In India, you don’t cook with plumbed in mains gas – there is no mains gas, so everyone cooks on a hob powered by a bottle of gas.
Fair enough. It feels fairly luddite, but there you go.
In most kitchens there’s a handy spot to tuck the canister out of the way. Sadly, this is not the case in mine – mine sits in the middle of the kitchen on a little wheelie thing.
Admittedly, if I had sense I’d have got round to getting a much longer hose by now and tucking it round the corner under the water bottle. That would at least keep it out of sight.
But frankly I’ve never really been bothered. And once you’ve got used to having an inconveniently large bottle just sat in the middle of the kitchen, well you no longer see it.
I don’t cook that often myself. Partly that’s because my maid used to cook for me. And also, or rather mostly, because I eat a largely raw diet.
I drink a green smoothie of a morning. It’s a frighteningly healthy concoction of spinach, mint, other green fruits and veg and it looks remarkably like lawn mower pulp. I eat Bircher muesli a lot too, and then I snack on fruit.
A lot of fruit.
Frankly, I’d have made quite a good fruit bat.
And when I fancy cooked food, I now have it delivered from my favourite Punjabi dhaba. Sudha, my maid, used to cook for me, but she’s an uninspiring cook and everything tasted the same.
She’s now been relegated to sous chef: she chops and grates so that I can waltz in and put together a raw salad in seconds without any of that tedious preparation, or equally tedious, washing up.
Life, as you can tell, is hellish for me in the kitchen department.
In fact, you could make a case that the reason I don’t have the gas bottle hidden out of the way is because I spend no time in there and it is the domain of the servant.
That wouldn’t be true: very Raj, but just not true. I spend a lot of time in there as I tend to work next to the kitchen, and when in doubt, I usually make tea as I think.
After all you can take the girl from Britain, but the tea making goes deep.
Mind you, I still spend most of my tea breaks staring at the gas bottle vaguely wondering how my life ended up so that I have a large orange nemesis on wheels parked in my kitchen.
Sometimes, it can be an odd life.
This is Part 1 of a 3 part post
Read part 2 – The gas bottle: my nemesis in the kitchen
Read part 3 – The gas bottle: the real reason I eat raw food
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And do share your kitchen related thoughts below.