(While Varun and I eat our chana and butter chicken and rice with our hands, somehow western food (like whole chicken breasts) seems to call for utensils. Or maybe it’s just me.)
For supper tonight I made poulet paillard, poutine and we had salad. Varun was overjoyed to have chicken with gravy (apparently white people eat meat rather dry, so this was a happy change) and to have poutine for supper. To be honest, we were eating rather quickly and happily, gulping down cheesy bits of gravy-covered fries.
Varun grabbed the paillard (a flattened chicken breast) with his hands and put half in his mouth. I stared in surprise and said, “Um, would you mind using your fork and knife?” He looked at me innocently and obligingly put the hunk of meat onto the plate. With a look of repentance, his hands plunged into his bowl of salad and emerged with a handful of spinach and lettuce. Happily, he devoured it. In bemusement I looked on. “Umm, honey? Also…a fork for that…” Varun looked at me, “Oh haha. I’m Indian.” (Silence) He continued, “We’re going to have to teach our babies to eat with their hands.(pause) Actually, they come knowing that!”