# A Bowl Full of Stories #

Daily writing prompt
What’s your favorite thing to cook?

Hello dear friends,

I hope this blog finds you in a cheerful mood. Today’s writing prompt—“What’s your favorite thing to cook?”—may sound simple at first glance, but the more I sat with it, the more revealing it became.

Our favorite dish is rarely just about taste. It is about memory, mood, identity, and the quiet joy of creating something nourishing with our own hands.

If I had to choose one thing without hesitation, it would be a slow-cooked, soulful pot of food—the kind that simmers patiently, fills the house with warmth, and tastes even better the next day.

A rich stew, a fragrant curry, or a humble pot of dal bubbling gently on the stove. Not rushed. Not flashy. Just honest food with depth.

What makes this my favorite isn’t only the final dish—it’s the process. Slow cooking invites presence.

You chop vegetables with intention, listen to the soft sizzle as onions meet hot ghee, and breathe in aromas that feel almost therapeutic.

In a world obsessed with speed, cooking slowly feels like a quiet, rebellious act of self-care.

There’s something deeply comforting about dishes like these. They remind us that food has always been more than fuel.

Across cultures and generations, slow-cooked meals have been a language of love. They’re made for families, for shared tables, for conversations that stretch long after the plates are empty.

Even when I cook only for myself, that sense of connection lingers. One pot can hold nostalgia, tradition, and belonging all at once.

For me, that pot is often dal.

Today, as I prepared it, I realized I wasn’t just using ingredients—I was stirring memories.

The aroma carried echoes of childhood afternoons, my mother moving effortlessly around the kitchen, laughter floating through the house.

Dal may be modest, but it is powerful. It has nourished generations, crossed borders, and adapted endlessly, all while remaining comfort in its purest form.

Another reason slow cooking is my favorite is its flexibility. These dishes are forgiving. You can adjust spices, swap ingredients, and trust your instincts.

No tomatoes? Add lemon. No fresh herbs? Dried ones will do. Cooking this way builds confidence. It reminds us that perfection isn’t the goal—feeling is.

Every time I cook dal, it turns out a little different. Some days it gets extra garlic because life demands boldness.

Other days, more chili for energy, or a squeeze of lemon when the mood feels heavy.

I measure not in spoons, but in emotions—a little extra ghee if someone’s had a hard day, gentler spices when comfort is needed.

I once read a quote that stayed with me: “Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”

My dal follows that philosophy. Though simple, it is cooked with the same intention as a chef plating a fine meal. This is why certain recipes become favorites—they grow with us and carry our personal signature.

Over the years, I’ve shared this recipe many times. I’ve emailed it to friends living abroad, scribbled it on paper for a stranger on a train, and demonstrated it during community cooking sessions.

And I love how people adapt it—adding ginger, swapping ghee for olive oil, tossing in spinach. Recipes, like stories, evolve when shared.

There’s also practical joy in slow-cooked food. It stretches further, feeds more people, and reduces waste.

Leftovers transform into new meals. It’s economical, sustainable, and deeply satisfying—proof that good food doesn’t need to be complicated or expensive.

Most importantly, cooking this way grounds me. The rhythm of stirring, tasting, waiting—it’s almost meditative.

When life feels overwhelming, the kitchen becomes a sanctuary. Problems soften when your hands are busy and your heart is present.

So when I reflect on the question, “What’s your favorite thing to cook?” my answer goes beyond a single recipe. My favorite thing to cook is comfort itself—food that nourishes both body and soul, that invites patience, creativity, and connection.

And now, dear friends, I ask you: what is your favorite dish? Not just the recipe, but the memory it carries. The smell that pulls you home. The taste that tells your story.

Cook it today—not for an occasion, but for life itself. Because sometimes, the greatest treasures are found in the simplest bowls.

Happy cooking, and may your kitchens always be filled with warmth. 🍲✨

BE HAPPY… BE ACTIVE… BE FOCUSED… BE ALIVE

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 www.retiredkalam.com



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51 replies

  1. What a beautiful text, my friend!
    I totally agree that cooking goes far beyond the recipe; it’s about memories, care, and presence. You take us on a tour, describing dal as a hug in the form of food, and how every gesture in the kitchen becomes almost meditative.
    It’s amazing how simple dishes can carry so much history, love, and connection. It reminded me of how certain smells and flavors from childhood always pull us back to special moments. Thank you for sharing this rich and inspiring reflection. I will certainly think more about the intention and care I put into my cooking! 😊👏🏻🍲✨🙏🏻

    Liked by 3 people

    • Thank you, my friend. Your words feel like a quiet nod across the kitchen—one that says I see what you’re doing, and I feel it too.

      I love how you called dal “a hug in the form of food.” That’s exactly it. Some dishes don’t try to impress; they simply hold us. They carry the weight of time, of hands that cooked before ours, of moments when care mattered more than perfection.

      Liked by 3 people

  2. Wonderful have a great time in cooking sir 🎸

    Liked by 3 people

  3. What a beautiful reflection, Verma ji. Your words didn’t just describe a recipe—they wove a tapestry of memory, meaning, and soul. Reading about your dal felt like being invited into your kitchen, warmed by the aroma of comfort and the quiet wisdom that simmers alongside it.

    You’ve captured something universal yet deeply personal: that cooking, at its heart, is an act of love, memory, and gentle rebellion against a hurried world. The way you measure in emotions, not spoons, is a philosophy more of us need. Thank you for reminding us that the greatest nourishment often comes from the simplest pots, stirred with presence and shared with an open heart.

    May your pot always bubble with stories, your home always smell of belonging, and your generous spirit continue to inspire others to cook not just for hunger, but for life itself. ✨🙏

    Liked by 3 people

    • Thank you—truly. Your words reached me the way a familiar aroma reaches the heart before the mind. Reading your message felt like someone quietly pulling up a chair in the kitchen, not to critique the dish, but to share the warmth around it.

      You understood exactly what I hoped to say—that food is never just food. It is memory, patience, inheritance, and a small act of resistance against rushing through life. When you spoke of measuring in emotions, not spoons, it felt like you were stirring the same pot, guided by the same instinct.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I am not a good cook. My wife is a good cook so she does most of the cooking. I have always loved spare-ribs. My wife knows just how to cook them so that the meat falls off of the bones. In the summer I like salads with lots of tomatoes in them (I grow the tomatoes).
    Thank you for the good post!

    Liked by 3 people

    • Thank you so much! That sounds like a perfect balance—your wife bringing the magic to the kitchen, and you bringing the love (and those home-grown tomatoes 🍅). Spare ribs that fall off the bone are hard to beat, and summer salads always taste better when you’ve grown them yourself. I’m really glad the post resonated with you—thanks for sharing a little slice of your table with me.

      Liked by 3 people

      • You’re welcome, and thank you for your thoughtful reply. My wife and I have always made a good team for sure. Homegrown veggies are much better, as you stated, when you have grown them yourself. I hope you have a great day!
        God’s blessings…

        Liked by 3 people

  5. This is a truly soulful way to make a tasty treat!

    Liked by 2 people

  6. This was so good! Slow food really does carry more than taste, especially dal and what a coincidence, it’s on my menu today!

    I like how you spoke about cooking by feeling instead of measurements.

    In a rushed world, letting something simmer quietly is its own kind of calm.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. I loved how cooking becomes a mirror for memories and comfort, not just a recipe. Made me think about the stories simmering in my own kitchen! 🍲✨

    Liked by 1 person

    • That’s such a beautiful way to put it. Cooking really does hold memories the way stories do—quietly, patiently, waiting to be stirred again. I love that it made you think of your own kitchen and the moments living there. Those are the flavors that never fade. 🍲✨

      Liked by 1 person

  8. Verma ji, loved this heartfelt ode to slow-cooked dal—it’s not just food, it’s pure comfort wrapped in memories and love. Makes me crave a warm bowl right now.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you so much for that warm and generous response.
      I’m really glad it resonated with you—slow-cooked dal has a way of carrying comfort, care, and quiet love in every spoonful. If it made you crave a bowl, then the feeling has already done its work. 😊

      Liked by 2 people

  9. Lovely share sir. Your words of cooking captured a personal meaning, that could warm anyone’s heart. Continue making memories as you cook. 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

    • Thank you so much for your kind words—they truly mean a lot to me.
      Cooking has a way of carrying stories, love, and memories all at once, and I’m grateful you felt that warmth in my words.
      I’ll definitely keep stirring the pot and making moments worth remembering. Wishing you a beautiful day ahead 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  10. Vijay ji You’ve written a lovely post — your storytelling bowl felt warm and rich with life, like sharing snapshots of moments worth remembering.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for your kind and generous words.
      I’m truly glad the post felt warm and alive to you—that’s exactly what I hoped to share.
      Knowing it resonated and felt like moments worth remembering means a great deal.
      I appreciate you taking the time to read and reflect.

      Like

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  1. # A Bowl Full of Stories # – Uttam Roy blog

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