From Bare Bones Bachelor Pad to Culinary King: My Unplanned Feast of Flavors

 My culinary journey wasn't a gourmet roadmap; it was a spontaneous adventure, a delicious string of happy accidents. And it all began in the legendary Bhargavi Nilayam, a bachelor pad straight out of a movie set (literally, it was in the film "Neram"). Picture this: an old, tiled-roof house, swallowed by a jungle of trees and overgrown patches. This was where my cooking escapades were born.

Our chef was a character, a man we called Ikka. He was also the canteen cook at MES College Marampally. Ikka was one of a kind – rarely wore a shirt, and his smile was a roadmap of betel nut stains. His salary? Well, that came with a side of "oru kettu beedi and murukkan" (a bundle of local cigarettes and betel quid) daily. If we forgot, Ikka would unleash a torrent of colorful curses, all with that signature betel-stained grin.

When Ikka slept, we Bhargavi boys, myself included, would "borrow" his beedi stash. If we had cash, we'd buy cigarettes, but those were rationed – two puffs max, then passed around. When the cigarette supply ran dry, it was a mad dash to the Star Taxi stand. And if that failed, Ikka's beedi was our salvation. Especially during exams, Bhargavi became a crash pad for study sessions, a chaotic symphony of books and beedi smoke. And in the mornings, Ikka's beedi was our weapon of choice for a smooth trip to the loo.

Our meals were simple – one curry, maybe some fried fish – but they were honest and satisfying. Bhargavi Nilayam sat on an acre of land bursting with fruit trees – coconuts, mangoes, you name it. It was our personal orchard. Since the land was caught in a family dispute, no one else touched the fruit.

When Ikka fell ill, during my PG days, we took over the kitchen. Puttu, kanji, whatever we could whip up. I was always there, elbow-deep in the cooking, not sure why, but it made me happy. Even now, at parties, I'm drawn to the kitchen, watching the culinary magic unfold.

Then came the UAE, after my PG and a heartbreak. I landed in Abu Dhabi, sharing a flat with food-loving guys from Kannur. We started with cooks, but they were a disaster – tasteless, unhygienic, you name it. So, we decided to cook ourselves, each of us taking a turn.

Turns out, I had a hidden chef inside. I'm a perfectionist, so before my cooking day, I'd pick a dish, devour YouTube tutorials, and create detailed notes. The process was pure joy.

Thursdays in the Gulf were sacred – chicken fry, hummus, kuboos. I took it to another level, experimenting with different chicken fry recipes. My "Chicken Chinese Chilli" became a hit, especially with parippu curry and kuboos. The Kannur guys loved their ghee rice and meat curry, a combo that's pure magic. And if they liked the food, they'd shower me with praise, pushing me to cook even better.

I learned to make fish molly, and so many other dishes, always with meticulous research, thanks to my perfectionist streak. Ramadan was a feast, especially with the Kannur guys – unnakaya, kalathappam, the works.

Then came Noufira, my wife, and our son. We were a food-loving family. Noufira's cooking was pure bliss. I loved grilled food, but not the fiery kind.

Humans don't have taste buds for spiciness; it's a pain sensation. I preferred subtle flavors, letting the ingredients shine. In Abu Dhabi, we lived near Arabian eateries, where they used minimal spices. Even Indian grills were too spicy for me.

When Noufira went home for her second delivery, I was back in the kitchen, baking cakes, experimenting, sending photos to Noufira. It was my stress buster. And jogging, that was my constant.

When Noufira returned, we became grill detectives, dissecting restaurant dishes, recreating them at home with a 90% success rate. We even grilled for family gatherings.

Chicken was easy, but kebabs were a challenge – the fat and water ratio had to be perfect. After many failures, I cracked the code, creating my own kebab variations.

I became the designated cook, experimenting on my "human guinea pigs." My son, a food critic in training, gave honest feedback. My skills improved, and my passion grew.

In my next blog, I'll share the story of my downtime, my leap into the cooked food market, and the birth of Jams Cafe Grills and Restaurant. Stay tuned!