A curry pot: It is an all-encompassing, all-powerful tool of sturdy construction and unlimited possibilities. Every home should have one, or certainly something similar to it. A curry pot can send out an aroma, a call that you can’t refuse to answer, triggering the senses with the scents it emits. A curry pot can be an alarm clock, clanging in dissonance with cooking utensils and waking you from an afternoon nap. A curry pot, with its cover, can be a shining beacon of culinary splendor, covering its contents from view until they are ready to be served. Among all of the traits a curry pot can possess, there is a fundamental difference with every curry pot in every household that contains one: a family’s curry pot is their own.

A curry pot filled with delicious curry

In my family, we have a large, silver curry pot. But for others, the color varies. It can be silver, but it can also be black and maybe white or red. Some are multicolored. There really is no standard, though silver and black are common. My family’s curry pot is very rotund, and though most look like this, some are shaped more like cones: wide at the top and decreasing in circumference as you work your way to the bottom. In my family, the curry pot that is cooked with is the same curry pot that is used to serve. But many people like to serve their food in a more ornate pot or dish. Simply looking at the characteristics, one can already see the variances that come into play from pot to pot.

There is also the matter of how the curry is made. This alone largely separates one curry pot from another. Scratch that; this separates one family from another, because over the course of several years, you will find that a given pot will carry a distinct smell with it from being used with certain ingredients, no matter how well you wash it. The essential elements for a good curry sauce are cumin and coriander powder, vegetable oil and some garlic and onion (though I’m sure even the basic elements of curry are disputable). From there, any number of vegetables, herbs, spices, powders and peppers can be used to make your curry its own. In my opinion, the quintessential idea of longing for a “home-cooked meal” after having spent an extended period of time away applies more to home-cooked curry than any other type of food because of the endlessness of tastes that a given curried dish can embed.

Ask any one person, whose mother or father makes curried dishes time and again, and they will very well tell you that no one’s curry is better than the curry that comes from their own home. I myself certainly feel that way about my mother’s curry. Coveting the curry of the household is as normal as a hug or a kiss: it shows devotion and care for the loved one who’s responsible for their delectable dishes.

Sometimes leeway can be allowed, but this usually only occurs within one’s extended family. For example, I would claim that my mother makes the best chicken curry there is, but my uncle has her beat when it comes to lamb curry. Under no circumstance do I feel that anyone’s lamb or chicken outside of theirs is better when curried. My opinion doesn’t simply stem from stubborn pride either; I have tried many other curried dishes and still stand by my family’s curried creations.

A family’s curry pot is very powerful. Its use creates a bond that is difficult to shake or impede. Growing up, my mother and father both made a note of instilling familial values within me and my brother, but thinking back on it all, I don’t know if that was always necessary. The curry pot and its creations certainly accomplished the same mission in an intangible way. The interesting part is I know this is happening the world over, day after day. Maybe not always with a curry pot, but knowing the unions that families share over their food is a beautiful thing everyone should be able to share.

–Christopher Cusack, Hofstra University

Photo Credit: Erika@IvoryHut.com

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One of my biggest worries when going off to college and leaving home was the food. I’d heard all sorts of horror stories from older friends—one friend came home over winter break saying that she loved college, but the food was like doughy rocks; another said she literally only ate at her dining hall about once a week.

Image credit: misterppizza.com

Naturally, I was terrified. Food is pretty important in my family. Most of my friends’ families around middle school began to eat at different times, but my family sat down for dinner together almost every day of the week all throughout my four years of high school. My family is slightly Italian-American on my dad’s side, meaning that he’s from Long Island, is a great cook and has stories about a man called Uncle Mike, but doesn’t speak much Italian at all. Despite being so Americanized, however, cooking in the kitchen and eating dinner together remained something of an important ritual.

Sitting at the kitchen counter and taste-testing as my parents cooked was an old habit for me. Even now, after having come home for the summer, I still plop myself down by the counter and steal slices of ingredients before they get to the pan. Homemade pizza is one of the best foods to make fresh at home. When I was younger, my parents would make the dough in the afternoon and leave it covered in saran wrap on the stairs to rise.  My dad would then stretch the dough, first with his hands, then wider and wider in the air.  I was always so amazed by this, sitting wide-eyed in the kitchen with corn meal all over the counter and the smell of dough everywhere. It was better than TV.

If I was lucky, I’d get to help spread the sauce, or even slice the mozzarella if I agreed not to eat any. That was a tough promise to make, though. We’d decide on toppings, which would vary depending on the night and what was in the refrigerator. Sometimes Dad would slice leftover sausage into pieces and sprinkle it over half the pizza; once we added bits of pineapple just to see if my mom and sister would notice. (They tasted something sweet, but couldn’t guess what it was.) And although there were some rare, unusual topping combinations that weren’t great, our homemade pizzas were otherwise always a hit. The crust was thin and brushed with olive oil, each slice hot and fresh out of the oven. Other dinners at home were equally delicious, from spaghetti to pork chops to curry.

Coming from a family where food is placed so importantly, I was worried when I heard these tales of doughy rocks. And despite so much time in the kitchen, my role was usually only to slice the lettuce or something along those lines—otherwise I’m not a spectacular cook. I can make macaroni, tuna salad, and cookies, but that’s about the limit of my cooking ability.  Although I figured at worst I could eat peanut butter sandwiches, I was definitely hoping it wouldn’t have to come to that.

So when I got to school, I was interested in checking out the dining hall. After all, I was wondering what I would be eating these next few years.  I found that the food was edible, if often fried and repetitive, with some exceptions including the more creative fish dishes. I even found that there was a whole separate section for pizza. Although the pizza at school was not quite as good as the ones my dad made, the dining hall pizza made up for this by being available all the time, and often having what soon became my favorite topping (zucchini).

As for the days when I got tired of the food in the dining hall, which seems to happen at every school, no matter where, there were certain little ways to make it easier.  Cooking or finding familiar foods always helped—I like having a package of ramen on hand, the same brand that my mom cooks at home, for days when I want something familiar.

There’s also always comfort food. Most people think of fries or chocolate as comfort foods, and I’m certainly not one to turn down chocolate in any situation. But I found that since my family always had salad after dinner, having salad with dinner at school the first couple weeks helped me feel like something was normal in an unfamiliar place. I became somewhat known among my friends for my spinach salad with olives, if there were any that day. And although I was sometimes teased by friends who don’t like olives, the salad bar helped me feel both more familiar and healthy in a new place. And when all else fails, there’s always takeout.

Anais DiCroce

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