I am the White Girl Who Opened the Pressure Cooker

I am the white girl who opened the pressure cooker

Everyone told me not to do it.

Just two days ago, I had a conversation

And vehemently affirmed that I would never

- Ever -

 Open the pressure cooker while it was cooking.

Why would I want an explosion, steam, burns?

That would just be stupid.

That was two days ago…

But today is always a different story.

I was cooking black-eyed-peas

In an effort to re-create a yummy masala that I made last week.

Boil the beans, empty the water.  Boil the beans, empty the water.

Simmer for 45 minutes.

I put the cover on the pressure cooker during the simmer step…

And realized about halfway into it that it hadn’t steamed at all.

For some reason,

I took this as a sign that I shouldn’t have put the cover on,

That it wasn’t working,

And I should take it off and simmer coverless.

What I didn’t realize

Was

That if it hadn’t steamed at all in 20 minutes,

There was a heck of a lot of pressure in the cooker.

I wrestled with the cover.

This should have been my first sign

That the cover shouldn’t be removed.

But I failed to heed the warning

And continued to wrestle it off.

I had the sense enough to know

That it was indeed going to explode at least a little bit,

(Why did I continue?)

And I was prepared to jump back when it did.

Well, let me tell you…

It definitely exploded.

The cover came off.

Steam poured.

Beans flew.

Water boiled.

I jumped…but not fast enough.

My kitchen is a mess -

but it made for a good Twitpic.

I have quite the burn on my hand -

but I’ve been told that all Indian ladies

have burnmarks on their hands from the cookers…

Looks like I’m now officially an Indian lady.

I’ve already been mocked

(by my boss)

Scolded

(by my friend)

And “tut-tutted” over

(by my neighbors).

The burn mark tells it all,

And because my cooking skills were already in question

(I have this problem with burning rice…)

I’ll probably never live it down.

Yes, I am the white girl who opened the pressure cooker.

Cheating the Grocer

Whenever I go grocery shopping, I feel as if I have cheated the grocer.  Like I am getting away with way more food than I have paid for.  Which means that when I go back to the grocery store, I worry that the cheapness of the last time was a freak accident and that I won’t even have enough money to buy my food.

This happens while I am in the checkout line.  Today I had my okra, tomatoes, onions, sweet oranges, garbanzo beans, white lentils, black eyed peas, a ready-made opma breakfast mix, a soft-drink mango juice, and two candy bars.  Enough to feed me for a week, with the exception of perhaps a few more veggies along the way (I stocked up on my rices and spices long ago).  With the dried and packaged goods, gauging price is no problem because I can count up the stickers.  When it comes to fruits and veggies, though, I have no idea how to measure what it will cost.

I was not to worry today, though, because – whether by freak accident or by true math – my grand total was 196 rupees.  The conversion? $3.97.  Four dollars to feed me for a week.  My mind is racing as I walk home – I thought food prices are rising? Four dollars for a week? Man, if I bought this at home it would have cost so much money – who can I tell about my great buy?

Then, I look around.  I was walking through the slum area of my neighborhood, and immediately my thoughts changed.  196 rupees is, to the average Indian (according to purchasing power parity), a little more than $10.  Still not a bad deal if I would have bought my goods in America.  But my neighbors in this area may not make that in a day; perhaps not even in a week (I’m not positive on the socioeconomic status of the area I live). 

As I slowed down and looked around, stopped to chat with some children, my thoughts slowed down too.  They slowed and they transformed.  Now I become thankful, not just that I can buy so many fresh fruits and veggies for a “good price”, but that I am able to buy food.