The heat from the waffle iron is so strong you can smell it throughout the house. It is my cue for pouring the banana-nut batter hot into its sizzling heat. As I drop every ladle of batter into the iron my mind fogs with memories from winters long ago.
I am transported to Long Beach Island in New Jersey, a strip of beach towns that is the epicenter of Jersey Shore living during hot summer days. LBI, as it is known to locals, is formed of little beach towns that have amazing restaurants.
Ironically, winter was my favorite time to enjoy an escape to LBI when I lived in New Jersey. Cold days assured no crowds, no traffic and a lot of privacy.
Winter days offered the perfect contrast to the warm coffee sold at Uncle Will’s Pancake House. Located in the little town of Beach Haven, the restaurant offers the best breakfast in town.
Huge Belgian waffles topped with a mountain of whipped cream arrive at your table as your eyes try to adjust to the size of your breakfast. I found it nearly impossible to finish any waffle I ever ordered.
If you are ever in town, make sure you stop at Uncle Will’s Pancake House. You are guaranteed a filling breakfast and a great cup of coffee.
I dreamt I was eating pani puri last night. Upon awakening, I was instantly transported to the Indian town of Thane, a suburb of Mumbai that is the hometown of my Indian family.
On a warm and humid night in Thane last month, I found myself in the company of a very gracious married couple and their newborn daughter. The husband has known my Indian family his whole life and welcomed us by taking us to his favorite "chaat" restaurant.
"Chaats" are Indian street snacks. They are cheap, delicious and available on any steet corner.
As we made our way through the crowded streets I could see the line that formed from the restaurant to the sidewalk. People of all ages were standing in line. The restaurant had indoor and outdoor seating but it was too crowded inside.
While the men in our group went to purchase the chaats, us ladies tried to secure a seat on the ledge of a small wall that separated the restaurant from the sidewalk.
Moments later the men showed up with a plate of chaats on each hand and a bunch of forks. We each grabbed a fork and ate from the same plate. All the chaats were crunchy, spicy and creamy. Just delicious!
My absolute favorite snack that evening was pani puri.
Essentially, pani puri is made up of thin deep-fried wafers that are cracked and stuffed with a filling of chickpea, potatoes, cilantro and spices. Each individual stuffed wafer is immersed in two spicy broths, one green, the other brown like tamarind. The broths are at room temperature and vary in degrees of spicyness. “Puri” is the name of the deep fried wafer, and “pani” refers to the flavored water.
Pani puri is eaten in rounds. You are handed a small bowl and only one snack at a time. You eat one while holding it over the bowl and letting the spicy broth drip into it. Once you are done with the five or six rounds (depending on who is selling it) you sip the spicy water from the bowl. Mmmmm….
You are supposed to eat pani puri like sushi, all in one mouthful. This always seems to be an impossible task for me. I have a hard time chewing the whole piece so I end up feeling self-conscious about having my cheeks protrude with so much food in them.
This makes my Indian brother laugh every time. He loves challenging me to eat a whole pani puri in one big mouthful. Usually, I nearly choke while attempting this feat. I hold a napkin over my mouth in an attempt of seeming more ladylike. Somehow I don’t think my tactics help.
The night we had pani puri in Thane, I noticed the wife of our gracious host asked the vendor to please give me the smallest puris. She did not know I noticed but her kindness warmed my heart. Now that I was armed with small puris I was sure I could stand up to the challenge of eating them in one mouthful.
With my Indian brother edging me on I stuffed each puri in my mouth and ate each one the “proper” way. As he poked fun at me, I tried not to choke on each puri and make a fool out of myself in front of all these strangers who seemingly had no problem managing such a large mouthful of food.
As I was sipping the spicy water from my bowl after successfully eating my round of pani puri, my Indian brother pointed to an old poster glued to a cement wall.
The longed-haired man in the poster had a beard and was dressed in a white tunic. He looked like a religious leader.
“You see that man? He’s the chaat God. You made him proud!,” he joked.
There’s no such thing as a chaat God but I found it so hilarious I couldn't stop laughing. Since then we have pretended he exists.
Someday I will master the technique of eating pani puri gracefully without requiring the Hemlich maneuver. Only then will I know I made the chaat God proud!
HERE'S A VIDEO DISPLAYING HOW TO PROPERLY EAT PANI PURI
Old salsa music is blasting in the background. Tiny hands are tangled up in mine. Tonight there are no nightclubs or bars for me. On this Saturday night I belong to my 4-year old niece. She has chosen to interrupt my dishwashing and invite me to dance in the living room. How could I refuse?
As we twirl around dancing, her blue eyes light up and laughter fills the room. The warmth of her palms stretches from my hands to my heart. This is happiness.
The classic salsa songs remind me of my childhood. I picture myself as a 6-year old dancing in my parents' living room singing at the top of my lungs. I could chose to feel sad everytime I remember my mother but right now I am focusing on those beautiful memories. I feel so fortunate I am able to dance these songs with my niece.
My sweet blue-eyed angel snaps me back to reality.
“Auntie Rose, lift me,” she says through her giggles.
Those words are enough to inspire my best Dirty Dancing imitation. She runs to me and I lift my princess up in the air as we spin round and round. I love being silly Auntie Rose J
Salsa gives way to country music and we two-step. Before I notice, my brother and his 2-year old son join us. We all hold hands and dance, our legs moving in funny directions.
My beautiful and very pregnant sister-in-law finally joins us and we dance together as a family in the midst of crayons and toys. I savor every moment because I know I will be leaving for Italy in a few short weeks and I will miss my family dearly.
Then Trace Atkins’ “You’re Gonna Miss This” comes on. This is an emotional song about growing up fast then wishing we could turn back time.
As the song plays, my brother tightly embraces his daughter as they slow dance. My sister-in-law and I are sitting on the couch. She's holding her baby boy to her chest and kissing his head lightly. My hands slowly find their way to her arms and we hold each other.
Every one of us adults is softly weeping as we meditate upon life: the kids grow up so quickly, I’m leaving for a year, and we will never get back the time that has passed.
As I caress my sister-in-law’s belly, the tiny baby inside her kicks. We smile at each other as we feel the slight flutter of her legs.
This is family life and it fills my heart with the deepest of joys. Amen!
Cars honk endlessly as they zip in and out of traffic. Tiny rickshaws burst at the seams with extra passengers, some of whom have their legs or head poking out in an effort to make more room. Women wearing colorful Punjabi dresses and saris sit sideways in the back of motorpeds, some cradling babies in their arms as they make their way through the congested streets.
Vendors selling fruit, snacks, coconuts and souvenirs flood the sidewalks. Pedestrian traffic spills onto the streets because sidewalks are too crowded. Stray dogs sit lazily in a corner basking in the sun. But nothing makes people stop walking, they continue their path uninterrupted. Somehow, the seeming chaos flows in perfect harmony. No one is struck by a car, no one falls out of a rickshaw or off a motorped.
This is life in India: a dizzying dance of 1 billion people living in a land that is a third of the size of the United States but with three times more people.
In order to survive in India you need to be a quick learner. Can you imagine the skill it takes to cross a busy intersection with no traffic lights? It involves a lot hand signals, brisk walking and praying.
Here are some of the lessons I learned:
1.You must not stay in your lane while driving. Although there may be lines painted on the road, no one observes them. There are just too many people in India and the easiest way to get around, especially in their small cars, is to ignore the lines and make your own lane. Which brings me to lesson number 2…
2.You must honk while driving. It is not rude, it is a courtesy! Every truck in India has a sign on the rear that reads: “Horn OK Please.” This is truly a matter of public safety. With so many cars on the road and makeshift lanes, how else will someone know you are approaching?
3.Don’t bother walking on sidewalks. There is no room! Just make sure you are alert at all times to avoid getting hit by a rickshaw or a moped.
4.A family of four fits on a scooter. Including babies and kids. Unlike the U.S., there is no law against having children on scooters. People ride around with their kids all the time. During my time there, I never saw any of them get struck by a car or fall of the scooter.
5.You must drive aggressively. It is OK to pass cars while driving through a curve. Believe it or not, the oncoming drivers are expecting this. They will give you a courtesy honk, slow down and allow you to get back in your lane.
6.When asking directions don’t bother saying “please” or “thank you.” You must stick to the point. Example: When you approach someone, simply say “Statue of Liberty.” They will gladly give you directions. Then you’ll drive off without even so much as a “thanks.” When I inquired about this lack of courtesy to an Indian friend, he said “Indians cut to the chase. Who has time for all that?!”
7.Respect. When traveling it is important to respect the customs and traditions of the country you are visiting. India is a modest country so I covered my chest and arms whenever the occasion required it. Take the time to learn about the country you are visiting before you get there. Once there, learn and try to understand your surroundings.
Reserve your judgements. For instance, if it seems bizarre to see kids on mopeds with their parents, remember that cars are expensive in India. Some people can only afford a moped. So people do what they need to do to get to work and transport their kids to and from school.
What people forget to tell you about India is that you should never strike a cow. Yes, we all hear about cows intermingling with traffic on busy city roads. Spotting cows on the street becomes something we look forward to as travelers – a type of game we revel in as we try to capture it on camera.
Yet, no one tells you prior to your arrival that striking a cow, more specifically, running it over with your car, is the biggest “no no” you can commit. Hurting or, god forbid, killing a cow will surely guarantee you will go straight to Hindu hell. Even worse, you will be socially ostracized unless you make great amends.
As one of my Indian friends put it: “You will hurt the owner’s feelings…and you’ll have to pay reparations for the damage.” In short, you will have to apologize and pay the owner whatever he deems the cow is worth.
You see, cows really are holy in India. They are considered givers of life. Their milk literally feeds a nation – whether it is turned into buttermilk, milk, yogurt or cheese. Whatever the byproduct, dairy is what keeps this mostly vegetarian nation of nearly 1 billion people fed.
Cows are so revered that there is actually a national “cattle appreciation day.” In Maharashtra, the state that is home to the city of Mumbai, this holiday is called “Pola.” Once a year, farmers celebrate by bathing their cows and ox and feeding them the best grass or grains available. They decorate them by painting their horns and, if needed, cover them with a cloth to protect them from the cold. I swear I am not making this up!
Given all this, don’t even think about ordering a cheeseburger at an Indian McDonalds. It is not a myth that they don’t serve beef.Every McDonalds has a sign outside their restaurant advertising that they do not sell beef or beef products. So get your beef fix before you leave the United States.
Or do what I did. My first meal back on American soil? A cheeseburger, of course!
