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Points For Trying

Jonathan assured Marisol that he hadn’t been raised in an ultra-traditional Indian family, that he had grown up in America eating food his parents had grown up eating in India, but that they had also had plenty of pizza and burgers and fried chicken.

Still, when she had gone to meet Jonathan’s parents, their meal had been chicken korma and rice and samosas and galub jamun, and how was she supposed to reciprocate that?

“Just make that roast chicken you do,” Jonathan said. “With the mashed potatoes and peas, and bake cupcakes or something. They’ll love it.”

They probably would, because it was good and because they loved Jonathan and because they were kind, but Marisol wanted to do something to honor them.

She would make curried potatoes and peas instead of just plain American mashed potatoes and boiled peas.

And she’d make paneer. Jonathan’s mother had had paneer in the korma, little white cubes of soft cheese that soaked up the sauce and made a pleasant squeak when you bit them. Jonathan’s mother had explained that it was a fresh (not aged) cheese and, when Marisol had asked if it had been difficult to make, had laughed and said nothing was easier.

So she had gathered all her groceries. She had started on the curry in the morning (onion, garlic, ginger, curry powder, Balti, salt, fried gently in butter until the onion was soft and the spices were fragrant, then tomato paste for a bit, then diced tomatoes and more salt and more of the spices). She cooked the potatoes almost through and added them to the sauce and simmered it low and slow the rest of the day, and cooked and added the peas at the last minute. Jonathan said it was delicious!

Meanwhile, while the curry was getting rich, she made the paneer.

Sure enough, it was easy! She started with a pot of whole milk, brought it almost to a boil, stirring it constantly until it was just ready to boil, then took it off the heat and added lemon juice. The milk turned instantly into … curds and whey! This was curds and whey!

“Well, call me Little Miss Muffet,” she told herself. She turned it all out into a cheesecloth-lined colander and squeezed out the water. As the recipe had said, she put the curds into a rectangular container and let it sit while she finished the chicken and the curry and the cupcakes.

Jonathan’s parents arrived and exclaimed on how good the food smelled. When Marisol went to get the chicken out to rest before carving it and to chunk and fry the paneer, Jonathan’s mother insisted on coming to help and to continue the conversation they’d started about their favorite Shah Rukh Khan movies.

Jonathan’s mother exclaimed over the curry, tasted it, and exclaimed again.

With enormous pride, Marisol took the paneer from the refrigerator and turned it out onto a plate.

It fell apart into little chunklets. Nuggetlets. Almost grains, but bigger than grains, but smaller than lumps.

Marisol gasped in dismay. “No! No!”

“What is it?” asked Jonathan’s mother. “I mean, what’s wrong?”

“I tried to make paneer, but it isn’t paneer! It’s … it’s cottage cheese!”

“You tried to MAKE paneer?” Jonathan’s mother picked up a chunklet and ate it. “You MADE paneer?”

“I seem to have made cottage cheese.”

“Honey,” Jonathan’s mother said, “paneer IS cottage cheese. I mean, it’s the same thing, only different. I can’t believe you actually MADE it for us!”

“It seemed easy, like you said, but I must have done something wrong. It isn’t nice like yours.”

“That’s because I buy mine. My mother tried to teach me how, but I didn’t have the touch. Mine wasn’t as nice as this. Mine was like shredded rubber eraser.”

Jonathan’s mother picked up the plate and, pulling Marisol with her with an arm around her waist, carried the disaster into the living room.

“Look what Marisol made!” she commanded. “All by herself, with nobody to teach her! Paneer! It’s crumbly, but it’s so good!”

They all tried some and exclaimed over it. At supper, they insisted on stirring the crumbs into the curry and raving about it.

“Ask Marisol to teach you how to make paneer,” Jonathan’s father said. “We’ll save a fortune at the grocery.”

“Stop it,” said Jonathan’s mother, “or I’ll make some by myself and make you eat it!”

It’s possible that never before has a liter of whole milk and half a lemon made a match as heavenly as Jonathan and Marisol’s.

MY PROMPT FOR TODAY: This delicious curry and this disappointing paneer I made.

MA