You are the center of your own world!
Hi everyone, and no one in particular,
Greetings from the sweltering garmi of Iowa (jk). It’s been 50+ posts here since this newsletter’s inception. I also turned 31 on the 30th of July! It made me think of beginnings, and mushroom is right up there with cheese as what inspired me to write. Combine both, and voila, you have two of the greatest food finds, according to me.
The last news letter was about my time at the lakeside lake in Okoboji, Iowa. My writing residency gave me exactly why I always intended to apply to be the most like-minded person! I could not go to another residency that I was looking forward to due to health reasons and due to many other bureaucratic mess that I was taking care of here in Iowa (nobody talks about what it takes to ‘have made it’ lol). I could not even go home to India after not being able to plan on time, and then the flight delays happened (my brother is getting engaged soon wohooo and uhuhuhuh). I could not just uproot (sacrifices are to be had to come to study in Amrika, right?). I tried to cultivate positive thoughts, but I was on a whirlwind. I felt like I was writing and doing what I love, but I was also pioneering new problems and solving them. Also, as my cousin Neha puts it, “If you try and ask for help, people are willing”. This is indeed true. Even though help might not come in the way you thought or even half-heartedly, yet help is sometimes, helpful.
From documenting my time in Iowa to talking about failures, making long listicles, and starting to think about Dada art forms and how art can change life, this space has seen a besiege of essays that have made me and my journey bearable. I have never been able to ascertain what inspires me to write in just a few topics or sub-topics.
It is hot, yet I am trying to keep cool and calm by watching movies and shows I would not go for otherwise. I am also just basking in my latest book research, which is coming along slow and fine.
It happens to the non-relentless of us. Just like Nandor, the relentless (from the new favorite TV binge-watch of summer for me—what we do in the shadows) coming to love garlic and Jesus water, I have come to love portabello mushrooms, specifically.
I have always loved cheese. There is no doubt there. Turophile for a reason, you see. Covered in fondue, you see. Yet, I have also loved mushrooms since I was a kid. Since I left, I have been eating goat feet and kaleji. Sacrificial love. Sacred kind of coupe for a Rajput. kaput. I have loved the idea of meat, though, enough to devour Hannibal Lecter’d deliciously scrumptious delicacies with equal resplendency as watching back-to-back blood gore for the whole night through, as I empty ramen after ramen boxes and amul cheese wraps.
I wrote a poem about it, which is now defunct; very visually appealing to a green heart. I also wrote a whole-ass book titled Confessions of a Turophile with zero honest confessions, which is indeed not the kind of musings that I tend to serve here. yet I now know that I confide in a delicious mushroom. Not a trippy one (no disservice to have ego death at 26). I tend to write about things in the astral and on earth, disproportionately floating between the two.
I am using my background in science to understand language and storytelling better.
I understand the things that seem to understand themselves. The education of the same is through many-senses. It is rogue of me to claim that I am doing this all by myself-
I am here because my ancestors wished it for me, and I am here because you are. We make up each other.
I love foraging—surprise for the ones who haven’t heard me rave enough about the mud ruck.
Portobello mushroom was the first thing I ate after I arrived at Okoboji, North Iowa (as a substitute for the tasty hogs they were having). I must say, I loved every bit of the juicy goodness of the mushroom—almost kaleji like, blood-curdled.
There is something about mushrooms and cheese- I am trying to paint that picture psychologically for someone who hated both these delicate delicacies for majority of childhood, suddenly blooming into action with tongs that wrapped the portobello into acrobatics on tawa and cheese that can be drizzled on stale roti to make it a five-star culinary surprise dish of the night.
Some confirmations:
the number 777 surrounds me- love and the altitude!
Watched Court TV of Abu Abulaban double murder trial, and I am spinning
I binge-watched Million Dollar Listing New York and all the Love is Blind (I do think it becomes scripted for some couple for the sake of TV) , and I am spinning and spun- like a tornado in dollar poverty
i think unroll.me is a boon. check it out
I love salt, and I am not ashamed of it. I also have accepted the fact that I can pretty much cook whatever I want to eat, and I will survive
I am having dreams that loop into days and weeks; It has been weird
I have realized that living the life that I want is what I have now
I need to sustain my present pace
Everything is difficult in life for some people. that some people is me
I love love and the idea of love and the consummation and confirmation that comes with love, all kinds of love
The art of removing water/hydration from mushrooms to gently roast them without the aid of a BBQ or a fryer is something- the art becomes therapeutic if done right. Mushrooms don’t necessarily burn, but they char into layers of flavor.
The charred, roasted, slightly buttered, or olive-parmesan baked or broiled pieces can be exquisite- love over chicken breasts and nuggets.
There is a method to the mushroom madness
I like working with elementary pieces of food and deciding or basing my whole dish or menu on a few elements, like the ones that cannot be held up in the fridge for longer or are seasonal. I am gravitating towards cooking with more flavor and less health on my mind- we only live once for my end goals and purposes.
mushrooms and cheeses are my go-to dish when I don’t know what I would like to eat- They can be spread on toast or eaten as is, oven-roasted or tawa grilled- the endless choices of cooking with these two make them one of the most versatile dished ver.
Lots of cafes and eateries in Amrika offer the option of substituting your meat, ground pound beef, with portabello, which changes the game for a vegetarian like me. or a turned vegetarian, as I like to put it. Yesterday, watching a vlog and eating mushrooms made me yearn to buy the vlog camera of my dreams, and I really want to vlog my life, twilight reading hours and travels through here. You can make that happen!
A LOG-LOCKED NATION -Weapons Grade: Poems by Terese Svoboda Nothing so national as a flag, the man says. A pink or blue wound you could take a pick to, a little level ground with tainted water. You could reconsider, the man says. He puts up a wet finger. No fire set today will burn that far in this wind. Clouds of dust turn into clouds. Meanwhile, the trees log every escape effort, the country serves itself, the enemy questions its crouching.
Someone told me that the circuit of communication is broken down , more so after the pandemic, but in 2024, we have seen a downfall of communication and how connections are changing.
I wish to extend an invitation to communicate with my letters, now and for the time to come, in the hope that I might find more like-minded beings in this journey.
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