Kitchen Stories: Daadee's Rolling Pin
Everything in our lives tells a story. When I think of my happy place, I think of my grandma’s kitchen. Not any one kitchen in particular. As the saying goes:
Home is not a place, it is a feeling.
Grandmas’ kitchen is not a place, it is a lovely feeling and space preserved in time and memory. Both my grandmothers have slowed down their production in the kitchen given that age has taken its toll on them, but nonetheless there is a certain level of energy that ignites them the moment they step foot into the cooking room. The room where the magic happens, the nucleus of the home where flavour and family meet. The way they sway, the way their eyes light up, the same way a kung fu master awakens in the arena. Mastery. Flow state.
It’s not the fancy equipment, it is not the latest technology, nor is it a chemical instruction sheet that catalyzes their strut. It is a pure flow state born of tireless hours of dedication, tradition, intention, skill, labour, artisanship, and love that preserves their work. Their hands moving a pace before their brain signals to them the next step. Boy, can they cook.
It is no coincidence that I have a rich relationship with food - almost entirely attributed to memories with Grandma in the kitchen.
Being mentored from a young age by my grandmothers planted a seed in my heart for the love of food. Ever since then, I have not looked back. During my high school days, I was selected to compete in culinary arts and baking competitions where being mentored by professional chefs to cook there cemented my passion for food ( you can read more about my experiences in the kitchen here: Bakery Days). My passion for food led me to study nutrition and food studies in University.
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Belan (or welan as my grandmother pronounced in her Gujarati dialect) is a traditional rolling pin for pastries and breads found in many cultures (i.e Spanish for tortillas, India for chapati, etc.). When my grandmother became too old to cook at the scale and breadth that she once did, she began to purge her kitchen of its tools. A painful ceremony that I recall filled with bittersweet moments. I got the better end of that purge and acquired a number of kitchen tools and items to enrich my cooking space. The welan is what brings back the deepest memories.
When I look at the welan in my kitchen it serves as an anchor to the memories I have of Daadee cooking. I remember the days of running to the cold room in her house, looking up at the rack of bulk spices and dry ingredients in total mesmerization preparing to make Poori (Indian fry bread) or Rotti (Indian flatbread) for dinner.
Daadee had this sort of, no bull sh*t attitude that anyone could cook. Cooking was essential that anyone could do it.
I would love to hear about what item(s) you have in your kitchen that tell a story? comment below!
