The Chicken Recipe My Son Chose First

 My son loves chicken. In fact, this is the recipe he chose to make all by himself the first time he decided he wanted to cook for the family, a few years ago. He made it, obviously, with cream. And lots of it. He was very proud of himself, and honestly, he had every reason to be. Grilled chicken in mushroom sauce is one of those recipes where it is rather difficult to go terribly wrong.

Chicken. Mushrooms. Garlic. Creamy sauce. What could possibly go wrong? He still makes it on a whim. But after I decided to give up dairy, I started thinking about how to keep this family favorite on our table without the cream. So this is my version.

The chicken is still grilled until it gets those lovely browned lines and slightly crisp edges. The mushrooms still get cooked down with garlic until they become soft and golden. And the sauce is still rich, creamy and comforting. The difference is that the cream has quietly made way for coconut milk. And honestly, nobody at home seems to be complaining.

We also rarely eat this with rice or bread. A generous spoonful of the mushroom sauce and the grilled chicken is usually enough for us.

I think this is partly because I've become fascinated by the French approach to introducing children to food. There is something wonderfully intentional about teaching children that food is something to experience, explore and enjoy, rather than something that has to be negotiated at every meal.

I first came across the idea of goûter, the French afternoon snack, while reading The French Children Don't Throw Food by Pamela Druckerman. It got me thinking about how we introduce children to food, texture, variety and the simple pleasure of sitting down to eat.

We Indians have our own complicated relationship with feeding children. We come from a culture where getting a child to eat has often involved considerable persuasion, bargaining and, sometimes, force. But I digress.

Perhaps that's why cooking with my son has become something I value so much. It isn't only about teaching him how to make chicken. It is about letting him discover what food can be. How ingredients change when they meet heat. How garlic smells different before and after it browns. How mushrooms go from firm and pale to soft, golden and deeply savory. How a sauce can become creamy without needing cream. And eventually, how to make something delicious for the people you love.

This version is dairy free and gluten free, but that isn't really the interesting part for me.
 

The interesting part is that a recipe my son chose years ago, when he was still figuring out what it meant to cook for the family, has stayed with us. It has simply grown with us. And that is what makes a family recipe a family recipe. 

It doesn't have to remain exactly the same. It just has to remain worth making. If you make this, tell me your story too. Who first made it in your family? Who taught you? Who changed the recipe? And who is the person who still walks into the kitchen and says, “I'll make this today”?

Because I'm beginning to think the best recipes aren't really recipes at all. They're little pieces of family history that happen to be edible. 

Link to the book I mentioned and products I used that are available on amazon:

French Children Don't Throw Food 

Dabur Hommade Coconut Milk 

Official goodbye to my thirties!

10 years ago, when I wrote my farewell to my twenties, I remember standing at the edge of a decade with a certain urgency. To make sense of what had passed, to gather meaning before moving forward. That post was a closing in some sense.

Turning forty-one however, does not feel like a closing.

It feels like standing in the middle of a long, unfolding sentence; one where the grammar has finally begun to make sense, even if the ending is still unknown. There is less urgency now. Less need to summarise. And more willingness to sit with what is.

If my twenties were about becoming, my thirties were about unraveling what I had become. And now, forty-one feels like something far quieter, far deeper. 

It feels like choosing, with awareness, who I will continue to be. Not in reaction. Not in survival. But in truth. And truth, I am learning with a felt sense, is rarely loud.

Here's my list of 10 experiences of the decade that was:

1. Boundaries taught me what peace actually feels like: For the longest time, I thought closeness meant endurance. Now I know better. Peace is not found in fixing relationships, it is found in observing them clearly and choosing the distance they deserve. Not everyone earns proximity. And that’s not harsh, that’s being honest with yourself.

2. Letting go is not loss, it is liberation: There is a quiet strength in no longer holding on to people who cannot meet you,  to versions of yourself that no longer fit, and to narratives that keep you small. Letting go isn’t giving up. It’s making space for something that truly aligns with who you are and who you are becoming. 

3. Healing is a lifelong discipline: It’s not a phase, it’s not a one-time breakthrough. It is a continuous returning to yourself, to truth, and to awareness. Some wounds soften. Some patterns reappear. But the difference now is that I meet them with consciousness, not avoidance.

4. Mental health is not negotiable: Clarity of mind is everything. Protecting your mental space, what you consume, who you engage with, what you tolerate, is no longer optional. It is foundational. Peace is built, choice by choice.

5. Physical health is self-respect in action: Energy is currency which I built in my twenties and leveraged in my thirties. Because I have such a strong muscle memory of fitness, I have finally reached a place where taking care of my body is no longer about discipline. It is about devotion. 

6. Silence is not emptiness, it is power: The art of silence, introspection and witnessing yourself as is has given me more reason to go inward every time I am vulnerable. I no longer feel the need to explain, or respond to or for that matter prove anything. Silence has become a filter. It reveals what truly deserves my energy and what doesn’t. 

7. BHAG: Allowing myself to dream without shrinking it: A Big Hairy Audacious Goal once felt intimidating. Now it feels necessary. Not because I need to achieve more, but because I refuse to live small. My dreams are no longer edited to fit comfort zones, be it mine or anyone else’s.

8. Reclaiming my voice: There were years of quieting myself to maintain peace. That version of me served a purpose. But she is no longer leading. Reclaiming my voice is not about being louder, it is about being truer. The need for being authentic outweighs anything that it costs me when I look at myself now and in future. 

9. Grief and forgiveness doesn’t always look like loss: When you grieve, you soften into clarity and you stop outsourcing your worth. Grieving taught me how fleeting our life is. Forgiveness often misunderstood as reconciliation, excusing bad behaviour or being morally superior, is simply making peace with the fact that the past cannot be changed. Forgiveness taught me how much space the past was occupying in my today's life.

10. Rebuilding is sacred work: After letting go, after grieving, after seeing clearly and after forgiving, comes rebuilding. Neither rushed not forced, but intentional. This time, I am not building from expectation. I am building from truth.

At forty-one, life is no longer about becoming someone new. It is about becoming honest, removing what was never mine and standing authentically in what remains. These ten lessons make me look forward to what the next 10 years are going to teach me!