Disclaimer: This is a bit more elaborate for a food post, especially for IG fans, where scrollers are too challenged to stop their thumbs from acting on impulse. But completely worth the self-control, I promise.

So, how do you raise a family with life skills for the 21^st century?

By taking off every Sunday morning. Sunday mornings are my me time. I wake up, dress up and show up where I am meant to. Where, is a secret. Home, kitchen, hubby and kids are left to fend for themselves. And I unapologetically take complete credit for any innovative dishes that are not just well made, but dished out professionally too.

For instance, the humble eggs that I would dish out with the body language of an Udupi waiter… imagine the guy delivering a plate of omelette with toast by placing a steel plate on the table, in front of you with a thud and a bang. Water comes next. Although it is bottled water, he carries the glasses in his hands, fingers dipped in them, bringing four glasses at a time, for economies of scale, adding to your immunity quotient, purely coincidentally. And that’s the breakfast I serve, no frills, served with steaming hot, masala chai, also making it to the table, sans aesthetic appeal. My only consideration – freshly cooked, piping hot food, that nourishes your soul. Presentation is zilch.

And then, there is my family. They are your culinarians with flair, chefs-au-sass, that not just do a great job at making droolicious dishes, but ace even at presenting them to tempt an old school aunty like me. One look at the food they have designed this morning (trust me, the word design has been used after careful consideration), I could be fooled into believing it flew out straight from a five star kitchen, certainly not mine!

Same kitchen, same implements and hell yes, the very same ingredients! Just a change in the chefs… and voila, we have a completely la sophistiquée food experience.

So how about a brekkie with toasted sourdough served with deliciously colourful and packed-with-health, lean omelette, presented with a side of crudités? Sounds exotic, doesn’t it? There is more. To appease the sweet tooth, may we present pure indulgence in the form of blue pancakes topped with blueberries and maple syrup, an original recipe curated by the teen chef in making, crafted to perfection?

“Why blue, I ask?”, out of sheer curiosity.

 Well, she has always loved the colour blue in food ever since she was a toddler. Ice creams and candies that never once caught my attention as a palatable color seemed to lure her. At some point, my guesswork took the route of some connection with blue for smurfs. The point where I believed I nailed it. But just like Sherlock, I let the teenager in question in my imaginary witness witness box go on with her explanation to tame my overly inflated ego.

Clearly, that’s where our story hits climax. Little wonder then, her words, “It’s a Percy Jackson thing. You won’t get it”, shake the living daylights out of me and give me the feeling of falling flat on my face. You should know I take more offence in the accusation of not being able to understand something newage as opposed to being the Udupi waiter here. A roll of my eyes leads to instant communication. The teen who has mastered my every gesture like AI, knows they demand a clear explanation. So she takes a walk down the road she knows leads to a dead end.

“Okay, so Percy always eats blue food. His mother always cooks him blue food. And that is because it’s his favourite colour. And she does that to prove her husband wrong who tells her they cannot always eat blue food…”

As she speaks, my face involuntarily turns itself into a buffet of gestures with my brows jumping in confusion to my pupils dilating and trying to figure out why would anyone want to eat blue food, despite it being a favourite colour, to my lips breaking into a confused smile trying hard to find logic just the way I would as a teenager, while solving probability problems.

With so many visible cues, daughter dearest stops any further explanation and cracks up, “I told you so!”

In my mind, I wonder if this is the same as, “Tum nahi samjhogi maa” kinda conversation that a young woman may have when the mother fails to understand her career or life partner choices… and gender preference, as the latest addition.

“By the way, it was I that introduced you to Percy Jackson a few years ago”, I blurt out guarding my pride as she begins to walk way into her den.

“You introduced him to Didu, not me, Mom”, she winks and smiles cheekily as she vanishes into her room.

Sigh, no brownie points for me this time, I think. I take a dig into the Percy-inspired pancakes doubting the taste. But soon as the morsel moves and touches the deepest, darkest crevices of my mouth, the delicate flavours hijack my amygdala. It is the perfect blend of sweet maple syrup in harmony with the slightly sour bluberries that find balance in the blue dough, that is plain and soft, prepared from scratch by the little master chef. And all of a sudden, my desire to be the know-it-all mother, the FOMO afflicted woman caught in her forties and the one obnoxious individual who basks in the glory of one upmanship have vanished!

P.S. Letting your loved ones be is the key to letting them grow into independent problem solvers. And innovative preparations that tantalize one’s taste buds are the cherry on the cake. Now that’s what I call the perfect master chefs. And yes, I shamelessly and unabashedly take credit for raising these independent, Sunday Superstars.

What’s your Sunday routine like?