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'I'm going to make _avial_ today,' I announced to my horrified parents. Having burnt not just my fingers but my entire left hand at the age of 13, bribes and threats have
since failed to induce me to enter the kitchen. I'm going to make _avial _today," I announced to my horrified parents. Having burnt not just my fingers but my entire left hand at
the age of 13, bribes and threats have since failed to induce me to enter the kitchen. And the rare occasions I've braved a visit to rustle up a dish have always ended disastrously. I
have even earned the dubious distinction of probably being the only person in the world who managed to burn Act II popcorn (yes, the one with the ad showing a four-year-old with a lisp
demonstrating the procedure). On one glorious occasion, I reduced a double-saver pack of Maggie to a gooey unrecognisable mess. Not surprisingly, my mother tied her hair into a tight bun
(the way she always does when she senses impending danger), dug her heels into our blue-tiled floor, and refused to budge when I asked for assistance. Irked by her lack of faith in my
culinary abilities, I approached a higher authority: my 86-years-young grandmother. Enter matriarch Ponmani Ramaswami, the queen of the Iyer kitchen, who though indisposed due to age-related
reasons, makes up for her lack of mobility by issuing commands and overseeing their administration from her vantage point in a high chair. First came the task of chopping vegetables. How
difficult could it be? As it turns out, very. Each vegetable, including drumsticks, carrots, yam, snake gourd, pumpkin, cucumber, had to be julienned (a term I learnt courtesy Master Chef
Australia, it means to cut vegetables lengthwise into pieces measuring exactly 1.5-inches, thank you very much). Not an inch more, not an inch less. Matriarch P checked the measurements.
Then I had to boil the assorted veggies in water, adding salt and turmeric. Now, avial is all about multi-tasking. So while the veggies cooked over a low flame, I got to work on the
coconut-paste. The coconut had to be grated, the green chillies chopped, put in a mixture and ground to a coarse paste. "So much work," I sighed, glancing at my mom with a look
that would have melted an Ice Maiden's heart. That's when I noticed she was munching on a bowl of Act II popcorn, (only not burnt this time), and watching the proceedings in the
kitchen with the keen eye a film-goer would have reserved for watching Christopher Nolan's Inception, lest he bat an eyelid and miss the crux of the story. Grandma, ever the
task-master, would not let me take a break. So I turned to the next task: beating the curd to a smooth paste. I was doing well so far. Proud of my performance, I beamed, positively shining
with radiance (it may have been sweat). And this is where things took a turn for the worse. With the veggies on the boil, and in a hurry to add the coconut-chilly paste and the curd to the
mixture, I took a bowl of what I thought was curd and poured it into the wok. My mom blamed it on my over-confidence. I blame it on God who made milk and curd indistinguishably white. A
hearty laugh later, my mother deftly stepped in to rescue me after all. She worked a miracle by partially draining out the milk, and then adding a lot more curd to the mixture. Voila! avial
was ready to be served. There was only one thing left: to pass it through the Ponmani tastebud test. I'm happy to report, it passed with flying colours. RECIPE Assorted vegetables such
as cucumber, snake gourd, carrot, beans, drum stick, julienned, 1 cup each Grated coconut - 1/2 cup Green chillies - 4 Cumin seeds - 1/2 tsp Turmeric powder - 1/2 tsp Curd - 1 cup Salt - to
taste Curry leaves - 2 sprigs Grind coconut with green chillies and cumin seeds into a paste and keep it aside. Heat coconut oil in a wok, add vegetables, cook it on a low flame without
adding water. Add turmeric powder, salt and mix well. When it starts steaming, add coconut paste and stir well. Add curd, mix, garnish with curry leaves and serve.