Culinary Nirvana

This post is going to be all about Indian food, so I think it’s appropriate to begin with a story about my very first life encounter with Indian food.

When I was about 14, my parents took me to my first Indian restaurant and a vegetarian one at that. The memory is still vivid because it was such a terrible experience. I have always loved food. When I was a really little kid, I remember not liking minestrone soup (too vegetabley) and my mother’s fish head broth (it’s a Colombian thing and yes, way too fishy). But besides that, I ate just about everything back then. Even brussels sprouts. Which explains why I was especially miserable that day more than ten years ago at that vegetarian Indian place when I found myself unable to eat anything. Everything tasted like fire to me and I remember sullenly eating piece after piece of what I later learned was naan.

If current Diana could speak to 14-year-old Diana, she would say, “What in the heck is wrong with you, you crazy lunatic? This is the food of the gods!” Because current Diana is madly in love with every Indian dish that she has been presented with in Little India, I mean Durban.

I knew I liked Indian food before coming here. Goodness knows there was a stretch of time during second year of medical school when my boyfriend and I ordered in chicken tikka masala at least once a week. But, I have never had Indian food in New York like I’m having here on a gloriously regular basis. I am consumed with thoughts of acquiring, eating and learning how to cook it. It’s a good thing I have some of the best culinary masters in Durban as my teachers. It doesn’t get more Durban Indian authentic than Saj’s mom’s house or Lee’s house.

Take last Tuesday for instance. I worked out extra hard at the gym in preparation, and then drove over to the Sewnarains’ where Lee and her husband had bought ingredients for a feast and were waiting to teach me how to make soy prawns masala. Now, before anyone makes a face at the thought of soy prawns, let me stop you right there. These faux shrimp come breaded and mixed with some sort of nut and are just absolutely delicious. In any case, for the next three hours, I watched them add beautifully colored spices and herbs to the pots and finally garnish with coriander (otherwise known to me as my beloved cilantro).

Thursday night brought chicken tikka. It’s different here, spicy and broiled in the oven instead of in the creamy sauce that I’m used to. Still delicious though, as you can see from my smiling face.

Then, Saturday, I sojourned to Merebank, a neighborhood just outside central Durban proper to learn how to cook crab curry from Sajeeda’s mother. As I extracted the tender crabmeat, I found myself slightly sniffly (all that chili powder was even clearing my sinuses!) but immensely proud of myself for being able to handle the spiciness of the meal. These feelings vanished instantly when Sajeeda and her mother took one look at the thin film of sweat I was developing as I ate and commented, “Hm. It’s a good thing we didn’t make it spicy.” (Sadly I forgot my camera that day so I did not get a picture of this tasty and spicy-only-to-me crab curry.)

My apparently weak palate notwithstanding, I am in total food bliss here. It is actually the perfect foodie experience: delicious food, some culinary education and wonderful company. It’s been almost counterproductive…I came with such great goals of finding recipes on the internet and cooking quietly at home. But now all I want to do is go over to my friends’ houses and have them cook for me. But don’t worry, I will soon be attempting some of these curry dishes at home. I even bought my first packet of masala powder already. We’ll see how I do this week. But for now, I will try to finagle myself into these Indian families’ homes as often as possible for the amazing food and company.

For those of you who wonder whether I'm betraying my roots, don't get me wrong. If a Colombian restaurant opened tomorrow somewhere near here and it meant traversing crocodile-infested white water rapids on a blind donkey, I’d be there for dinner at least twice a week. But this food is just so damn delicious, that I almost forget to miss my beloved buñuelos. (For those of you not in the know, buñuelos are large round balls of fried cheesy dough. Otherwise known as heaven on earth for this Colombiana.)

By the way, if anyone thought that my snazzy gym was going to turn me into a svelte version of myself, I have news for you. I refuse to turn down a single samoosa* this year so I truly believe I may be working out every day simply to not turn into a masala-filled marshmallow. This is not the year of being thin, as it turns out, it’s the year of the CURRY.

(*Still looks weird to me, but I promise you this is how they spell samosas here.)

Some of Africa's Fiercest

I apologize for the sort of dry last post. I know it’s been a little while since one with pictures, but it’s been a hectic week at work. Columbia’s version of an ethics committee approved my project and I finally submitted my application for approval from the South African ethics committee this past Wednesday. So now, I wait and pray to God that they don’t delay my approval here too long. In the meantime, there is a flurry of activity here at the office to work on another ethics application as well as collect as much data as possible to submit a preliminary abstract on a third study I’m helping with. Boring stuff so far, but I report it for all those out there who think I’m only playing here. See? Work. :)

Truth is, I’m making up for all the play and fun I had last week and weekend meeting some of Africa’s fiercest creatures. But let me start from the beginning. One week ago, eight other international Doris Duke fellows arrived in Durban for an international conference on HIV/AIDS Advanced Care taking place at one of Durban’s poshest hotels on the Golden Mile. For two days, we attended lectures on how to treat the sickest HIV/AIDS patients during the day and then explored Durban as a group. It was, in a word, awesome. Even the lectures. I realized that while I appreciate the end goals of research, going through charts and articles is not my passion. I miss patients. I miss the human touch and the human psyche, despite all its complications and difficulties. Hearing about how to take care of other human beings was a much-needed reminder of why I’m here. I was very much a lecture-phobe the first two years of med school, often choosing sleep over lectures, so I was almost shocked to realize how much these lectures re-affirmed my love of medicine.

I was less shocked to find that the international fellows were a lot of fun! In a way, we’re very like-minded. We all feel the itch to travel and explore, but also the itch to work with some of the world’s sickest. And thankfully, also the itch to eat, drink and dance! On Friday, we went to a Sharks game, the Rugby team for the Kwazulu-Natal province. As it turns out, I’m a rugby fan! Who knew! It was so fierce…these men who played a confusing combination of soccer and football with little more than light shoulder padding. That night, I vowed two things to myself: 1) Take a cab to the next rugby game so you can partake of the beer-drinking and 2) Learn the rules of rugby. Can’t wait to go to more games to begin fulfilling these two vows.

Then Saturday, six of us woke up at 6 AM (never mind we’d been out past midnight on Friday night) to drive 3 hours north to Hluluwe Umfolozi Park, a game reserve near St. Lucia. Our day began with a lazy two-hour ferry cruise through the St. Lucia estuary to look at hippos, crocodiles and the exotic mélange of birds and eagles that live in this estuary. Now, some of you may not know this, but some of my happiest moments in life are on boats. I simply love being on the water with the wind in my hair, so this ferry ride alone was well worth the 3-hour drive. What I’m sure will come as a surprise to NO ONE is that my favorite part of the ferry ride was watching the baby hippos ride their mothers’ backs. SO CUTE. I had to resist the urge to jump in the water and swim over to scratch their chubby little bellies. (It was not actually such a hard urge to resist given the crocodile-infested water and the fact that mother hippos separated from their young are anything but cute.)

After this lovely boat ride, we attempted to find a typical Zululand lunch in the small town near the park but after countless townspeople directed us to the numerous Americanized fast food establishments, insisting it was the only food available (KFC, for instance, is weirdly huge here…there’s a store every 10 kms, I swear), we finally settled on a pizza lunch. After lunch, we drove our rented car directly into the game reserve and thus began our “Where is Waldo, I mean endangered large wild animal?” game. There were six of us in a minibus-type vehicle and after 10 minutes of driving without seeing an animal, as good medical students, we assigned each other quadrants of window space to concentrate on. It only took five minutes before someone shouted, “Giraffe! Stop! Stop!” As the first animals we saw that day, I’ve decided to commemorate them here.

But after that, it felt like we were catching glimpses of South Africa’s “Big Five” every few kilometers. The “Big Five” refers to five of South Africa’s greatest wild animals: lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo and rhino. During the next three hours of driving through the game reserve, we were able to see four of these five, sometimes at adrenaline-raising close ranges. At one point, we turned a curve in the road and found ourselves literally 50 feet from an elephant just casually chewing some reeds. Then at the top of another hill, we came upon not one, not two but FIVE lions just chilling on the side of the road. (We kept our windows closed for this one.)

Another bend in the road brought us next to a rhino about 300 meters away. This is the one that really made my pulse climb. It seemed to be grazing peacefully when we first caught sight of it. However, as soon as it noticed our car parked and five human beings hanging out of their respective window snapping pictures like crazy madmen, it slowly lowered its enormous sharp horn to the ground and stood there, looking at us sideways. I instantly remembered their famously short tempers and started wondering whether at the very least our driver should be ready to throw the car into first gear in case this thing decided to charge us. But no, thankfully, it just stood there, like a fearsome sentinel, warning us to not get any closer. Soon it became clear why, as a smaller rhino (perhaps its mate?) came into the clearing and continued eating nonchalantly.

As we drove home that night, I realized why it is that I’ve always felt I could not truly enjoy zoos. I love animals and used to love the trips to the zoo when I was younger. But this, this is what it’s supposed to be like if we as humans want the privilege of observing animals. If we want to trespass their habitats and invade their space, then at least it should be an open space, limited only by the natural boundaries of prey and predator, food and water.

I mentioned that this was the weekend I met some of Africa’s fiercest. I meant that in reference to three entities. I’ve already told you all about two of these: those crazy rugby players and the gorgeous Big Five creatures. However, after spending five days with the other international fellows, I believe they deserve to be included. Living in Durban makes me the fellow with the most urban experience, the most access to the pleasures and comforts of modern life. Hearing the experiences of the other fellows, spending their eight, nine and ten months in some of the most rural and poor areas of Africa, supplanted any feelings of fierceness I had about myself. They have also traveled to a new faraway land with a strange language and culture and a not entirely safe society to live in. They have also left everyone they loved (well except for the guy who brought his fiancée—a freelance writer—with him to Botswana…so jealous!). But, where I have nice gyms, malls, beaches and restaurants, they have none of this. It was humbling and encouraging for me to meet these fierce men and women. I’ve decided to try to stop complaining about the lack of fast-speed internet in my flat or any of the other small frustrations. This is Africa, after all. What was I expecting? As I read in a manual written by previous research fellows who’d spent time in Durban, “Africa is not for sissies.” I’ve never thought of myself as a sissy and I’m definitely not going to start being one now. Well, let’s be real. I’m going to try to not be one too often.

Working the system

When I was traveling through Europe after college, I remember trying to send a package home from Rome. Navigating the Italian post office was a bureaucratic and inefficient nightmare. I needed a form that was only available at one office and the boxes were only available at a different office, but the first office took 2 hour lunches and then closed one hour after lunch and the second office was on strike. And all the while depending on buses that only sometimes arrived when they were supposed to. In any case, I managed to send the package home though it did mean cutting out two days of travel.

These days I’m grateful for that experience because it prepared me for the bureaucratic roadblocks I experience whenever I need or want something here. Take for instance, parking at the medical school. The main parking lot has been closed for renovations and construction for months, but I was happily informed yesterday that it will open in a week and a half. I nearly jumped for joy. This would mean that I will no longer have to arrive in the office an hour before everyone else simply to get a good street parking spot so I don’t worry all day about my car getting broken into. So I literally skipped all the way to the parking office and filled out the application. At that point, the guy told me I needed to pay first…. at a different office in a different building. This did not shake my good mood and I sauntered off to pay, then sauntered back to him with my receipt. Only at this point, did he take one look at my University of Kwazulu-Natal ID and go, “Oh, I didn’t realize your ID says student. Students are not allowed to park in the new parking lot. Only employees.” My smile began to falter as I tried to explain that I wasn’t actually a student here, I was more like an employee—a researcher, to be exact—and thus, I should be allowed. But the man would not budge, simply pointing to the ID he himself had made for me one week ago. “I understand you’re not a student, but the computer says you’re a student. Thus I cannot give you a parking permit.” As a whole number of expletives crowded the once sunny thoughts in my mind, I sulked all the way back to my office and my friends to ask them what I should do in the face of this newest South African roadblock. We are still in the brainstorming segment of this latest episode of “How to bypass South African bureaucracy!” But stay tuned, we just might figure out how to get me secured parking at work. I have faith.

In addition to this issue, there’s been the matter of my Health Professions Council of South Africa application. Basically, this council is the one that grants me permission to touch patients. I can observe all I want on rounds and such, but when it comes to data collection and actually placing my hands on a patient, I have to wait for approval from this council. This has been another hullabaloo of signatures from these persons, stamps from that office and don’t forget the notarized (excuse me, commissioned) copy of your passport plus a bank note showing you paid us for the application fee, thank you very much. It finally got couriered to Jo-burg this morning so hopefully in a month’s time, I will be able to touch a patient.