Mystery Chunky Smoothie
It’s a cloudy June
morning. My husband has taken my son for his swim lessons and my daughter has four
of her friends over. The girls go to the same school in our little town in the
Hudson Valley, and are in the fourth grade.
The girls play a round
of Scrabble and Sorry. Bollywood songs blare on my daughter’s pink boom box.
Suddenly, they jump and start to twist and dance to the music. The giggling
doesn’t stop.
I pour lemonade and
wash strawberries for them.
Later they cycle (bike)
around the community. Then I hear their voices in the driveway. As I go about
my chores, I continually stand near the window to watch them. They take turns
on my daughter’s Pogo stick and skipping (jump) rope. And then they come
indoors for more lemonade and water.
The girls always want to
cook during their play dates. I usually try to convince them to find something
else to do. Today is one of the days they have exhausted all their other
activities.
“Amma, we will surely
finish all that we prepare.” My daughter knows very well that one of the rules
they have to follow is not to waste any food.
“But last time you
didn’t finish the waffles, remember?” I raise my eyebrows.
My daughter jumps up
and down clasping her hands in a gesture of prayer. “This time we will. You
will not have to help us finish, if you don’t like it.” The other girls look at
me with serious but hopeful faces.
“Fine! Be careful.” I
sit down in the family room, adjacent to the kitchen to read my book. I can’t
leave them alone.
I hear the clanking of
dishes and the girls talking in hushed tones. They are not referring to any
recipe so I know they are whisking up some concoction.
“Amma, we are using the hand
blender.”
“Yes.” I have taught
her how to use it.
Finally, they announce
in unison. “Close your eyes. We have a surprise! It’s coming up!” It takes a
while but I wait with my eyes closed.
“Open your eyes!” Excited
voices chime.
I see the proud beaming
faces. “Here it is,” they proclaim. “The Mystery Chunky Smoothie.”
And there it is poured
in glasses, half full, with all of the secret components. They have done their
best to showcase their culinary skills. The
tray has a cracker in each corner and three mint leaves from the garden placed
between the glasses, and a few rose petals strewn here and there.
My daughter says, “Guess
the ingredients.” The rest look on with twinkling eyes and smiles.
The honor of tasting
the smoothie first is all mine and my audience stands around clapping and
shouting, “How’s it? How’s it?”
“It’s good. I can
taste banana.” The smoothie is thick, extremely sweet and has plenty of nuts.
“And what else?” The
little ladies are grinning.
“Yogurt and vanilla ice
cream and lots of sugar.” While taking a little sip, I admire their expectant
faces.
“There’s more,” one of
the girls tells me. I notice she’s wearing a Strawberry Shortcake dress.
“Strawberries? But
there were only a couple left.”
They nod. “There are a
lot more ingredients in there. One is from Ooty.” My daughter adds, “from the
tree Appa and you planted when you were engaged.” She flops next to me on the
couch and lays her head on my shoulder.
“I know what it is.” I
take another tiny sip. “I am chewing it now.”
All the girls clap
again.
“Yum! I love it. Now,
your turn to try. Let the rest of the ingredients remain a mystery.” I gesture at
the other glasses.
The girls taste it
cautiously. One of the cooks refuses to give it a try. I suppose some innovative cooks don’t risk tasting
their end products.
”Amma, can you take us
to the Beacon Riverfront for the Strawberry Festival?”
“Of course!” I say.
“I’ll take you on the Sloop Woody Guthrie.
We can watch Pete Seeger sing as we eat strawberry shortcakes.”
The girls jump in glee.
“But only after you finish the entire Mystery
Chunky Smoothie and clean up. It’s one o’ clock now, and the festival runs only
till five.”
The girls drink half a
cup each, and two halves are still left. I notice their puzzled faces. It’s
clear no one wants to drink anymore smoothie.
“Anyone want more?” one
of the girls asks. Their faces now
change to scowls. They shake their heads gloomily.
Just then, my son comes
running in through the laundry door.
My daughter takes the
tray with the two remaining glasses of smoothies and walks towards her brother.
“Have this smoothie.”
“Does it have yogurt?”
He’s never liked the flavor of yogurt.
“Yes.” She pouts and
frowns.
“No way am I going to
have that smoothie!” He scoots to the pantry.
My husband walks in.
My daughter quickly pours the smoothie from one glass into the other and hands
over the full glass of smoothie to her dad.
“Appa, finish this
smoothie.”
He asks no questions.
Finishes the smoothie. “That was delicious.”
The girls applaud.
Little does my husband know the applause is for the deal he has just helped
them win.
