In defense of bhindi

Bhindi is my favourite vegetable. The crunch it creates when cooked with the right quantity of oil (read generous) makes it less of an entrée and more of a side. Despite that it rules the plate. That it is green puts the beeping health meter to rest too. But it tops my chart for holding its own in the easy to manipulate breed of vegetables. It has a distinct flavor that no cooking method or masala can put down. Combine it with any other vegetable and it will stand out. Not like the fickle potato that can be anything you want it to be. Or populist paneer, that prefers to star only in multi-cast potboilers. So this morning as I stood engulfed in aroma of slowly sizzling bhindi, I didn’t think of any way this could go wrong. Sure the web of gooey strings had wrapped the kadhai making the under construction masterpiece look highly unpalatable. But I smirked at it cunningly as if to say,’ I’ll let you play now, before I fix you’. Because I know if you squeeze lemon and cover the pot, the sticky strings vanish without a trace.

Bhindi is no fast food. It takes its time to come around and just like a lady, will open up and reveal itself on slow fire over hours. By the time it was ripe and ready, the sun came up and the husband staggered out from the bedroom. ‘I am not eating bhindi’ he blurted out as soon as the smell caught him. And there, my labour of love received a blow. Suddenly the delicate bhindi became harsh okra. My husband has never eaten bhindi and is prejudiced against it, thanks to the slimy web I had so smartly dealt with. I showed him it wasn’t there anymore. I made him touch the crisp hexagons I had so artfully chopped to keep the symmetry. But once a bhindi hater, always a bhindi hater. The slime he was subjected to in childhood had scarred him for life. After a long trial where I submitted all evidence to prove that bhindi is innocent of being gooey anymore, alas I lost. But the defense won a minor relief by being allowed to serve potato fingers cooked with the bhindi. Well at least it is a beginning. Bhindi has no doubt rubbed off its distinguished taste on the potato and will introduce the uninitiated to its charm. As for me, I can now have it all.