“What do you want for lunch tomorrow?”
And we somehow know the answer even before it comes out of her mouth.
“Ummm… can I have pasta?”
There it is.
The standard response!
I don't even have to bother with a sauce. Pasta, a few veggies, salt and pepper. That's it. Almost like a salad.
And she will bring her lunch box back, cleaned up and empty.
Every. Single. Time.
And every single time this happens, I am reminded of the day — or rather, the day before — she was born. :)
This rather excessive love for pasta has a little story behind it. It's probably time to narrate it now...
We were in the US when we found out that we were expecting. Along with the pregnancy news came another piece of news — our visa extension had been rejected. So, we had to travel back.
I quit my job and we came back rather half-heartedly, with hopes of travelling again sometime soon. I was, however, delighted to be back in my hometown. This was the time to get pampered, eat whatever I wanted and not worry about putting on weight!
Best phase, really! 😄
But there was one thing that bothered me: the monotony of the food.
I should probably blame some of it on the pregnancy hormones too. I couldn't stand the smell of cooked dal (!!) and complained that I couldn't have dal with rice. This often confused my mom, who had been completely used to this kind of cooking all her life. She couldn't make daal-less rasam back then. My hormones taught her how to!!
Being South Indian, I had spent most of my life eating rice or chapatis for lunch and dinner, accompanied by dal, rasam, sambar or some curry. That was just how meals worked.
But once I travelled to the US, I realised just how many other possibilities existed.
We had easy access to good quality, inexpensive ingredients and appliances. Baking a pizza or a cake was very easy. We ( husband and me) unleashed our creativity in the kitchen, we would cook up something different every few days to satisfy our cravings.
Momos, soups, pastas, pies, cakes, muffins — even lasagna. We tried it all at home!
So when we headed back, even though I was absolutely delighted to have Mom around and eat her home-cooked food, I did miss the variety.
My mom does try out new recipes and snacks, and she made sure she satisfied most of my pregnancy cravings too. But I couldn't exactly ask her to make pasta or bake a pizza for dinner, could I?
Our parents grew up with rice as their staple food. Pasta for dinner wasn't exactly part of the standard South Indian menu!
Eventually, I settled back into the routine of rice and chapatis, with the occasional speciality cooked especially for me. The baby inside me seemed perfectly happy with whatever I ate and approved it with the occasional kicks.
For her, apparently, anything edible seemed good enough!
Months flew by and I entered my final trimester. It was Mom's birthday, which was a perfectly good reason to indulge in all sorts of cravings. The little one inside me seemed to enjoy whatever I devoured too. She was cosy, happy and showed absolutely no intention of coming out.
As I approached the end of my 38th week, the doctor suggested inducing labour.
I somehow refused.
The baby would come when she was ready, I thought.
Well into my 39th week, one fine day, I had had enough.
It was almost dinner time.
“I'm not eating rice,” I declared.
I was offered chapatis.
Now, I absolutely love rotis. But...
No.
I wanted something different. Something nice!
Hubby, who knew me well enough to understand the seriousness of the situation, offered to make pasta for me.
I was delighted.
“White sauce or red?” he asked.
“Anything will do,” said my already-salivating taste buds.
And off he went to the kitchen to make some yummy pasta.
I gladly — and gratefully — ate to my heart's content and went off to bed.
Only to be woken up at 2 a.m.
It was time to go to the hospital.
Looks like she had been waiting for that pasta to come out into this world!
Pasta was one of the last things I ate before being wheeled into the delivery room.
And guess what?
To this day, this girl loves her pasta.
There hasn't been a single occasion when she has said no to pasta. Ever.
Macaronni, Fettuccini, spagetti, bow-tie pasta, egg pasta... she loves it all.
White sauce or red, or even no sauce, she will lick her plate clean!
So perhaps she had made up her mind long before we ever met her.
Eleven and a half years later, I still get the same answer when I ask what she wants for lunch or dinner.
“Can I have pasta?”
Some things, apparently, never change.
And that, my friends, is how our little pasta lover was born! 🍝 :)
– The Mother Duck Says 🦆
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