I bought a quince at the local grocery store a few days ago without any idea what to do with it, When I saw there on the shelf, a limerick from childhood came to mind and I had to give it a shot with or without the runcible spoon. Once I had peeled and diced it, became evident that it would need work and could not be eaten sliced as Edward Lear had suggested. My version was cooked with maple syrup, fresh ginger and cardamon - felt like a good way to bring together home and abroad in the taste of a fruit I had imagined from childhood and never experienced until now. Turns out what I made up is close to an actual recipe. Cooking quince made me think about how we arrive at the same destination in life - for instance work at the same company, in very similar roles, or are part of a group that has some common interest or goal.
We arrive there not for the same reasons and rarely if ever traveling the same path. For me this quince on my kitchen counter top went a certain direction because I had just finished organizing my cabinets and found this bit of maple syrup left over that I needed to use up. The ginger I keep in the open to remind me to use at any and all times - for me ginger is universal and can go anywhere. The cardamon makes sense given the flavor palate. I was thinking of limericks and childhood and laughing with friends reading this one. That called for something warm, sweet and gently spicy. And so my idea was born.
Everyone that has a recipe likely has a story for it. Sometimes when you want to create a memory with another person's story it falls flat - atleast that's how its been for me. So I have my variant of everything I cook even standard Bengali recipes I learned from my mother and grandmothers. What they did was their story for that food, I have mine and it is a product of my life experiences, the people who came and left, the ones I loved and those that I lost.
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