“Pride
Time
Curdled milk
and orange juice
that’s what makes me unique,”
boasted Paneerange, “I shall be the main dish,
you all shall be used to decorate me, when the guest arrive tonight!,”
she said, as the bread wore his coat of marmalade, and the soft vegetables came out from their steam bath, flushed.
“you’re so little” old bread giggled, “ a whole pan of milk makes just one tiny morsel of you.” he said. “nevertheless.” Paneerange scoffed, “I shall be the main dish, dear bread, not you.”
And so, dinner was ready for that night! The samosas were fried, the curries were done, the salad was made. But, there was no sign of vain Paneerange. “She’s used as a filling IN the main dish.” Rumors flew. “No, she’s been protected by old lettuce and lady tomato, so fresh and new.” They argued.
Paneerange?
Paneerilla!
I lied
For friendship, love
Which King Mango, bless him!
Deprived me off, because of my zany tongue,
My stingy tongue, bequeathed as an orange and as my new form, Paneerange.
Come let me narrate my story today, the magician who helped me woo the king, when I couldn’t afford a ring.
She made me bathe in hot milk, tied me up till I was dry. For me every king would pry. But my tongue gave away, and here I am, in the cheese grater today.
I was destined to be cousin paneer. Everyone thinks I’m the reincarnation of saint milk, but I am or was, lady orange. Haughty lady orange, now silly paneerange. Oh! Who’ll take me as a main dish? I’m just ‘sour cheese’, merely a flavor. Alas, I’m a salad topping, just out of a rusty cheese grater.
THE END
HISTORY-
For those not so ‘poetry-genetic.’ I’ll tell you what the poem means. The poem is a ‘Fibonacci sequence’ poem. Fibonacci sequence is something like this- 1-1-2-3-5-8-13….etc [ 1+1=2, 1+2=3, that’s the way it goes!] so, there’s one word on the first line, one word on the second line, two words on the third line, three words on the fourth line….etc.
EXPERIMENT-
Molecular gastronomy involves changing one ingredient in the traditional recipe to alter its taste, fragrance, texture, etc. my experiment broaches an interesting topic in this field
As we all know, Paneer is made by squeezing lemon in hot milk till it curdles, and then tying it up with muslin cloth for a few hours. Lemon is acidic, and hence makes the Paneer go bad. Orange is acidic too! So, I used orange instead of lemon…
ATTEMPTS-
In the first attempt, like arrogant Paneerange says in the poem, the orange was squeezed in cold milk, which didn’t curdle, as only hot milk curdles quickly. ‘The orange jumped in too soon.’ This phrase is used in the poem to state this failure.
In the second attempt, I squeezed the orange juice from the fleshy orange fruit, and put the squeezed out segments into the milk too! As a result it turned out to taste like a orange fiber ball or a ‘spoilt hairy-fibred ball’ as mentioned in poem.
My third attempt was a success. I added only the orange juice [ from one orange] minus the segments to a whole pan of milk. It took a day for it to curdle, and finally, the ‘orange’ Paneer, was the size of my finger. [Note: I learnt from my mistakes!] It tasted like a ‘subtly’ ‘sour’ cheese. Now, it would take a lot of milk to make a whole cube of this orange Paneer, so I thought I would be better if we used it as a sprinkler for salads and other such dishes. Definitely a healthy alternative for cheese!
13 Jun 2007
1 May 2007
ORANGER PANEER
I'm really sorry that I didn't update my blog in so many weeks, for those of you who have been waiting for a new article. I was busy with my Checkpoint Exams [Maths, Science and English] and with countless tests....
Anyway, back to the point, my science project last year was on creating a healthy, fat free cheese, which could add extra zing if sprinkled on food without add extra inches to your stomach. I made this by squeezing orange in milk to make it curdle, rather than using lemons to do so. The result was orange paneer [cottage cheese] or PANEERANGE.
I also wrote a zany fibonacci sequence poem to supplement it. A fibonacci sequence goes like 1-1-2-3-5-8 and so on....adding the numbers before, to get another number. A fibonacci sequence poem is a real challenge to a writer's ability, as there can't be a word more or less. there has to be one word on the first line, one on the second line, two on the third line, three on the fourth line and so on.....
This poem is about how Paneerange came to be. It's really long, so I'll be putting it on three continuous blog posts.....
Paneer
a.k.a
Cottage cheese
Are his names
Hails originally from north India
As we often claim, but do you know
Do you know he is made by sieving hot milk as it curdles?
Soft, fresh paneer, with gravy makes a lip-smacking curry, and eaten with Indian bread, it’s a meal no one could dread.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eekkks!
Yuck!
The weirdo
The orange freak
“Who’s she? Could she be….
Our sister paneer?” Asked old flabbergasted banana bread.
“what happened, I dread to think? Filthy water? An escapade from the sink?”
“Nay, old fellow, something way better” the orange freak cooed, “ I was mixed with orange juice, dude” she laughed haughtily.
And so, she began her story. “I was kept in a huge bowl.” she mooed, “ part of me was used when I was cool, and the orange, fool! Jumped into me too soon.”
“go on,” the foods cried, much to haughty paneer’s delight. “ the second part of me was a waste, thanks to old orange’s haste. Orange juice was squeezed, and the squeezed orange segment jumped in too, to wave his beloved good bye, but he only turned up, making me taste like a spoilt hairy-fibred ball!”
“Continue.” They pleaded and Paneer waited till the noise subdued.“The third time.” she bursted with pride, “I came out all right. I was heated, just like the second time. The orange juice was squeezed, and the segment stayed in his place, but, because of the fusspot, silly orange juice, who refused to make me curdle, even after I abused. A day and a half she took, then, I was sieved, and tied on a hook, and out I came, orange and little, with an unusual title, ‘Paneerange’
to be continued....
Anyway, back to the point, my science project last year was on creating a healthy, fat free cheese, which could add extra zing if sprinkled on food without add extra inches to your stomach. I made this by squeezing orange in milk to make it curdle, rather than using lemons to do so. The result was orange paneer [cottage cheese] or PANEERANGE.
I also wrote a zany fibonacci sequence poem to supplement it. A fibonacci sequence goes like 1-1-2-3-5-8 and so on....adding the numbers before, to get another number. A fibonacci sequence poem is a real challenge to a writer's ability, as there can't be a word more or less. there has to be one word on the first line, one on the second line, two on the third line, three on the fourth line and so on.....
This poem is about how Paneerange came to be. It's really long, so I'll be putting it on three continuous blog posts.....
Paneer
a.k.a
Cottage cheese
Are his names
Hails originally from north India
As we often claim, but do you know
Do you know he is made by sieving hot milk as it curdles?
Soft, fresh paneer, with gravy makes a lip-smacking curry, and eaten with Indian bread, it’s a meal no one could dread.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eekkks!
Yuck!
The weirdo
The orange freak
“Who’s she? Could she be….
Our sister paneer?” Asked old flabbergasted banana bread.
“what happened, I dread to think? Filthy water? An escapade from the sink?”
“Nay, old fellow, something way better” the orange freak cooed, “ I was mixed with orange juice, dude” she laughed haughtily.
And so, she began her story. “I was kept in a huge bowl.” she mooed, “ part of me was used when I was cool, and the orange, fool! Jumped into me too soon.”
“go on,” the foods cried, much to haughty paneer’s delight. “ the second part of me was a waste, thanks to old orange’s haste. Orange juice was squeezed, and the squeezed orange segment jumped in too, to wave his beloved good bye, but he only turned up, making me taste like a spoilt hairy-fibred ball!”
“Continue.” They pleaded and Paneer waited till the noise subdued.“The third time.” she bursted with pride, “I came out all right. I was heated, just like the second time. The orange juice was squeezed, and the segment stayed in his place, but, because of the fusspot, silly orange juice, who refused to make me curdle, even after I abused. A day and a half she took, then, I was sieved, and tied on a hook, and out I came, orange and little, with an unusual title, ‘Paneerange’
to be continued....
3 Apr 2007
BY THE RIVER
I wrote this strange article while standing on a hill overlooking a river just behind my school. I had a strange, magical feeling though most people just saw it as a dry hill and dirty river.
Clusters of dried, wild shrubs made an unruly brown carpet at my feet. Thin, thorny green vines wrapped themselves around my legs. All these seeped out of the sunburned sand in the midst of a large crocodile-jaw shaped boulder. They grabbed me tight to the place I was standing. Huge scorpion holes glistened dangerously in the sunlight. The wind gently touched my face…it was a calm, warm wind gently playing with my hair. My hair enjoyed for the first time, dancing to the winds soothing ‘whooooooo’ tunes .I was at a dangerous position…one push could send me toppling into the depths of the muddy ‘Mithii River’. But I wasn’t frightened… I knew I was being held tight by nature.
That place may have looked like a junkyard to many. But for me, it was a fairyland. I looked to my right…what I saw was odd. There was a neat cluster of trees- a big dark-green one, others had small light leaves, there were some climbers, and there were also fern-like plants. These plants didn’t seem affected by the wind. Only one huge tree rustled gently, acknowledging the wind. I also spotted an old rickety structure. It was white, and crumbling like a moldering wedding cake…there was a tiny picture of Jesus on it [ from what I remember when I came here before]…my imagination raced…what if it was a haunted house? Or perhaps secret barracks for soldiers? … Or a writers hut?….
I turned to go back! I had to explore that place! The thorny stems recoiled to there original place… threateningly. The wild shrubs turned there heads away with the wind… the wind needled me… millions of tiny, hot pins were poking my delicate legs… dust gathered in huge whirlpools, irritating my eyes. I blinked… nature was angry with me… I had shown them that I was another human, interested in exploring some man-made structure rather then seeing what they wanted to show me. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded. The hot wind seemed to make me turn and face a huge stone. It GREW on another hill. It was roughly shaped like a serpents head. “Wow!” I exclaimed, “Now that’s a wonder!” I smiled as I followed my boisterous class inside. The wind blew again… and I thought I saw the rock swaying gently…
Clusters of dried, wild shrubs made an unruly brown carpet at my feet. Thin, thorny green vines wrapped themselves around my legs. All these seeped out of the sunburned sand in the midst of a large crocodile-jaw shaped boulder. They grabbed me tight to the place I was standing. Huge scorpion holes glistened dangerously in the sunlight. The wind gently touched my face…it was a calm, warm wind gently playing with my hair. My hair enjoyed for the first time, dancing to the winds soothing ‘whooooooo’ tunes .I was at a dangerous position…one push could send me toppling into the depths of the muddy ‘Mithii River’. But I wasn’t frightened… I knew I was being held tight by nature.
That place may have looked like a junkyard to many. But for me, it was a fairyland. I looked to my right…what I saw was odd. There was a neat cluster of trees- a big dark-green one, others had small light leaves, there were some climbers, and there were also fern-like plants. These plants didn’t seem affected by the wind. Only one huge tree rustled gently, acknowledging the wind. I also spotted an old rickety structure. It was white, and crumbling like a moldering wedding cake…there was a tiny picture of Jesus on it [ from what I remember when I came here before]…my imagination raced…what if it was a haunted house? Or perhaps secret barracks for soldiers? … Or a writers hut?….
I turned to go back! I had to explore that place! The thorny stems recoiled to there original place… threateningly. The wild shrubs turned there heads away with the wind… the wind needled me… millions of tiny, hot pins were poking my delicate legs… dust gathered in huge whirlpools, irritating my eyes. I blinked… nature was angry with me… I had shown them that I was another human, interested in exploring some man-made structure rather then seeing what they wanted to show me. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded. The hot wind seemed to make me turn and face a huge stone. It GREW on another hill. It was roughly shaped like a serpents head. “Wow!” I exclaimed, “Now that’s a wonder!” I smiled as I followed my boisterous class inside. The wind blew again… and I thought I saw the rock swaying gently…
23 Mar 2007
YOU'RE FAT!
This issue has been troubling me for the past few years. In this generation, you're simply not allowed to eat properly or have even a centimeter of flesh around your stomach. If you do, you aren't considered healthy. Nope, you're simply labeled into the group of 'fat hippos' or 'bull-dozers'.
Instead, if you are painfully anorexic, ie, if your ribcage, backbone slump under the weight of hardly any skin to drape it, if your cheeks sink into your face like two craters, *congratulations* you're 'sexy'!
We're only fourteen, not yet crossed our adolescence and here we are, critisizing each other's shape, tell each other to pull down to 'magically morph into a better induvidual'. However, TRY being kind, sweet, understanding, sharp, intelligent, broad-minded and then move on to being'sexy' for the next three fourth of your life. I don't consider being awfully skinny a good quality, nor to I consider having a waist size 30, something to be ashamed of.
I eat healthy and exercise regularly. I'm happy with the way I look, however, many people just can't see me being confindent with myself. If I slim down by 10 kgs, like a few tell me to, then I'll have to go crawling to school. I'll been scrawny and shriveled, worse than a dead plant!
So, my definition of looking good is- smile, maintain a good hygiene, walk confidently and always remember -your thoughts reflect on your face. Like Roald Dahl said in 'The Twits'. -
"If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly you can hardly bear to look at it. A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."
Trust yourself and your capabilities. You can look 'sexy' even if you are plump. Because, to look 'sexy' you have to look good and you can look good if you are kind. Or else, no amount of cosmetics can cover your internal ugliness. You are not at a disadvantage if people are slimmer than you, so don't let people make you believe that you are. Most of those 'sexy chicks in school' starve themselves to death to 'maintain themselves'. Don't ever try that!
If Barbie was a real woman, she'd have to walk on her fours, as her body is not proportionate . So, be healthy rather than anorexic. Remember, you're NOT competing with Aishwarya Rai.
Just imagine life without food- bland, boring and bare! Why does everyone earn? To have money for food, to survive. If they don't eat, then whats the point!
Instead, if you are painfully anorexic, ie, if your ribcage, backbone slump under the weight of hardly any skin to drape it, if your cheeks sink into your face like two craters, *congratulations* you're 'sexy'!
We're only fourteen, not yet crossed our adolescence and here we are, critisizing each other's shape, tell each other to pull down to 'magically morph into a better induvidual'. However, TRY being kind, sweet, understanding, sharp, intelligent, broad-minded and then move on to being'sexy' for the next three fourth of your life. I don't consider being awfully skinny a good quality, nor to I consider having a waist size 30, something to be ashamed of.
I eat healthy and exercise regularly. I'm happy with the way I look, however, many people just can't see me being confindent with myself. If I slim down by 10 kgs, like a few tell me to, then I'll have to go crawling to school. I'll been scrawny and shriveled, worse than a dead plant!
So, my definition of looking good is- smile, maintain a good hygiene, walk confidently and always remember -your thoughts reflect on your face. Like Roald Dahl said in 'The Twits'. -
"If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly you can hardly bear to look at it. A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."
Trust yourself and your capabilities. You can look 'sexy' even if you are plump. Because, to look 'sexy' you have to look good and you can look good if you are kind. Or else, no amount of cosmetics can cover your internal ugliness. You are not at a disadvantage if people are slimmer than you, so don't let people make you believe that you are. Most of those 'sexy chicks in school' starve themselves to death to 'maintain themselves'. Don't ever try that!
If Barbie was a real woman, she'd have to walk on her fours, as her body is not proportionate . So, be healthy rather than anorexic. Remember, you're NOT competing with Aishwarya Rai.
Just imagine life without food- bland, boring and bare! Why does everyone earn? To have money for food, to survive. If they don't eat, then whats the point!
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