When we moved to our new home in Southern California, after many decades of living in the Midwest, we were concerned about making new connections and friends. Someone had told us that neighbors in California often did not know each other's names. Not that they were bad people or unfriendly; they simply were a self absorbed lot. But the die was cast and we moved. We had a large old dog and scores of boxes; the dog was in our bedroom and the boxes in the garage. We were unused to the glare of the sun and set up a garden umbrella and looked with disbelief at the wealth of natural beauty, the oranges and lemons growing in the backyard. Very soon, we began to see a young boy, peeking at us from behind the bushes and then disappearing when we made eye contact.
Thus we were introduced to our neighbor's son, Wesley. He was a sweet and shy boy, who gradually gained confidence and began to visit more openly. Soon he began to spend time sitting in the kitchen and chatting with me or playing with our dog. He was intensely interested in food of all kinds and would willingly sample everything I made. It turned out that he loved Indian food- well, most kinds of it anyway. He was quick to reject some kinds right away. For instance, he did not like mustard oil. That automatically put many Bengali preparations beyond his liking. He began to sniff everything before he ate it and was deeply conflicted about shorshe bata preparations, because he loved the simple light shorshe bata salmon that I would cook.
One day, I had invited some local friends- of Bengali origin to dinner. I had made Machher chop with a filling of Covina, nicely spiced and with raisins. Wesley, who had wandered over while I was cooking, proceeded to invite himself over. A quick phone call to his mother next door informed her that I had invited him to dinner and that he had accepted!
Soon the guests arrived. Wesley positioned himself strategically in front of the chops. It had been a matter of 'Love at first bite' for him. And soon he began to demolish the pile handily. But he was distracted by some of the other foods and hence, at the end of the dinner, I had about 6 chops left. Wesley wanted to know if he could take some home. I have not had such an appreciative guest before. So, I packed 4 for him (I reckoned that they were a family of four persons- Father, Mother an older sister and of course, Wesley- and they could sample one each). He ran home next door happily.
The next day, his mother returned the container to me, filled with some figs grown in her back yard.
'How were the chops?' I asked her.
She stared at me for a moment and then smiled- 'They were a delicious tiny bite'.
I must have looked perplexed- for they were fairly large sized chops.
'You see', she continued,'As soon as he got home, Wesley ate one and said he's eat another for breakfast. Then he said he's take one to school for lunch next day.. So, the rest of us had to share the last one'.
Thus we were introduced to our neighbor's son, Wesley. He was a sweet and shy boy, who gradually gained confidence and began to visit more openly. Soon he began to spend time sitting in the kitchen and chatting with me or playing with our dog. He was intensely interested in food of all kinds and would willingly sample everything I made. It turned out that he loved Indian food- well, most kinds of it anyway. He was quick to reject some kinds right away. For instance, he did not like mustard oil. That automatically put many Bengali preparations beyond his liking. He began to sniff everything before he ate it and was deeply conflicted about shorshe bata preparations, because he loved the simple light shorshe bata salmon that I would cook.
One day, I had invited some local friends- of Bengali origin to dinner. I had made Machher chop with a filling of Covina, nicely spiced and with raisins. Wesley, who had wandered over while I was cooking, proceeded to invite himself over. A quick phone call to his mother next door informed her that I had invited him to dinner and that he had accepted!
Soon the guests arrived. Wesley positioned himself strategically in front of the chops. It had been a matter of 'Love at first bite' for him. And soon he began to demolish the pile handily. But he was distracted by some of the other foods and hence, at the end of the dinner, I had about 6 chops left. Wesley wanted to know if he could take some home. I have not had such an appreciative guest before. So, I packed 4 for him (I reckoned that they were a family of four persons- Father, Mother an older sister and of course, Wesley- and they could sample one each). He ran home next door happily.
The next day, his mother returned the container to me, filled with some figs grown in her back yard.
'How were the chops?' I asked her.
She stared at me for a moment and then smiled- 'They were a delicious tiny bite'.
I must have looked perplexed- for they were fairly large sized chops.
'You see', she continued,'As soon as he got home, Wesley ate one and said he's eat another for breakfast. Then he said he's take one to school for lunch next day.. So, the rest of us had to share the last one'.
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