Handling the pressure of a pressure-cooker!

Some of us approach a pressure cooker as one would, a dynamite that is about to go off. That’s how forbidding its appearance is. You see the cooker smoldering. It is working up to a crescendo by the second. The apparatus wobbles, the excess steam escapes through the sides and the “weight” on the cooker-top quivers. Any moment, like a steam engine that has sounded the horn, it is on the verge of blasting away…out of the station, firing on all cylinders!

“Be sure to switch it off after 6 whistles!” wife instructs and shuts the study-room to teach a virtual class. You hear the first whistle loud and clear. You go off and sit with your laptop. Amnesia sets in. You lose the plot entirely. Suddenly, you hear a voice from the other room, “How many whistles has it been?”

Whistles? You said whistles? You cannot recall a thing. There is sudden panic. In these situations, I have found “Four whistles!” is a safe answer for the viva-voce question. It is neither too less nor too more. Wife has a different count. “I heard 8 whistles already!” You have half a mind to argue, “If you are anyway counting, why don’t you switch it off on your own?” It’s like a Mathematics teacher who forces a mental-sum drill on the students, just to keep them on tenterhooks and busy, with absolutely no bigger purpose.

Sometimes, long-distance help is needed, when the spouse is away, and you are handling the cooker for the first time. You suddenly find there are many pressure-cookers at home. Did they somehow multiply on their own? There is a pressure-pan, a mini-pressure cooker, an old mid-sized pressure cooker and a new larger one. Which one do you use?

A pressure-pan looks ideal. But once you stack a vessel of rice and another container of “dal”, try as you might, you cannot fit the cap over the turban. You move to the mid-sized pressure cooker.  The lid is too loose. “Try a different lid. One of them will fit right”, says the long-distance voice. It’s like having a dozen keys in hand, to open one lock. The trial-and-error method is hard work, bordering on futility. “None of them work!” you respond, all frustrated. “Did you fit the gasket?”, comes the voice from the other end.

Gasket? Gasket! How did you forget that rubber “hula-hoops ring” that goes into the insides of the lid! Finally, everything is prim and proper- the cooker base contains half-inch of water, the vessels are stacked, and the lid is closed snug. The stove is lit. You wait- 5 minutes…10 minutes and more. The theory is- steam will gush out from the cooker-top- that’s when you must fit the “weight” to the snout. It never gets to that point. It’s like a firecracker that shows signs of promise, it flickers from time to time to announce it is still alive but refuses to progress to the fission-point.

The long-distance advice is vague and inconclusive. “Stretch the gasket a few times. If that does not help, strike the sides of the lid with the tongs. It will keep the steam from escaping.” By now, patience has run out. Can we have a simpler gadget please? “I think I will have bread-jam for dinner and finish off!”- you announce, turn off the stove and abandon the cooker.

A pressure cooker has several touch-points, touchy points! Fitting the “weight” to the cooker-top is not elementary. You worry whether the steam will singe your hand. Your feet refuse to go any closer than a safe, 4 feet, pandemic distance. If the water is too less, it can burn the content and the cooker. If the water is too much, it rushes into the rice vessel and now, the rice emerges with a head-bath, all wet and soggy. It is tight-rope walking all the way.

In particular, the pressure cooker is like your 2-year-old that reserves its tantrums for the most trying time. You have just switched off the cooker. Time is at a premium. You want to quickly open the cooker, gobble up the rice and head out. You try to remove the “weight” from the cooker-top. It is moody- it fumes, spews steam and more venom, and tells you to back off. A minute later, you try again. You get the same response. This is too much. In a rage, you use brute force and yank the “weight” off.

Punishment for the wrong action is swift and severe. The cooker turns into an angry volcano that has been stoked. “Dal” from the vessel spews out like lava. It is ejected from the cooker-top with such ferocity, that the kitchen ceiling is now coated with a fine “Warli-Art” design!

As for the cooker content- the rice still feels like hard grain and the dal is just as crispy. What do you do now?

Bread-Jam…bread-jam…is your all-weather…true, faithful friend in this whole, wide world.