Juliana awoke, still dozy from the previous hours yet desiring the amazing night might continue into the dawning day.
Slowly and methodically, she stretched her tawny arms over her long, blonde-streaked hair. Next, she reached her legs toward the footboard, her toes almost touching, since Juliana was nearly six feet tall. She then lazily pawed for her dream journal laying askew on her overfilled nightstand. Doodles of yoga poses and notations of Sanskrit phrases littered the journal’s cover.
Though a caterer by trade, Juliana had the freedom to study yoga and Hindu goddesses during her free time, which used to be in the wee hours of the night after cleaning up from dinner parties. Nowadays, she had too much time for her hobbies, what with her failing company.
On a whim and a prayer, she’d advertised last month in the Marin Independent Journal a culinary spectacle:
Learn from local master chef Juliana how to prepare a multicourse dinner in her professional home kitchen, then dine at her beautifully set reclaimed-wood table on the feast paired with Napa Valley wines. Sign up for a seat in the kitchen and at the table starting April 17 at http://julianas.kitchen.
Twice an hour of each waking moment for the month leading up to the big opening night of Juliana’s Kitchen, she checked her tech devices to see whether anyone had secured a spot. As April 17 drew near, concern turned to anxiousness, which blossomed into a fullblown panic. Just when Juliana decided to call the whole thing off, her laptop uttered a charming chime unknown to her. Someone calling herself “Anna” had booked one slot for the following evening, the first night of Juliana’s culinary experiment.
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She brushed her business concerns away to concentrate on the details of last evening. Her studies had never coalesced in such a dramatic, in-your-face fashion before, and Juliana wanted to savor every remembered moment.
Last night’s events remained vivid in her mind. Leaning her lithe body gracefully back onto her cozy feather pillows, Juliana curled up beneath her down comforter as she hurriedly began to write everything she could recall into her journal, embracing the picture in her mind’s eye before it slipped away. The experience of last night was unlike any she’d ever had in her forty-four years: so sensory in details, yet so overall enchanting.
She was in awe. Annapurna—the Hindu goddess of cooking, whom Juliana most admired for her ability to create an unlimited amount of food—had deemed to manifest before her.
Juliana tasted whiffs of fragrant curries when Annapurna appeared before her. Dressed in rich silks the hues of a dramatic sunset on a winter evening, the goddess presented herself regally. A ruby-studded crown topped her flowing, jet-black hair sweeping down to her waist. Annapurna’s bejeweled neckline belied her surprisingly deep, throaty voice, which she used to great effect when summoning Juliana to a task.
“Shall we begin, my child?”
Oh, what a night we’d had, using every pot and pan in the catering kitchen, raiding the huge pantry until it was empty. We dug our arms elbow deep into the ingredients to make yeasty naan (bread) while weights squeezed out excess water from the vegan paneer (cheese). We giggled like schoolgirls while adding visually stimulating and aromatic spices—tumeric, cumin, cardamom, and cinnamon—to the boiled and strained palak (spinach). Later, we punched up the dal (lentils) with red chili powder, dried red chilies, and fresh green chilies to make the dal dish triple hot. As sweat rolled down Juliana’s forehead, we worked feverishly on one vegetarian entrée after another, straining at our efforts yet laughing with contentment.
Out of nowhere came those of every caste—paupers and priests, farmers and dancers—to break bread together. Juliana marveled at the variety of people gathered. We fed the masses organic, nutritious meals family style at long tables pushed together, stretching out the French doors through the backyard and down the block as far as the eye could see. The scene reminded Juliana of the Mad Hatter’s tea party in Alice in Wonderland. We served up the food from one simple, clay bowl the size of cupped hands.
Juliana surmised the goddess must have shrunk their night of hard yet joyful cooking into the bowl, which passed from one person to another. And the bowl fed them all.
Dressed in cool and comfy bamboo-silk pajamas, Juliana ambled out of bed, in a bit of a daze, to the entrance of her catering kitchen. Following the modern Indian tradition, she had hung a portrait of Annapurna over the doorway. She took a slow, even breath, pressed her hands together in namaskar at her heart and then to her third eye, and whispered a mantra of good tidings to all.
After musing for several minutes on the possibilities of the previous evening, Juliana attacked the caked-on pots and pans with hot water and soapy bristle brush. Once she had scrubbed all the pots and utensils to a gleaming shine, she stepped back from her culinary world to research the goddess Annapurna a bit more. In one of her many volumes on Hindu spirituality, she found this passage:
Annapurna symbolizes the divine aspect of nourishing care. She is an incarnation of the wife of Shiva, the Hindu Goddess Parvati. Indian temple art often depicts Lord Shiva holding a skull as a begging bowl, asking Annapurna to grant him the food cooked with a spirit of holiness, becoming alchemy that gives Shakti—energy—to achieve enlightenment.
Juliana pondered what she had just read. If she and Annapurna had created the kind of holy food described in the text, does that mean she, Juliana, had taken in the energy needed to achieve enlightenment? What a sumptuous possibility.