For almost a month after we got married, my husband and I were swamped with dinner invitations at one of our many many relatives. I probably cooked two dinners in our first month of marriage, both times because my husband had an upset stomach and had to cancel postpone the plans for the evening.
I don’t know about you, but in my side of the world a plethora of otherwise unknown relatives crawl out of the woodwork during weddings and they try to outdo each other by inviting the newlyweds to the most extravagant meals.
So it was not surprising when Tutan da – my husband’s second cousin two times removed – invited us home one evening.
At about half past seven in the evening we made our way to the far side of the town, where he lived. Dinner wouldn’t be served until nine at least, I thought, so half past seven seemed way too early to arrive. But our overzealous host had already called us five times by then and we thought it prudent not to make them wait.
After the customary exchange of pleasantry, Mitali boudi served us a plateful of sweets and fried snacks each. One look at the platter in front of me and I knew even if I eat half of what was on it, I would probably only be able to nibble at my dinner. A major faux pas on occasions like this, trust me. I immediately asked for an additional plate and started liberally removing items off mine. My husband seemed to be thinking along the same lines and we both resolutely refused second helpings despite our insistent hosts.
The evening was progressing pleasantly and we were hitting it off with our hosts, when in the course of our chit chat boudi asked me if I had already prepared dinner for the night. Two seconds of stunned silence later, I had smoothly come up with some convincing white lie. While we carried on with our conversation, I superstitiously glanced at my husband. He was intently discussing politics – oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place – and glancing at his watch. It was quarter to ten. Knowing him, any second now he would bluntly say “Deri hoye jaache, dinner ta diye din naki boudi?” (It’s getting late, why don’t we have dinner?).
I quietly picked up my cell phone and sent him a quick text. “This is NOT a dinner invite.”
He looked visibly confused as he read my text. When realization finally dawned on him his eyes flashed with silent laughter. He skillfully brought the evening to an end and soon we were on our way home.
We had a good laugh about the turn our evening had taken, but at least we had managed not to commit any noticeable social blunder. It was almost eleven o'clock when we reached home. By then we were already hungry – How I wished I had eaten all the sweets earlier in the evening! – In my head, I was already trying to decide what was the quickest meal that I could rustle up.
But fate seemed to have other plans. We reached home to find the house locked! My in-laws were at a wedding and were not expected to return for another couple of hours. We had completely forgotten about their evening plans which meant we were very hungry and stranded without a key!
The obvious solution to all our problem was dining out of course. Except, in our sleepy little town everything closed by ten o’clock. It would take no less than a miracle to find even a tea shop open at that time of the night.
“What have we got to lose? Worst case scenario, we will get a long drive out of it!” my husband reasoned good-naturedly.
And so we were off, driving somewhat aimlessly into the night.
It was not until we reached the railway station we saw a lone street vendor packing up for the night. The word “Chicken Roll” was barely visible as he proceeded to cover his stall for the night. My husband immediately stopped the car and jumped out. From the car I watched as he tried to convince the vendor to prepare one last order without much success. It was only after I walked up to them and my stomach let out a loud growl to announce my arrival that the vendor relented.
It was almost midnight as we bit into probably the best chicken rolls of our lives.
Hungry and exhausted from our long day at work we immediately dug in to our dinner. Over mouthful of carbonara, we reminisced over our “dinner” at Tutan da’s.
“If only we had TinyOwl then”, he mused between bursts of laughter, “We could have probably placed dinner orders right under Tutan da’s nose and no one would have been any wiser.”
This post is my entry for a contest organised by Indiblogger and TinyOwl.
For details please click these Android or iOS links.
I don’t know about you, but in my side of the world a plethora of otherwise unknown relatives crawl out of the woodwork during weddings and they try to outdo each other by inviting the newlyweds to the most extravagant meals.
So it was not surprising when Tutan da – my husband’s second cousin two times removed – invited us home one evening.
At about half past seven in the evening we made our way to the far side of the town, where he lived. Dinner wouldn’t be served until nine at least, I thought, so half past seven seemed way too early to arrive. But our overzealous host had already called us five times by then and we thought it prudent not to make them wait.
After the customary exchange of pleasantry, Mitali boudi served us a plateful of sweets and fried snacks each. One look at the platter in front of me and I knew even if I eat half of what was on it, I would probably only be able to nibble at my dinner. A major faux pas on occasions like this, trust me. I immediately asked for an additional plate and started liberally removing items off mine. My husband seemed to be thinking along the same lines and we both resolutely refused second helpings despite our insistent hosts.
The evening was progressing pleasantly and we were hitting it off with our hosts, when in the course of our chit chat boudi asked me if I had already prepared dinner for the night. Two seconds of stunned silence later, I had smoothly come up with some convincing white lie. While we carried on with our conversation, I superstitiously glanced at my husband. He was intently discussing politics – oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place – and glancing at his watch. It was quarter to ten. Knowing him, any second now he would bluntly say “Deri hoye jaache, dinner ta diye din naki boudi?” (It’s getting late, why don’t we have dinner?).
I quietly picked up my cell phone and sent him a quick text. “This is NOT a dinner invite.”
He looked visibly confused as he read my text. When realization finally dawned on him his eyes flashed with silent laughter. He skillfully brought the evening to an end and soon we were on our way home.
We had a good laugh about the turn our evening had taken, but at least we had managed not to commit any noticeable social blunder. It was almost eleven o'clock when we reached home. By then we were already hungry – How I wished I had eaten all the sweets earlier in the evening! – In my head, I was already trying to decide what was the quickest meal that I could rustle up.
But fate seemed to have other plans. We reached home to find the house locked! My in-laws were at a wedding and were not expected to return for another couple of hours. We had completely forgotten about their evening plans which meant we were very hungry and stranded without a key!
The obvious solution to all our problem was dining out of course. Except, in our sleepy little town everything closed by ten o’clock. It would take no less than a miracle to find even a tea shop open at that time of the night.
“What have we got to lose? Worst case scenario, we will get a long drive out of it!” my husband reasoned good-naturedly.
And so we were off, driving somewhat aimlessly into the night.
It was not until we reached the railway station we saw a lone street vendor packing up for the night. The word “Chicken Roll” was barely visible as he proceeded to cover his stall for the night. My husband immediately stopped the car and jumped out. From the car I watched as he tried to convince the vendor to prepare one last order without much success. It was only after I walked up to them and my stomach let out a loud growl to announce my arrival that the vendor relented.
It was almost midnight as we bit into probably the best chicken rolls of our lives.
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| Image Source: Sharmilaz Kitchen |
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Recently we used the TinyOwl app to order us dinner. My husband and I were both working late, so to save us the hassle of cooking dinner we decided to order in. A few click of buttons and voila! Food was at our doorsteps within seconds of us reaching home. There was also an attractive discount to boot!Hungry and exhausted from our long day at work we immediately dug in to our dinner. Over mouthful of carbonara, we reminisced over our “dinner” at Tutan da’s.
“If only we had TinyOwl then”, he mused between bursts of laughter, “We could have probably placed dinner orders right under Tutan da’s nose and no one would have been any wiser.”
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