Then a few days ago, a visiting friend told me that his love for ice may be a symptom of a problem — pica, an appetite for non-nutritive foods. It turned out that chewing ice could be a sign of iron deficiency. He also drinks large amounts of water, and that set my brain thinking of other problems like childhood diabetes where kids are thirsty all the time.

In a panic I rushed him to the doctor. It turned out he was fine — he just loves ice and water, the doctor said. What a relief!

I have to take heart in one of his great passions, though — water. He loves to sip water all day, either from his sippy cup or his bottle at night. If he runs out, he politely says, “I’d like a drink of water, please.” If I ask him to try some apple or orange juice, he refuses, “I don’t want to try that,” he says. As much as I’d like him to become more versatile, I’ll have to give him points for clarity and good manners, don’t you think!

I think the love of water comes from my husband. I’ve heard him wax eloquent about the quality of water in his native Lake Tahoe. And he swears by the water we draw from our well In Orange county, and drinks it in copious quantities. Maybe I have something to learn. Maybe should follow their lead.

The other day I made some split pea and ham soup, and let me tell you, it was one of the simpler meals I’ve made. It took me less than 25 minutes to prep: cut onions, carrots, celery, garlic and ham, saute briefly in olive oil, add split peas, throw in some bay leaves, chicken broth and a few pepper corns and put it to simmer. While I made a couple of phone calls, read a magazine and folded a few clothes, it simmered. About 90 minutes later I was ready to serve it with some salad and a loaf of fresh bread. Voila! dinner was ready.

Given my Indian upbringing, I tend to cook Indian food more often. Yesterday I cooked a full Indian meal and it took me three hours, all of it glued to the stove.

The longer I live in the United States, the more I’ve come to appreciate the pleasures and the relative simplicity of everyday Western cooking. I’ve learned to roast a chicken, a leg of lamb, and make different kinds of soups and pastas. I even considered making a chicken pot pie from scratch, but I’m not there yet. All this is pretty good for a cook who, until a few years ago, used the oven to store pots and pans.

My kids like my experiments with Western cooking. My husband, who is one of the easiest men to feed, likes anything I cook. I’m the one who has held out for so long, craving fiery curries and fragrant pullaos almost every day. But as time goes by, I’m seeking freedom from the stove, or at least less time in front of it.

That has led me to try my hand at Western cooking, and let me tell you I’m loving it!

My local ShopRite does have nitrite-free ham, but that’s the only option. And my older son will only eat ham at last resort. I find I struggle every day to come up with a lunch for him that is healthy. I don’t always succeed. I go between sandwiches (with deli meats that have nitrites) peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and bagels and cream cheese, and after that I run out of ideas. I guess all working moms have this problem. I nervous about putting a piece of cooked chicken in his sandwich because it will probably sit in his locker from 7:30 till the early afternoon.

As a kid I always took a vegetarian lunch to school – stuffed paranthas, a kind of Indian bread with vegetables — and enjoyed it. It was cooked in the morning and kept very well till the afternoon. Now that we live in the U.S., our kids are used to eating some form of meat all the time. Ah well …

So I was quite amused when yesterday he seemed to suddenly discover peanut butter. His older brother, who loves all things with peanuts, was licking a tablespoonful when Aristu asked for some. I gave him a teeny weeny bit in bis baby spoon. He licked it, murmured deli-cious, and asked for more.

He went back and forth for almost half-an-hour, licking at spoonful after spoonful of peanut butter until I became concerned that he was going to fall sick. Billi, my oldest, who thinks that peanut butter can do no wrong, explained in the way only a serious 12-year-old can, that peanut butter was full of protein and couldn’t possibly hurt his little brother.

Anyway, Aristu didn’t fall sick and actually finished his dinner by eating four florets of brocolli and some applesauce and a slice of ham. When I think of previous dinners when I had to deal with his fussy eating habits,  I was glad I managed to get some good food into him. Take one day at a time, huh?

My Christmas cooking was simple. Born and raised in India where cooking is usually stove top, I’ve so far used my two oven for storing pots and pans. On Christmas Day I decided to give the ovens a try. On the menu was spinach soup, roast  chicken, roasted potatoes and roasted vegetables. Now that I had decided to use the oven, why not go the whole hog!

Billi, who is 12, helped rinse out the herbs for the chicken — basil, rosemary, marjoram, parsley and bay leaves — and helped chop some which were to be stuffed under the skin of the chicken. He helped stuff the cavity with rosemary and lemons, drizzled olive oil over the chicken and sprinkled pepper and salt as I rubbed it into the chicken. My husband cleaned and cut the potatoes (he loved potatoes) and tied the chicken’s legs with a metal wire because we didn’t have the required string to do so.

The meal was a success and everyone tucked in because they had a part in putting it together. Aristu, our 2 year old, for once decided not to be fussy and declared after nibbling on a piece of chicken, “yumm … del …i…cious.” He even sang “happy Birthday” when we lit the candles on our table centerpiece.

The Christmas Day cooking has given my men a taste of the kitchen. They enjoyed it, though I have to say that they haven’t offered to help since. But now that they have taken the first step, I’m hoping the next time will be easier. Let’s see …

I enjoyed this Thanksgiving more than any recent one because I got to help in the cooking. I wasn’t raised in the United States so I didn’t grow up with the whole tradition of Thanksgiving dinner. This year, though, we spent Thanksgiving with dear friends, a couple of Indian and Greek descent, and got to witness first hand how Americans of different backgrounds incorporate their traditions into this most American of holidays.

I understand that most of the food served yesterday was traditional Thanksgiving fare: the butternut squash soup, turkey, gravy, stuffing, yams, green beans, roasted vegetables, etc. But the cranberry sauce definitely had an Indian twist. I thought it was very nice with a tart taste, kind of like an English chutney, so I brought back the recipe. I’d like to share it with our readers.

1/4 cup apple cider vinegar

3/4 cup water

1 12-ounce package fresh cranberries

1/2 cup sugar (or more according to taste)

1/2 tsp ginger powder

1/8 tsp ground cloves

1/8 tsp ground nutmeg

1/4 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp curry powder

juice of one orange

a bit of orange rind

Mix vinegar, water, sugar, orange juice and all the spices in a pan and heat in a pan. Add the cranberries and rind and bring to a boil. Simmer for about 10 minutes. Remove from heat and cool. And then enjoy.

Having been raised outside the United States, I didn’t even know what Thanksgiving was, let alone know how to cook a turkey. Seven year after coming to the United States, I still haven’t mastered the art. Rather than struggle in the kitchen every November, my family and I enjoy the largess of our neighbors and friends.

This Thanksgiving I’m looking forward to introducing our youngest to turkey and stuffing. Last year he was too young to partake in the traditional Thanksgiving meal. This year he has more teeth and a more curious palate, and if turkey doesn’t do it for him, there’s always stuffing and ham. He loves carbohydrates, and ham is his favorite meat. Billi, our oldest, enjoys tradional American fare.

This Thanksgiving our hosts are a couple of Indian and Greek heritage. I’m sure the meal will be traditional, but with a twist. I’m looking forward to it not only because of the food, but also because my husband and I have been asked to help with the prepping and cooking. I think that’s a wonderful way to spend Thanksgiving with friends. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn enough to host my own Thanksgiving next year.

As a kid I remember my parents giving me a teaspoon of brandy when I had a runny nose or a cough. But I guess thats not possible these days without alarming everyone. So I’ve gone back to some of the homegrown remedies my grandmother had up her sleeve.

A sure soother of sore throats is some ginger juice and a few drops of honey. I usually grate a piece of fresh ginger and squeeze out the juice in a teaspoon, and then add some honey and stir the concoction. Aristu, who just like his older brother is always willing to swallow all kinds of medication, laps it up, though the unusual taste did shock him the first time. That’s a good addition to a hot cup of tea, moms, if you ever want to give it a try. I sometimes also scrape a piece of ginger, smash it a bit, char it over the kitchen stove, pour honey over the ginger and then pop it in my mouth. Sucking on it really soothes the throat, though kids may not like it.

I’ve also introduced my husband to the wonders of mulethi, a dried root that makes tea very fragrant and soothing when boiled in it. I bring back a bag of it every time I visit my mother in India. I just Googled to see what the botanical or Western name for it was, and it turned out to be liquorice! Looks like I needn’t have gone all the way to India to get it; I could have just as easily got it from my local ShopRite.

He doesn’t give in easily, though. He’ll walk into the kitchen with his arms raised, crying “Mom, cracker … cracker.” At one point a couple of months ago, I decided to put my foot down. For a while, let him cry big, fat tears. Then he seemed to forget about them.

He remembered the bagel crisps “crackers” a couple of days ago during a very difficult dinner. He didn’t want anything I offered him — chicken, broccoli, a piece of ham, celery, strawberries, cheese, couscous. You name it he didn’t want it. He just wanted the crackers, and he screamed for them.
After a few strained minutes (during which my husband muttered about how difficult  it had become for us to eat a normal family meal), I decided to give in, or rather, to use the crackers as a negotiating tool. So while he nibbled on his cracker, I fed him chicken, broccoli, couscous and strawberries. I was surprised by how much he ate. And he ate only a couple of the bagel crisps.

All of which led me to think think that it isn’t such a bad idea to give in once in a while. In the larger scheme of things, what is some bleached flour and a little fat fat if the trade-off is a decent meal for your child. And your sanity, what!