From Firewood to Feast: Grandma’s Village Magic

"Grandmother's Village Feast"

By Amit Tamang

Every summer, I would return to my grandmother's village, a small and peaceful place surrounded by green fields, mud houses, and the sweet smell of mango trees. But the most magical part of every visit was the food—the kind only a grandmother's hands could make.

One early morning, I woke up to the sound of birds and the crackling of firewood. I followed the scent to the backyard kitchen, where my grandmother was already busy.

She was sitting on a small wooden stool, grinding fresh spices on a stone slab. The smoke from the clay stove filled the air with the smell of burning wood and ghee. A big pot of lentils was boiling beside a pan filled with mustard oil, waiting for vegetables to fry.

“Today we’ll cook for the whole family,” she said with a smile, tying her sari tightly around her waist. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Together, we picked fresh tomatoes, chilies, and coriander from the garden. She made crispy pakoras with onions and spinach, soft roti cooked on a clay tawa, and a spicy potato curry with flavors that could never be found in any city restaurant.

The best dish of the day was her famous rice pudding (kheer), slow-cooked in an earthen pot, sweetened with jaggery, and garnished with cardamom and almonds.

As the sun set and the family gathered under the neem tree, we sat on woven mats and enjoyed the meal. Everyone laughed, shared stories, and praised grandmother’s cooking.

That day, I realized something important — food cooked with love in a village kitchen tastes better than anything money can buy.