Sunday, January 4, 2015

Why kids under 10 should come with a mute button

So minicyn is a not so mini and a very garrulous 4 yo right now. Thus, we have some scintillating sessions such as this one a few months ago. 

Fancy french type restaurant - you know, the ones,with those twisty dinner rolls and dressy decor. 

Junior, bored of sitting around decides to circumbulate the restaurant. Just happens to cross a sophisticated middle aged lady who might be having some erm...digestive issues. 
Comes back to our table, and in clear, carrying tones asks "Mamma, why is that aunty ( pointing at the offending lady) doing potty in the restaurant?"


HNY and all that from this side of 2015

One of the new year resolutions is to restart writing - so let me start with New Year wishes to any reader who still visits the page. Let me also fall at your feet in gratitude for still visiting the page.

Happy New Year folks. Hope its the best yet. 

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Baker's Cyn

So I have started this baking thing recently.

Is anyone having images of a soccer-mom-suburban-type-apple-and-cinnamon crumble baking Cyn?  

Perish the though.

I had never got into this baking gig. Mostly because the descriptions of the mother/mil baking escapades sounded tedious and intimidating (and one could get the cake so easily in bakeries –why reinvent?) . All that sifting all purpose flour (I didn't know what all purpose flour was till quite recently. It just sounded vaguely magical and omniscient), and beating eggs and what not. 
And historically, my cooking tends to be what I call whimsical and my mother calls “cant-you-follow-one-effing-recipe-properly?”Baking I am led to understand is a bit like science experiments, if recipes are not measured out stuff can explode.

So what changed? 

Well I joined this off-shoot school group of chefs (Yes. Every group needs the backbencher - and I fit that role beautifully). These good folks are bakers with the capital B. Black forest cakes with icing (I don’t think it ever registered that someone actually makes these. I suppose I thought they spontaneously materialize in the bakery or something) . They bake breads like soda bread and herbed garlic bread and foccacia. They make cookies, and granola bars and one of them even makes half a dozen dishes for dinner every day.

After months of this, I was shamed into attempting the first cake.

In other developments, we finally got a working oven. After bidding a fond and tearful adieu to the MILs 56 year old one. She did call her favorite technician for a last ditch resuscitation attempt, but when I saw him cheerfully sticking metal pipes with fevikwik thought that I would much rather not have a gas leak in the house. So hallelujah, I have burners and oven that actually burn and bake.

AND I have a hyperactive four year old boy who needs entertaining on rainy days.

So voila, Cyn the Baker was born.

Had the initial hiccups - of wondering whether baking soda and powder were the same things (they are not – they have “different actions” whatever that may be) and happily using my chai ka cup as a measuring cup for the first few attempts before I realized that you get something called a measuring cup.

 I have still not understood why the batter must be mixed with a wooden spoon and steel or a plastic one won’t do.


It’s been baby steps - carrot cake (which is rocking), the brownie (which is brilliantly easy) and a mango cake where I decided to do some extempore baking. (There is only so much of discipline I can take Gah) in which I managed to make the batter so incredibly dense that the blender had a stroke and died. (Strangely enough the resultant output wasn’t terrible as I expected. Consequently, I have become a fan of baking powder).


Ah well, maybe I WILL turn into a domestic diva after all. 
(God Forbid)

Sunday, July 27, 2014

The seven year rash

So the hero goes for an onsite in a firangi land. 

On his return, he distributes some loot for assorted family members. 

For me, with a flourish he produces,,

.... five pairs of washing and kitchen gloves. 

"You catch a cold if you wash your hands without these isn't it?"

And as clincher ( of our deep and mutual understanding) he declares " I even got the right size!!" 

I'm almost tempted to marry him again. 

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Ciw has a Facebook page

So on the tenth anniversary year of my blog, I decided to commemorate by starting a Facebook page.

Gah, who am I kidding. The offline avatar page was getting too crowded. When parents second cousins in law start sending friend requests you know it's time to move on.

Also my mother reads my statuses and calls me for a post mortem on them. It's very stressful.

Anyways if I do have any readers left, I'd love to see you on that side.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

DYAC

Have a rather cryptic entry on my phone to-do list which states "get rid of body". 

Racked my brains but can't for the life of me remember whose body and where it has been hidden. Hmmm. 

I love auto correct. It edits my life to add so much drama into it.

P.S. Shamelessly recycling from elsewhere ( blog resuscitation measures pliss excuse)

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Purani Genes

So, flashback to say 7-8 years ago. 

Cyn and Hero in the process of getting acquainted which involves some amount of smallish talk.

Cyn must have asked an innocuous "How was the day" to be met by a tirade about how that is such a lame question and how he finds females who ask such a question unoriginal and how he has devised a beautiful pithy reply to that viz."TOPS".

Cyn retires, much abashed.

Fast forward to now. 

Hero no 2  has just started nursery school (which happens to be the school which the Hero went to)

Hero (sentimental after looking at the tuck shop and the school diary) rushes home from office to eagerly ask the offspring "So how was school today?"

Hero no 2 laconically drawls  "Awright"

Hero's face? Priceless.

Genetics are very lovely (especially when they come back to the bite the spouse in the a**)

P.S. I am trying to get this up and running again and get into the flow of blogging. IS ANYONE READING DAMN IT?