In this essay, tell us about a dish that holds a strong associative power for you and teach us something that is of personal importance to you. (500 words or less)
Upon hearing the call to prayer, my senses are alive instantaneously; however, there is one sense that overpowers all the others: my sense of smell. Mirth, embraces, and the pleasing aroma of carefree behavior enter my mind, triggering me to rise and follow their footsteps back to their origin. Turning a corner at the bottom of the staircase, I see it. Propped up on the table side-by-side are five clay shells, each containing a perfectly portioned amount of kheer. It is Eid, our new year, and I am about to lose myself in a sweet dish.
Kheer, the Pakistani version of rice pudding, is a simple dish to make. Ingredients include a heaping cup of sugar-coated joy, a dash of cooled tranquility, and a pinch of sweetened unification. Together, they birth a perfect sweet dessert. Ever since I was young, I have repeatedly asked my mother to teach me how to make this dessert, in case I ever got hungry. Of course, ammi would just smile, revealing tiny hints of what could be dimples, and say, "Not today, beti. If you ever get hungry, you can pour yourself a bowl of cereal." I always felt a bit discouraged when she said this. It wasn't until I was in the 8th grade that I found out why she said that.
Ammi called me to the kitchen. As I left my room, I smelled it. I smelled the sugary sensation that made my mouth water, my heart race, and my paces quicken. Upon my arrival in the kitchen, I was greeted with a bowl of kheer. Taking the bowl from the counter, I sat down on the couch and began indulging myself with the sugary taste of my childhood favorite. Ammi sat down right beside me and watched me get lost in the sweet sensation. She took hold of my hand and said, "When I was a few years younger than you, I was a great student. I was ranked first in almost all my classes, and when I would come home with my outstanding report card, I was always treated with kheer. Kheer was my family's 'sweet success dish' and I thought of passing it down to my children."
I placed the bowl down and thought of all the times she had made kheer for me, and it occurred to me that she made it especially whenever I brought home a terrific report card. She never mentioned why she made it, but it all made sense now. My mom taught me how to make kheer that day, and ever since then, I have made it every Eid. I never knew that a simple dish like rice pudding could have such a deep and personal history. Now when I make it, I am reminded that I am not only creating a delicious treat, but I am serving up a sweet family tradition, as well.
ks
Upon hearing the call to prayer, my senses are alive instantaneously; however, there is one sense that overpowers all the others: my sense of smell. Mirth, embraces, and the pleasing aroma of carefree behavior enter my mind, triggering me to rise and follow their footsteps back to their origin. Turning a corner at the bottom of the staircase, I see it. Propped up on the table side-by-side are five clay shells, each containing a perfectly portioned amount of kheer. It is Eid, our new year, and I am about to lose myself in a sweet dish.
Kheer, the Pakistani version of rice pudding, is a simple dish to make. Ingredients include a heaping cup of sugar-coated joy, a dash of cooled tranquility, and a pinch of sweetened unification. Together, they birth a perfect sweet dessert. Ever since I was young, I have repeatedly asked my mother to teach me how to make this dessert, in case I ever got hungry. Of course, ammi would just smile, revealing tiny hints of what could be dimples, and say, "Not today, beti. If you ever get hungry, you can pour yourself a bowl of cereal." I always felt a bit discouraged when she said this. It wasn't until I was in the 8th grade that I found out why she said that.
Ammi called me to the kitchen. As I left my room, I smelled it. I smelled the sugary sensation that made my mouth water, my heart race, and my paces quicken. Upon my arrival in the kitchen, I was greeted with a bowl of kheer. Taking the bowl from the counter, I sat down on the couch and began indulging myself with the sugary taste of my childhood favorite. Ammi sat down right beside me and watched me get lost in the sweet sensation. She took hold of my hand and said, "When I was a few years younger than you, I was a great student. I was ranked first in almost all my classes, and when I would come home with my outstanding report card, I was always treated with kheer. Kheer was my family's 'sweet success dish' and I thought of passing it down to my children."
I placed the bowl down and thought of all the times she had made kheer for me, and it occurred to me that she made it especially whenever I brought home a terrific report card. She never mentioned why she made it, but it all made sense now. My mom taught me how to make kheer that day, and ever since then, I have made it every Eid. I never knew that a simple dish like rice pudding could have such a deep and personal history. Now when I make it, I am reminded that I am not only creating a delicious treat, but I am serving up a sweet family tradition, as well.
ks