Last winter I decided I'd learn my mother's mutton curry before it's too late. She's 74. First attempt,
I burned the onions. She watched me do it and said nothing till the smell filled the kitchen.
Second attempt, too much water. It came out like soup. My daughter called it mutton rasam. Third
time, my mother stood next to me the whole way and said, slowly, slowly, about 40 times.
She never got annoyed. Not once. I was annoyed with myself. She just kept saying
it again, the same way. Fry the onions till they're the colour of tea, not coffee.
Add the meat only when the oil comes up the sides. Water a little at
a time. Taste. Wait. Taste again. Don't keep opening the lid. She doesn't measure anything.
She uses her eyes, her nose, and a steel spoon she's had since 1980. The third
one came out right. Not exactly like hers, but close. Close enough that my wife asked
for seconds. My mother tasted it and said, not bad. From her, that's a gold medal.
I wrote every step down that night in a notebook, with her words. The tea
not coffee line, all of it. Made it 6 more times since. Every time I
hear her saying slowly, slowly in my head. Has anyone taught you something like that?
Over and over, without ever losing it with you? I don't think I'd be that
patient. I lost it with my daughter during driving lessons in 10 minutes. I asked my
mother how she does it. She said she taught my father the same curry in 1982.
11 times. So 3 times was nothing for her, apparently. Practice, she said.