also subject to our aspirations, beliefs and historical experiences. Whatever it is, the meaning of home is a way of organizing and understanding the space within ourselves and the way the world is constructed around us. When the meaning of home can so easily vanish, is there a difference between "feeling at home" and "being at home?"  Is the meaning of home therefore tied to a location? Some people move throughout their lives allowing home to be rediscovered over and over again, while others are tied to one place and choose never to leave the location they call home. Is the meaning of home therefore transient or stable?Anyway ,it has lots of meaning in my life.Family members and relatives complete my home and our festivals complete it and the various definition of home remains in mind as a query.

Far from home, this can heighten your sense of vulnerability, but can also help you assess what really matters.Home for us is a sense of belonging. It’s not about a particular place or people, but something that you work towards and create, wherever you may find yourself. With that knowledge, you have the capacity to go anywhere.Having a sense of belonging is a common experience. Belonging means acceptance as a member or part. Such a simple word for huge concept. A sense of belonging is a human need, just like the need for food and shelter. Feeling that you belong  is most important in seeing value in life and in coping with intensely painful emotions. Some find belonging in a church, some with friends, some with family.Feeling we belong somewhere or with a group is good for our mental well being. But,  being with the wrong people can sometimes hold us back.

I did not get  feel shame to say my love of food from my mom. In a culinary world where moms are cited as the inspiration for almost everything, this statement probably sounds good, and dare I say it, grateful? Perhaps it does.What my mom has offered me, however, has defined my journey in a way that transcends food and cultural boundaries.My mom has been — and still is — a very skilled and technical cook. She just never had the time to enjoy it the way I do. Our lives have moved in very different directions, and I find it extremely interesting that, feminism, for me, has meant having the freedom to do anything I choose to do.Mom's cooking and her recipes were all down from her parents, a continuation of oral traditions and culture. I catch my mom browsing through my cookbook collection with wonder. She skims through some of them, when I am not looking, and I see her eyes widen with appreciation and understanding.

To commence, my mother's cooking has taught me to be healthy. In every meal she prepares, every section of the food pyramid is introduced to me. For instance, one dinner would consist of white rice, red beans, fresh meat, green salad, and crystal water.  My mother always encourages me to eat breakfast and eat healthy snacks. Such as an apple or pear. She has taught me the real meaning of health.

It was that Saturday was goat curry day. And on most days, we ate vegetables — almost anything green cooked with potatoes in cumin and coriander paste. After my father and I would return from the butcher with bags of perfectly cubed goat meat, Mom would start cooking: In our tiny kitchen she would chop red onions and tomatoes, soak cumin and coriander seeds in water, and then grind them with garlic and green chilies on a flat stone with a pestle. As rice, dal and vegetables cooked separately, she would saute the onions, basil leaves, cloves and cardamom, then fry the goat in a pressure cooker sitting on a coiled clay heater. She would scoop the paste from the stone, add it to the cooker, throw in a few pinches of turmeric and a little salt, and close the lid. When the pressure cooker whistled for the third time — 25 to 30 minutes later — lunch was almost ready. 

The dish that emerged was something my father would describe as first-class khasi ko maasu: extraordinary goat curry.That’s how I became obsessed with goat. Every year for Dashain, the biggest festival of the year for Nepali Hindus, the entire family would get together at my grandparents’ house in the village; it was a three-hour bus ride from Pokhara, followed by no hour walk . But long before the 10-day festival began every fall, my grandfather would start raising two goats in his thatched shed: one to take three hours away to the temple to sacrifice in the name of Goddess Durga, the other for the family feast. When I would visit in winter, I’d sit next to him by the fire during dinner, when he would take a lump of cooked rice in his palm, pour a ladle of ghee (clarified butter) into it and shape it into an oval. One by one, he would form them and put them on a banana leaf next to his plate as he ate. After dinner, he would grab those rice balls and head to the stable and the baby goats.
“We have to fatten them up for Dashain, understand?” he would say.

Eight months later, when we met for the festival, the kids had grown to become beasts, looking both feisty and delicious. And in our household — I’d argue this is true in most Nepali households — no part of the goat went to waste. From ears to entrails, there was a delicacy for everything. Even the blood collected during slaughter (from a steel bowl held under its neck) was used: Once it coagulated, it was sauteed in oil, garlic and coriander for the first dish.

When the entire goat was butchered, my parents would get to work. My father was known for his goat pakku, also called kaalo maasu (“blackened meat”), named because the goat is fried for hours in a giant copper pot until it blackens, and then mixed with about a dozen spices. Over the years, I watched my father make goat pakku so many times that I can still remember at what intervals he’d stir it, with a wooden spoon so big it looked like an oar.

While my father was marinating the tenderloin in mustard oil, garlic, ginger and cumin to make kebabs, my cousins and I would steal parts of the ear and some boneless remains from the neck of the goat, plus a matchstick and a bunch of hay from the pile meant to feed the buffaloes. We’d run downhill to the river, start a fire, roast the goat pieces and devour them.On the last day of the festival, my grandfather would bring from the temple the head of the sacrificed goat; the cheeks and tongue would be fried, a stew made from the bones.

When I returned home the first time, my mother served a seven-course meal, entirely with vegeIt took him three batches to turn the 11 pounds I bought into goat pakku, and almost the entire day. I saved it in the freezer, and for weeks after they’d left, I would take about half a dozen pieces out, re-fry them in onions and tomatoes, add water, then let it simmer over low heat. My Saturdays had become grander again.tables. I worried that my culinary adventures were over. How would I still get my goat fix? I’d cooked lunches and dinners in the house since I was little, but I didn’t know how to perfect a delicious goat curry, let alone pakku, roast, kidneys and entrails.

I decided to restart the adventures in my own kitchen.My mom cooked lavish meals of vegetables — shiitake mushrooms, cauliflower, mustard greens, split beans, lentils — and no goat.

Spicy Chicken d is a very popular appetizer and taste really good even as a side dish to your meal. It is spicy, hot and just perfect for any meal.My recipe is most favorite at home ,and everytime we gather at home I prepare it .


METHOD 

Clean the chicken leg pieces and cut them into bite size pieces
In a pressure cooker, heat the oil and add the cumin and the fenugreek seeds. Then add the chopped onions, ginger garlic paste, green chillies and fry till the onions become soft.
Then add the chicken gizzard and all the other spices and fry for 5 mins. Add chopped tomatoes and soya sauce and mix well. Fry  for another 2-3 mins. Add 1 and half cup water and pressure cook for about 15 mins.
Release the steam from the cooker and open it. If there is extra liquid, cook it over high heat for 2-5 mins till the gravy thickens and the oil separate from the gravy.
Garnish with chopped coriander and serve.

So,there are lots of talk about home,sense of belonging home and community and mom made food affection in my life.They are unlimited the colors of the wall,tulsi math,the street,junction ,green garden and many more things associate to home were part of my life which gave me the ways to think and rethink and the distance from home causes more alination in mind.So ,my home has a deep sense of belongingness to me and my mother has also lots of connections to me .I just love the way she presents everything for me from childhood to this age.