The Kitchen Diary
As you stroll by the promenade leading to Miramar - with the wind in your hair and the sand in your eyes - you will notice an ancient log of wood sitting lazily atop the compound wall. The initials inscribed there demand instant attention. Amidst shunted coconut and tall palm trees, a clay stuffed rooster proudly sits near a man-made pond, which houses little fish and toads. Curious as the cat, you decide to trespass the lawns across a narrow foot bridge that leads you to the threshold of nostalgia.
As you push open the door, the
aroma of an international fusion of Latino and European spices assails up your
nostrils; and even before you realize, your stomach has taken over your
anatomy. A jar of pickle stands on a wooden counter silently seducing your
taste buds. As you grapple with the growl, the enzymes shoot to your brain
cells and your mind begins to associate and connect with everything Goan. “It
was just a random idea, a spilled thought that has grown into this beautiful
place,” says the artist of her brain child, adding that it was consummated
purely to save the Goan cuisine.
