The Lakehouse

Don't get excited gentle reader, this will not be a review of the eponymous Keanu Reeves--Sandra Bullock film...it will instead highlight the weekend I spent with D'Souza at my mother and her husband's lake residence in New Jersey.

Now, the thing about D'Souza is that he loves the lake. Maybe it's the Indian Navy ex-cadet within or the fisherman roots imbued in Goans, but the fact remains: the man is a water baby. He loves boats and he loves bodies of water. In fact, he is adept in commandeering vessels on bodies of water. Water falling from the sky won't keep him on dry land. He will attach the battery to the motor and row his way to open water. Removing credence from the saying, "No man is an island unto himself!" After all, when he is in that boat that's exactly what he is.

I digress.

On Saturday, my mother had a little party for her friends. About 20 folks her age showed up and I was enlisted to cook for this event. Mind you, I've spent the majority of my years living solo using my oven for storage; however, since meeting D'Souza and establishing a system of domesticity I've been cooking. Well, perhaps preparing meals is a better description of what I really do.

The menu for the party was as follows:
Okra Kathi Rolls
Chicken Satay with Peanut sauce
Paneer Tikka
Cucumber Sandwiches
Mom's handiwork:
Samosas (Fresh out of the oven, defrosted just as I recall growing up.)
Tandoori Chicken (Her single most successful dish!)
Chocolate Brownies (Made from scratch--she used to solicit Betty Crocker!)

Lamb kebabs and Chole were contributed by Indian aunties who know to cook and practice the seemingly lost culinary art.

The event was an interesting mix of casually dressed, middle-aged white folks with crude senses of humor who cracked dirty jokes and drink lite beer (my mom's husband's friends) and sedate, carefully-dressed, Indian doctors who discussed global politics in hushed tones and listened attentively to the former folks extol their jokes whilst sipping wine (my mom's friends). No riots broke out. In fact, the entire 5pm-1am event passed without so much as an argument.

The lead singer of the Rascals was in attedance with his wife--also a musician--which made for great stories of tours from yesteryear.

In typical fashion, my mom did an excellent job of attending HER event. My old roomie used to pull this scheme: invite a bunch of people over to our place, offer them a great many treats in advance, and then spend the duration of the party as a guest at said event munching on food and drink while mingling at will having not helped in the preparation or serving of above. It's one of my biggest pet peeves.

My notion of hosting involves elaborate preparation of dishes and drinks ahead of time, presenting them in an artistic manner during the event, and constant surveillance of guest plates and glasses to ensure that they are filled. Not to say I don't mingle but whilst meeting and greeting I perform the dual role of observing and serving.

My mom did clean up after the party--I craftily fell asleep before midnight--with much help from D'Souza (though he didn't mention it, I KNOW he was hugely helpful per usual).