My friend Mithra is a killer cook.  She loves to entertain and loves being the quintessential hostess with the mostest.  Saturday night, she taught us everything she knows about the secrets of Indian cooking.  Okay, she taught us 2.25% of what she knows.  It was like a very special episode of “Martha Stewart Living:  The Saffron Chronicles”.

My friends hear me yammer on all the time about how much I enjoy Indian grub.  When they found out Mithra was unveiling her trade secrets, they went over my head and begged her for an invite.  She quickly obliged.  She’s so hospitable; she puts the Mom in cardamom.  When we arrived, she had tasks for each of us.  Some chopped.  Some diced.  Some stirred.  A few were sent outside to harvest thyme, cilantro and oregano from her garden.  I, of course, took immediate inventory of the wine cellar.  (I know my role.)

Mithra’s methods aren’t very scientific.  She flavors everything to taste.  Screw recipes.  If she feels like something isn’t spicy enough she’ll toss in more chilies.  I’ve never had one bland meal at her house.  Everything she cooks has a little zing to it.  She’s been forced to tone down some of her signature dishes because I’m not used to the zinginess of it.  “Too spicy?” she’ll ask.  “OMIGOD!  I feel like I just ate the sun!” I’ll respond as tears run down my suddenly beet-red race.

Mithra was very patient as we muddled our way through cooking class.  I fully predicted she’d snap at some point.  She’s very particular about her kitchen …  a kitchen that was suddenly rife with a bunch of cumbersome white folks.  But Mithra was a trooper through the whole adventure.  Mithra doesn’t drink … and when I saw her pour herself a glass of wine, I knew we’d be okay.

90 minutes later we grazed on staples like Chicken Tikka Masala, Aloo Poori and some zany vegetarian dish made with lentils and asparagus.  I don’t think it had a name.  We’ll call it “Mirtha Surprise”.

And because Mirtha adores me, she snagged a tiramisu from the local bakery for dessert.  Well, that and we had managed to use every single pot, pan, skillet and bowl in her house.  Even if we wanted to, I don’t think we could have made dessert from scratch.  Oh sure, we could have attempted it … but it probably would have pushed Mirtha over the edge.

I can’t confirm … but I may have seen her drinking wine straight from the bottle towards the end of the evening.  No wonder we ran out so early.