For some reason, working today has become like pulling teeth. I was coasting along so happily with the poem, but after that, it all started going downhill. I made a batch of chicken curry for the biryani, and that was fine, and even fun, despite needing to dice six onions. But then I had to do it *again*, to make a second batch of chicken curry for a second batch of biryani. Because, y'know, there's going to be like 30 people there, and running out of biryani would be a tragedy. And there might not be enough food. And people would starve. Or something. Don't ask me -- my mind works in mysterious ways. And I did get that second batch done eventually, but it took a remarkably long time to motivate to it, with much short story reading and tea drinking in between. And once it was done, another long stretch of stories and tea before I could tackle the next thing on my todo list, revising a few scenes and writing a new one for my collaboration with Jed. And now it's 3:30, and there's still an awful lot on my to do list -- it's not even all cooking.
I'm going to make the mushrooms next, and if I decide I need to double the amount on that, well, tough. I can't, without going to the store. Which I'm not doing today, so there. Same for the shrimp, and the lamb. So they should be relatively safe. It really is fun cooking a dish once, trying to get it perfect. I enjoy cooking, I do. It's the second time through that kills me.
My mom used to do this for really big parties too -- make immense curries, and then make them again, and sometimes a third time, just to be sure there was enough. (You can always freeze the extra, at least with chicken/meat dishes.) It's all her fault, I tell you. She's in little cracks and crevices in my brain, saying quietly, "Are you *sure* that's enough? Better make another dish, just in case." Argh!