I’m never ever going to be able to hoard all of Barbara’s cooking from the rest of the world by trying to play off of her underdeveloped sense of gastronomic genius, and telling her he cooking is awful and I have to save her reputation by eating it all up.

It’s a trite joke anyway.

Calling the evening’s fare a stunning success is an understatement.

So that was lamb? I wondered briefly, but I had other things to concentrate on, (like stuffing my face.)

And to say that Barbara had a large amount of beans is an understatement. After several evenings of searching cabinets for something to cook while house sitting for them, and finding these containers of beans lining the cupboards, I think I can safely say that she has more containers of beans that Imelda Marcos had boxes of shoes, (Well, there’s an obscure reference.)

Anyway, thanks for the wonderful dinner. Good food, good friends…Bliss…

Yes, it is true.

I am the Queen of Beans.

The Lady of the Lentils.

The Priestess of Peas.

The Amazon of the Azuki.

I am known by many names and titles.

Such is the life of one obsessed.

It all comes from my fascination with peasant food from all cultures and lands. It probably all started because I grew up eating peasant food, and for all that I went to culinary school and can throw down and do nouvelle cuisine and haute cuisine with the best of them, and I do like to eat the fancy food now and again, I don’t love it enough to make it my life.

Fancified food is lovely, but it doesn’t speak to my soul the way a steaming hot bowl of beans does, with some cornbread in the pan, and a side of greens with pork.

You can take the girl out of the hills, but never will the hills come out of the girl, I suppose. And at heart, I am a barefoot hillbilly farmer girl.

So, I think my greatest skill lies in interpreting and elevating the peasant foods of all nations (though I am most fond of the poor folks’ food of Asia) to a place where people can see that it is the best food on earth. It is what nurtures us, satisfies us and puts us in touch with the earth at its most fundamental.

It is poetry on a plate, writ in flavor, color and texture. It is art, not something to either be ignored or taken for granted.

It is the soul of humanity, disguised as a simple bowl of rice and beans.

-Dan
(the one that is quasi-related to you, living in Hell-A)

No worries about not having time to write–I think I probably owe you email at this point.

I will never forget Pankaj being so astounded that not only did I know what hing was, but how to use it and why, when you and he were visiting us in Maryland.

He is right, in part. Not all Northern Indian people use hing, though it is more common among Hindus. The Muslims of Northern India do not use it as much, if at all, which surprised me. It is much more common in Southern India.

Another thing that distinquishes the flavor of Indian food cooked by Indians and the food cooked by white people is that white folks have trouble browning the onions enough. It is something that my clients appreciated about me–that I was not afraid to deeply brown the onions.

In Muslim Northern India, it is browned onions that really distinquish the cuisine.