the news came early morning. he was coughing again. a dagger plunged sharply just below her heart. maloti jolted with the pain, a clenched breath pummelled through her lungs. monai, her eldest son, was coughing again. no, it was not just a cold. he was coughing blood. panic caught at her throat and squeezed, she sat up bolt upright. she could feel a wail starting at the base of her stomach. maloti stood up without thinking and rolled the thin…
i took these pictures when i went to the kitchen for my second helping this afternoon. i looked at the methi chicken, boneless slivers of chicken cooked with fresh fenugreek leaves, and thought in what way is she less than a chef? an adept, bright, inventive, innovative, fearless cook is she. there’s nothing she is not willing to try and learn to make. between us we call dishes concocted over our little confabulations and cogitations… experiment (pronounced ex-perri-mane). like this…