Northern Indian Street Food Cooking Class

My father once told me that the most democratizing experience in the world was riding the New York City subway system. There, the guy in the $3,000 suit is sitting beside the homeless guy, the guy in the yarmulke is sitting beside the guy in the turban, and, at some point, on both sides of you, there will be two different people speaking two different languages, both of which you swear you’ve never heard before. The whole of humanity is on display, which is why I’m happy that I now finally comprehend the New York City subway system and can drink it all in for myself. This was particularly useful a few weeks ago when I took the subway for over an hour to get to my destination, reading my book and a two week old copy of the Sunday New York Times.

After wetting my appetite for some Southeast Asian food at the Queen’s Night Market, I decided to learn how to cook some for myself. That’s why I signed up for a Northern Indian Street Cooking Class in Queens two weeks later.

I never show up late to anything unless I get lost. This is because I am extremely punctual but have no sense of direction. I ended up late to this event because I got lost and when I get lost I cry, which is how I eventually ended up late and crying but ready to make some Northern Indian street food.

The service was being provided by a group called “Did You Khado?”, which, according to them, means, “did you eat yet?”, an expression from one of their grandmothers. The class was being taught by a husband and wife, Raina and Gautam, who run a catering company of the same name. If I feel so inclined, I can learn how to hand roll sushi, stuff pork dumplings, make dosas and chutney, and make chocolate, but on this particular day I learned how to make Puri.

I fried up these wafers until they turned into puff balls which I cracked open and filled with various sauces and pomegranates. It was very simple but tasted incredible. This required me to tear up a pomegranate and only some of the pomegranate seeds ended up on the floor.

The only thing I successfully make without fail in the kitchen is a mess. I kept it all together as best I could, in observance of the fact that I was in somebody else’s kitchen.

I learned many things about cooking that day.

Apparently, if you avoid cutting the bottom of the onion, it won’t make you cry.

I did not avoid cutting the bottom of the onion.

Between my getting lost and cutting the onion wrong, my tear ducts were getting the workout of their life.

Despite my amateur cooking skills, all of the food was delicious. Everything was sweet but also savory and had just the right amount of spiciness to it. Clearly, I had good teachers.