Angry Mutters
One thing about my father. He's a Maharashtrian. Who decided to marry an Oriya. And then hired Bengali cooks. What does all this add up to? Well, for one thing I have a vague facility for language, and in just a few months have picked up enough Bangla to talk without making a complete and utter fool of myself. Still will make a fool of myself, but not a complete and utter one...

Another result is that my father is the only one in the family who knows how to make Marathi food. It helps therefore, that he's one of those chaps who'll happily mess about in the kitchen, chopping, dicing, slicing, cubing hacking and occasionally stacking vegetables, before doing strange and curious things to them, which would count as cruel and unusual punishment if you did them to humans.

Of course, making someone eat some of Maharashtra's fine dining experiences would also count as cruel and unusual punishment, but that's just an opinion, which means that it can be safely ignored. There's boiled broiled mashed bashed battered and rather sorry looking vegetables on the table everyday, a cornucopia a smograsbord of Marathi treats that ask silently, sadly, "What did I do to deserve this anyway?"

Now the most attractive option amongst the varied treats that father does prepare, is most definitely something I call the Angry Mutter. Not that father mutters while he prepares it, or rather he doesn't mutter exclusively when he prepares it. The item in question then, is a concoction of mirchi and mutter, spicy spicy spicy peas, to be precise.

The peas are washed, and then tossed into a cooker with water in it. Pod and all, not shelled. Next, the damn thing is topped off with rai seeds (whatever the hell that is in English), mirchi powder, haldi, more mirchi, some chopped mirchi, and then just the tiniest bit of salt. It's spicy. Did I mention that already?

And that's the best Marathi option out there. Can you blame me for liking our Eastern food more?