Peeling Potatoes

August 19

So it turns out that Nepali potatoes are much smaller than the supersized American balls of starch.

Moving in with my new host family this afternoon, I had my clumsy first attempt at using the ancient, and clearly loved, potato peeler as I helped prepare the evening dahl bhaht. As my new host sister-in-law, Anita, kept a watchful eye over me from where she stood by the stovetop, I quickly came to understand why a potato peeler was on the list of suggested host gifts. While she gracefully ground lentils on the stone tablet, I made slow progress with the basket of homegrown potatoes in front of me.

I sat in the fading light of the kitchen, taking in the last few hours of moving in with my new Newari host family, the Shresthas. I had been welcomed in true Nepali style with more tea and biscuits than I could ever possibly digest and had been introduced to my new family members. My aamaa (mother), Sarroti, lives with her husband (my baa), Hari Pradha and other extended family members in the middle of Gorkha Bazaar (aka the market where all the action happens). Their son (my dai), Eksha Kumar, is a math teacher at a nearby school and thankfully speaks better English than I do Nepali! His wife (my bhaujyu), Anita has taken me in and has decided to teach me to cook (and eat!) like a Nepali. Which means I will soon resemble a potato. And not just a Nepali potato, but a big ol’ starchy American one.   

My aamaa and baa have two other sons and three daughters, one of whom, Shanti, also lives with us. Together they all help care for my dai and bhaujyu’s two beautiful children. My new bhahini (younger sister), Spandan, is seven years old and has to fight for the spotlight with her bai (younger brother), Stuath. And then there’s me, “Amisha Shrestha,” which is my new Nepali name and a combination of all the Shrestha sister names!

The dozens of potato eyes staring back at me from the basket were much like the ones on the street of Gorkha Bazaar, each pair belonging to a community member wondering why in the world there was an American hanging out in Anita’s small convenience shop. Anita pointed out notable people in the neighborhood –“a teacher at Mohendra Jyoti!” referring to a woman in a pink kurta surwhal uniform, riding on the back of a motorbike as it zoomed past. I will be meeting the rest of the teachers tomorrow on my first day of school.

Back in the kitchen, Anita handed me a tool that looked like it came straight out of a medieval torture chamber. She called in a “chulissi” and it came in handy not only for paring potatoes but also as a plastic bag opener, pear peeler, and cucumber dicer. It has infomercial material written all over it.

But wait! There’s more!

Every kitchen guru also knows that potatoes take time to cook. Stuath and Spandan are still warming up to the idea of a new didi in the house –although Stuath seems to have found my weak spot for him already and knows he can pretty much get away with anything. That’s a lot of power for a three-year-old.

I should have learned from years of babysitting experience it’s not a good idea to leave your pen and open notebook on the kitchen table…

And in return, I am still adjusting to a much more sedentary lifestyle (which will speed along the process of achieving the perfect potato figure!) and only understanding a small fraction of any given conversation. However, I have been quite entertained by the Nepali music videos and soap operas my aamaa insists on showing me on TV. From what I understand every dramatic emotional scene is accompanied by a five-minute Bollywood dance clip. Some have been so absurd it’s all I can do not to burst out laughing!