It’s been an interesting afternoon. Not only have I dropped an entire kilo of chickpeas on the floor and then chased after them, I recovered most of them too. Except the ones that have rolled under the fridge. They can stay there until Qiyamat comes for all I care. It serves them right for trying to escape the inexorable fate of being turned into Iftar. If they had just stayed in the bowl, they would’ve gotten turned into cholay (chick-pea salad) but since they decided to cling to the earth, some of them got turned into hummus instead.
The Italians make wine with their toes. I don’t see why I can’t make hummus with my sandals. All you do is step on some of the chickpeas that escaped your notice, smashing them into the treads of your sandals. Then go step on some garlic, walk through a pile of salt and add a little Tahini for taste. Voila.
Based on the other things I’ve dropped today (you think fasting breath is bad? Try having fasting BRAIN) I could make a few more dishes. From the wet, boiled potato that slipped out of my grip and ricocheted off the dish rack, I could make hashed browns. Or smashed browns. After rolling around in the sink that potato certainly looked brown.
If I could just have directed the river of milk I poured on the counter towards the pile of coffee-crystals that missed my cup at Iftar time, I could have hosted a tea-party for the ants. They would have loved me for it too. Heck, I would have loved me for it. Except that the sugar was six inches upstream and I don’t like my coffee unsweetened.
I’m not the only one who cooks like this, so stop laughing at me, Aniraz.
Just two days ago she dropped a container of red lentils (dry, uncooked) on the floor, and it exploded all over the kitchen like so much disc-shaped confetti. She cleaned it up. But if she had taken my advice, she would’ve dropped some hot water, red pepper, and browned onions, stomped until soft, added a teaspoon of cumin…