Celebrations, events, funerals, holidays & our daily lives involve the preparation of food. The task of preparing, serving and catering are managed by people with varying values, life experiences, personalities, & differing levels of skill that result in funny, sometimes embarrassing and other times yucky situations. The following stories are true experiences. Some of the names of the people involved are not mentioned to avoid embarrassment.
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This interesting tale from my brother concerns his 4 year old grandson, Tooshal.
I took some fruit for the children yesterday. When I arrived they were about to go off with their dad to a friends house
and their mum was also about to go out somewhere. A friend drove into their driveway at the same time so there was lots of
In this scenario I handed Toshal the packet of fruit, which he would have to take and leave in his kitchen. He first accepted it and entered the garage (the long way to get to the kitchen). I think he realized he'd miss out too much fun outside or maybe his father would leave without him so he returned to me and said “Aja take this back my can't eat it ecause I am fasting.”" He says my instead of I, and ecause instead instead of because.
His mum said that he had chops for lunch.
I thought that this was some real fast thinking on Tooshal's part. It makes me wonder, when do children begin lying?
These are supposed to have been in Church Bulletins. I am not sure of the origin of these funny bulletins but it is worth a laugh
The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.
A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall.. Music will follow.
Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM - prayer and medication to follow.
The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the Congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.
When Farhana was just a little 4 year old girl, her mother pointed out to her the beautiful Weeping Willow trees at the picnic spot. The next time they were at a picnic, Farhana looked around and then asked, “ Where's the crying trees? ”
I enjoyed reading this contribution by Eileen Malloy in an April 2001, Readers Digest, magazine.
The reader and her daughter were listening to an old tune by Simon and Garfunkel. When the song finished her daughter
“Well, did he? ”
“Did he what?”
her response: “Did Parsley save Rosemary in time?”
This little amusing piece is from my friend, Sarah:
The other day I was feeding the baby (Ava), pieces of cookie and I was thinking she loved the cookie because she was
eating it so fast! and then I happened to look up and realized that she had been dropping the cookie pieces down her shirt!
My 4 year, Amaya, old went over and looked in her shirt and found pieces of cookie, along with some of her dinner!
Amaya and I laughed so hard. I was actually happy that she hadn't thrown her food on the floor, which is what she normally does when she's full!
My sister, Dharam gave me this interesting snippet.
After taking a bite of banana, her grandson Chahile requested some. When she offered a piece of her's, he declined, saying he did not want a cutted one, he wanted a fitted banana
To keep her grandkids, Nishka, Sonia, Laila, Tia and Tooshal,(6 years old and younger), occupied, my sister-in-law, Simi, gave them the task of shelling beans. Each one had their own bowl of beans. Having been given instructions, they began their task together.
It was a wonderful sight to behold, but Simi noticed that Tooshal was putting the peels back into the bowl of shelled beans, so she told him it was not to be done that way and showed him where to discard the peels.
Tooshal, 4 years old, burst out crying. Upon seeing this, Sonia, (5 ½ years), told her grandmother that she had hurt his feelings and that she should apologize. Amused at this whole interaction, Simi apologized to Tooshal, but did remind him that she was only telling him the correct place to discard the peels.
Our friend Chandra recalled this experience from his childhood in India. His mother was away from home for a few days, visiting her parents in another city. His dad took care of all the kids, including cooking dinner for them.
Chandra said that the food his dad prepared had a strange taste to it, but they ate it wondering why it was so different. This happened every day.
When his mum returned from her visit, the kids let her know that the food their dad cooked had a different flavor, not at all like her cooking. She tasted some of the leftover food that had been prepared by her husband. It had a sweet tang and she realized what had happened.
His mum cooked with Groundnut Oil. It is somewhat viscous and closely resembles honey. Chandra's dad used honey instead of oil to cook dinner for his family. No wonder the strange taste.
In Durban, South Africa, the Indian community often celebrated weddings over a few days, with a large numbers of guests. In 1970's- 1980's it was quite common to have over 500 guests at a wedding. The food at these affairs are usually delicious, prepared by experienced cooks.
The invitees are often distant acquaintances of the bridal couple. My sister, Dharam and her family, bent on getting a free meal, often attended these weddings, but timed their arrivals such that the wedding halls would were so full that they would be guided to sit in the dining rooms, (which is where they wanted to be in the first place. This assured them of being served their meals in the first round, while those who came in good time from the start of the wedding usually waited a long while to eat.The other tip that was used upon arrival, was a quick search for seats that easily led to the dining area, again assuring them of a hasty exit for lunch. When the grand kids were old enough to attend weddings, they were a ready made excuse to be first in line to eat, as families with kids would receive preferential treatment!!
This contribution comes from my sister Dharam who has 3 delightful grandchildren, Bhavik, Chahile and Johar. These exploits pertain to Bhavik and Chahile and concerns a “potion “ that Chahile believes may have caused his grandmothers skin to turn a dark shade. When she suggests a solution he is not very sympathetic.
When this “potion “, which began with the intention of preparing a tasty meal for their parents, was not tasted by his mother who claimed that she was not hungry, Bhavik threw himself onto the floor crying with the pain caused by his mother's rejection - she had to taste it.
This is how she reports the incident.
About a month ago, Chahile asked me why I was so black. I told him that I did not know the reason. He responded, saying “Ajee do you member (remember) that when I was a very tiny baby, I carried out many speriments (experiments) in your kitchen.“ (the brothers played havoc with every condiment, soap powder, many different drops of food coloring, leaves, flowers, crystal beads, flour, lentils and lots of Hurdi (turmeric) powder.
Both guys had one pot each. We added water to the pots and I placed them on the stove to cook. The cooking went on for more than an hour. I then had to taste the "potion" as it was now called.
I had to taste the potion, just in case more salt or sugar was required in order to make the best meal in the world for their parents. I would be gagging with the horrible stuff, but there is nothing a grandmother would not do for her grandsons.
Chahile told me that it was that potion which had turned me black. I then asked my precious Chahile if he could prepare some more potion to turn me white or light brown. He responded by saying, “ No, I am no longer a tiny baby. I am a big boy and I have forgotten the recipe, so you will have to stay black.“
This was in the days before we had a microwave oven. My son Darshan had been weaned of breast milk and drank milk out of a cup. At night he enjoyed drinking Nesquik. In Cape Town, South Africa, it used to get quite cold in the winter time and we had a stove that was really, really slow to heat up.
Darshan was not quite 2 years old & still needed a drink in the middle of the night. I used to press the pot onto the hot plate to try and heat things quickly. When Darshan awoke, he expected his Nesquik, (which we all called cocoa), right away. There was no way he could wait for the milk to warm up on the stove & neither did I fancy getting up from a warm bed to make cocoa on my exceedingly slow stove. So I used to make a flask of Nesquik & pour this conveniently when Darshan needed it.
All went well until one night he observed my pouring this cocoa from the flask. He howled and refused to have it saying, he wanted, “ kitchen cocoa ”.
I took the flask with me, went downstairs to the kitchen, poured it into a cup and brought it back to him. He was content. I made sure to be more discreet about where I placed the flasks in the nights that followed.
Shyam was about 2½ years old. An aunt of his was visiting and we asked her to join us for lunch. She declined but said that she would just have tea & butter bread. Little Shyam piped up saying, “not butter bread, buttered bread “
The aunt and all of us were amused, yet impressed with a grammar lesson from this little guy
I sometimes made semolina/cream of wheat porridge for the children. This porridge has to be stirred continuously in order to avoid lumps forming. However the occasional lumps are unavoidable. Most people do not like lumps and grumble when they come across it, but not Shyam. He loved the lumps and actually asked for lumps in his porridge. I suppose it may be something like mini dumplings
While on a trip to India, the customer asked the waiter if the tea was hot. The waiter then quickly put his finger into the cup, and announced it was just fine. How very obliging!!
When reading the story of Chicken Little to her then, 3 year old grand daughter, my sister, Maya was very concerned about upsetting the little child with the sad tale of the fox eating Chicken Little. So she changed the ending of the story to a happy one.
When she read the story on another occasion with her happy ending version, the little child asked, "but where is the yummy part where the fox eats the tasty chicken? Obviously someone else had read the real version to little Mayuri. My sister, Maya was quite amused, that she was trying to save this little child from gruesome stories, while she seemed quite delighted with the original story.
While putting up the chocolate cake recipe, I remembered a very cute story.
My son Jayd, was about 3 years old at the time & while his brothers were at school I decided we would spend part of the morning to bake together. I used the very same recipe that is now on the website to make a chocolate cake. Jayd participated fully and helped to measure the ingredients, sieve & mix until it was baked and decorated. At every stage I told him what we were using and how much and so forth. He seemed to take it all in as he really participated.
After dinner that evening the cake was served for dessert. I told his brothers and his dad that Jayd was going to share the recipe with all of them. This is what he said, “ First you add it, then you mix it, then you give it to your darling to eat “
That was the recipe! I could not believe this, but we loved his version of the recipe.
My son Darshan, about 2 years old, was beginning to recognize the alphabets. I came across some bold letters of the alphabet in a magazine, while we were both at the kitchen table. I showed them to Darshan.
He repeated them after me and then was able to recall all of them as I pointed out the letters, with one special exception, the letter, T.
His response was, “ Coffee ”. He said this in the most nonchalant, confident manner. It took me a few seconds to realize that he was connecting T to mean Tea, he just recalled the wrong beverage. After, 27 years I still love his reasoning.
Rachel shares this story that everyone in her family enjoys. This is Rachel Chadwick's story.
My mother took in my elderly grandfather in his later years. Her mother had died when Mom was only 4. Grandpa then abandoned his 4 children, remarried and helped raise his step-daughter Dora instead.
Later in life, his 2nd wife died and Dora abandoned him. Mom came to his rescue. She took him in and he lived out his last years in our home while I was in high school. One day my Mom had fixed this wonderful roast dinner with potatoes & carrots which we all loved. After the meal, Grandpa smiled at her and said,“ Good dinner, Dora.”
My mother's name was Mary!
She turned as red as her hair but made no comment. We all could see how insulted she was.
“ Good dinner, Dora.” has become a favorite family joke with us. We say it after dinner at every family reunion no matter who the hostess is!
My Mom's taking in my grandfather after he had “left” her and 3 other siblings was a life lesson in forgiveness for me.
Jane's husband, Dan, went on about how much he enjoyed masala tea when he was in India. He longed for it here, (South Africa) and could not find a place where he could buy masala tea.
Jane could not understand why he fussed so much as she had a large supply of masala. So one day, she kindly decided to surprise him with masala tea. Unfortunately, after the first sip, Dan rushed to spit the out the contents and find water to cool his burning tongue!!
Jane did not realize that the masala used in tea differs from the masala that one cooks with. The masala Jane had used contained chili amongst other pungent spices.
When the little 3 year old was asked, "why are some lettuce a reddish color and some are green?"
He pondered this question and then answered, "because it was borned like that."
This contribution comes from my friend Laura Noble. This is Laura's description of the event.
The story involves the children, of course. About twenty years ago, Mark and I took the children to Washington DC. Sam was 10 and Hannah was 8. As usual, they fought and bickered all the time.
One day I decided that we would eat dinner at a Moroccan restaurant in walking distance of our hotel. As we proceeded on foot, they complained bitterly about my choice.
“ Mom, Dad, we don't want to go to the Moroccan restaurant.”
“Why not?” we asked.
“Because we don't like Moroccan food.”
“How do you two know that you don't like it if you won't try it?”
“ We don't want to try it because we don't like it,” the children replied, applying what they considered the logical coup de grace to our argument.
The discussion continued along the same lines until we reached the restaurant. Mark and I were astonished that the children were agreeing with each other. We all enjoyed a wonderful five course dinner in a suitably exotic North African atmosphere.
We ate egg and chicken pastry, couscous, tagine and other items I don't recall. Both children liked everything. The world is a smaller place now and the children are grown up. Is any kind of ethnic food exotic any more?
Several years ago, on a fund raising mission with 2 male friends in another city, my father was invited to dinner by a family that he had recently met. At the end of a long day, he arrived at his hosts home with his friends as well. In Indian homes, especially in the '60's it was not outrageous to bring along company. But it was my father's first visit to this family & he was not well acquainted with them either.
My father as well as his friends were welcomed & all was proceeding very well. Then dinner was served. The guests were obviously very hungry & began eating voraciously. The lady of the house, an excellent cook, refilled the dishes for a second round. My father enjoyed the dhal very much. He had a habit of not just having it with his dinner but also consuming it as a soup in a bowl.
Well, the dish of dhal was now empty again. As is the Indian way, the lady of the house, especially in the company of strange men, eats later. Seeing the empty bowl of dhal, the host called to his wife for another refill. There was no response. The host called again, no response. A few more calls, but silence prevailed.
I think everybody got the message that the cook was no longer in the kitchen. We learned later, that she was embarrassed that she had run out of dhal & had retreated to the neighbor's house. My father was well aware of what had happened as he related the story about the runaway cook with great gusto. While we enjoyed this story, we empathized with the cook, as she had catered very well for the invited guest.
This incident happened about 3 years ago at a sort of family reunion in South Africa. A relative had invited several of us for lunch at his home. It took a while to confirm the long guest list, which was given to the host. He was very gracious and assured us that we were all most welcome
A large contingent eventually arrived with several adults and children as well. The hosts had prepared lots of delicious food and we chatted & caught up with family news. Later we all sat to eat at extended tables and a very jolly atmosphere prevailed.
There was one dish in particular that was very popular. It was soon refilled with more of the same tasty curry. But because of the number of guests, that dish was again empty. My sister and I, at the end of the table did not get a a second helping and expected another round to be soon brought to the table. Just as we realized that the dish was not being refilled again, we also noticed that the hostess was nowhere in sight!!
I whispered to my sister that I thought we were experiencing the “dhal episode ”. She said she was thinking the exact same thing and we got into a fit of giggles. There was plenty of other food, just this dish had run out. That day was most enjoyable as we all had a lot of fun together. The hosts entertained us well & were very kind. But for days, my sister and I still continued to laugh uncontrollably every time we mentioned the disappearing hostess, as we playfully, made up possible scenarios on what was going on with her at that time.
This amusing tale is, as reported to me by my good friend & mentor, David Hucklesby.
“Have you tasted Indian food,” asked Gautam? “I just got fresh spices sent to me from Bombay, and I made enough food for two.” England in the 1950s was a wasteland as far as good food went. Gautam was a co-worker in the computer design lab, and I gladly accepted his invitation.
Unused to a culture that insists you eat until sated, I enjoyed the delightful new flavors so much I took several helpings. Much later, after we had become good friends, Gautam told me that he had planned on getting several meals from his cooking, and I had helped him eat the lot…
A short time later, he took me to a famous Indian restaurant in central London. Of course, he placed the order, and there were several dishes. But I noticed that he was eating very little, unlike greedy me. My mother has often complained that I have hollow legs. When he told me about having eaten his week's supply of food, Gautam also explained about the restaurant meal. Trying to get even with me, he had ordered the spiciest dishes on the menu. Unfortunately, he had found them too hot for his own taste…
A very close family member was recently invited to tea by family friends who served, amongst other delicious items, goolab jamun. This is a doughnut like Indian sweetmeat. It is dipped in syrup & is very, very sweet. It comes in various sizes from about 2 inches in length to about 6 inches. The width also varies from about ½"- 1½".
Well, this young lady who is fairly new to Indian food, does not like this sweetmeat at all. She was offered a large goolab jamun. Being polite, she valiantly eat the whole thing.
For many of us, seasoned in eating lots of rich Indian desserts, eating a whole large goolab jamun will be a difficult feat. No doubt that experience has put her of trying goolab jamun again.
Shrimps are considered a delicacy by many folks, but not this young lady. As a school girl, she was at her friends home when her friends mother gave her a plate of shrimps at lunch time. Not wanting to offend anyone, she ate the whole plate rather quickly, just to be over this terrible experience.
The friends mom was so delighted that the plate was empty, assumed that she had enjoyed it so much, quickly served her another helping!!
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