Tie, Dirty Red Roots

“Can we have Indian food?”  Back in Beijing we had Victor’s down the road, which served Thai and Indian food.  There are a half a dozen postings in this blog that describe evenings spent there, eating too much garlic nan and watching Bollywood videos on their large screen.  There are likely another few posts in here that could be searched for with key words like curry or saag paneer that would describe my attempt to make Indian dishes at home, as well. 

Not sure that I’d actually tried to make Indian food since occupying this kitchen, here in New Paltz.  We don’t have much of what is needed here in the cabinets.  Sensitive about limiting grocery visits, I waited till this morning and had my first conscious look at the sampling of “Indian” goods in the meter they’d allotted there in the “Asian” section at Tops.  Different brands, different possibilities, here packaged in post-consumerism cool.  Ready to serve lentil dahl, chana masala, there is jar of korma sauce, and a smaller jar of chutney.  Grab a bag of basmati rice and gazing as Indian bleeds Thai across our little continental section, I spy the coconut milk I’d wanted. 

Checking out I’d almost forgotten the spinach.  Ain’t going to have no saag paneer without no spinach.  These plastic tubs of individual spinach leaves are prominently displayed along with a dozen other prepackaged salad leaf possibilities, none of which would have been available at Jenny’s in Beijing and I pause to consider that old Beijing market and think of longer leaved spinach bunches, fastened in the middle with an aluminum tie-tie, dirty red roots still dangling.  And though Tops might have spinach that looks more like a plant that came out of the ground than something modified and plucked for convenience, I grab a tub of individual, baby spinach leaves and dart back to where my items have almost fully made their way through. 

I hit send on a text I’d pre-typed to a friend.  “Need 5.”  He and I were to have spoken now, on the hour.  I bag up my goods, thank the checkout gal for her service in these hard times, and nod pleasantly to an employee standing by the ice machine who doesn’t acknowledge me. Exiting the automatic doors, I am obstructed by a woman standing on the mat that opens the automatic door, fiddling with her phone.  I say “excuse me” once to no avail and then repeat the entreaty much more loudly.  The woman is startled by my presence and rushes out into the parking lot with thoughts of airborne germs upon her mind, no doubt.

Bags all in, cart returned to its holding pen, I dial up my friend and he asks if we can reschedule as he’s feeding the kids, out there, three hours earlier than my noontime.  The phone switches to the car’s audio without me doing anything and it is suddenly very easy to talk, and calmly tell him that will be no issue, and reschedule our chat for some minutes before the online lecture we’re preparing for.

Monday, 04/13/20