Author: kukie

  • Pork, pints and perspective

    At the end of a long workday, an Indian and two Germans sat together at a cozy bar. Over friendly conversation, they spoke of home, culture, and food.

    Soon, they discovered something they all loved: pork dishes, pickles, beer, and good company.

    A fun debate about Munich and Cologne sparked laughter. Then came a surprise:

    “Wait—Indians eat pork? We thought most of you were vegetarian!” the Germans asked.

    I smiled and replied, “Yes! Many Mangaloreans, Goans, Keralites, and people from Northeast India enjoy pork.”

    Without hesitation, we ordered German pork knuckle, sauerkraut, and frothy beer.

    The meal ended with a clear schnapps, sealing the night with cheer.

    Bellies were full, minds were open, and new friendships formed.

    The table, once shared by strangers, now felt like home.

  • Sunday fry-ups

    As someone who thought she could manage her days without a breakfast because lunches and dinners mattered more, the irony of it all is that I absolutely love making and eating a breakfast.

    Just something to dedicate and cook over the weekend.

    It is a celebratory meal. It’s a lot of thought, effort, and love.

    So if you’ve ever shared a breakfast with me on a weekend, just know you are loved. And my ultimate go-to is healthy and hearty Sunday breakfast. A tailored and balanced version of a fry-up. Anything griddle/tawa based with whatever’s at hand. anchored by protein, beans, veggies, fruit, and carbs.

    Multigrain pancakes, egg whites, baked beans, mango and apples

    Today’s plate? Pancakes with maple syrup, mango and apples, egg whites and two gorgeous pork sausages—one classic, one with leek and garlic, which along with the baked beans count as some vegetables right?

    Could the plate use a garlicky steamed spinach or mushrooms? Maybe some grilled tomatoes? Absolutely! When its at hand and definitely for another time.

    All cooked with compassion and served with a whole lot of love.

    Here’s hoping your Sunday is slow, thoughtful, and delicious.

  • Mourning a missed mango season

    Summer is here, but something’s wrong—
    No mango smells, no street-side song.
    Just one or two in stores I see,
    But not the ones that lived with me.

    No poly, langra, nor raspuri or Totapuri,
    No juicy bite, just a limited mango glory. Views of Alphonso and maybe Kesar flown far away,
    A little taste, but none of them make my day.

    I miss the trees, the sun, the Indian heat,
    The sticky hands, from a savoured mango feast.
    Miles away, I sit here and sigh—
    As i watch another glorious Indian mango season passing by.