Anatomy of a meal

Menu planning at its finest: an Indian meal for friends

The picture on the left is a little difficult to decipher, but let me explain. Over the years, Nalin and I have prepared many a meal for our friends and family. And it usually starts out with a little list making or menu planning on a torn-off sheet of paper. By the end of the process, that paper looks quite a bit like aged parchment, with smeared pen, some food splatters, and maybe even a few grubby fingerprints. For as long as I can remember, Nalin has been more than a bit fond of making lists, adding things to the list, making a note of that on the list, etc., etc. You get the drift. For procrastinating, impulsive, and fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants little ol' me, this has often been a little challenging to say the least, but his style has slowly grown on me. The lists Nalin makes on a daily basis are like maps, with the arteries of thought running this way and that in sequenced definition. For these meal plans, there is often a shopping list incorporated and sectioned by dish, the dishes themselves listed in order of preparation to time things right, some instructions perhaps, and then, usually at the end, notes on whether the dish worked well or not and what to do or not do the next time around. And it doesn't stop there. These lists and maps are a part of nearly everything we do in our household, much to my chagrin at times, I suppose.

Nalin has a great book on his bookshelf entitled Inspired: How creative people think, work and find inspiration. We got this a few years back, and it is one of those books you never quite tire of, and, in fact, it can be quite uplifting in those moments where inspiration seems about the last thing to be mustered. It is a collection of some of the greatest creative minds around. In the preface, the authors write, "This is a book about the creative process. The journey that starts with a blank sheet of paper and an open mind." Dick Bruna, the Dutch writer and illustrator of the lovely 'Miffy' titles writes,

"I'm inspired by very simple things. It can be a shape, a nice red door or a blue window. I collect objects that I like for their shape or colour. I also collect the presents that I get from children all over the world. I have a whole bookcase full of them."

And as I sit here paging through the book again as I write, I marvel at the sketches, notebook scribbles, photographs, and ordinary found objects that serve as the basis for so much wonder and creativity. It is at once both intimidating and utterly within reach. I think that Nalin would second this notion of Georgie Bean, an interior stylist, producer, and freelance magazine correspondent from Amsterdam: "Things I've collected over time always have relevance at some point later on." (Or perhaps he might just use that as justification for the piles of magazines, clippings, cards, etc. that permeate our existence.) But honestly, this is something that I more than admire, because it can be such a potent way of cataloging one's hopes and dreams for a future of realities.

So the next time I am asked to make a list for that next meal, or trip, or creative initiative, I would hope that I can respond with an air of grace and receptivity and respect the greater power of the process. And for those of you who wonder what we made that night, here is the list, a little more legibly rendered:

• black-eyed peas with bamboo shoots (a Nepali dish we love)
• okra in coconut sauce
• eggplant and potatoes
• green beans with mustard seeds and whole cumin
• rice with peas and onions
• raita with spinach
• homemade mint chutney
• mango pickle