Chicken 65 Tacos

Vishal loves to cook. Every morning he scampers downstairs, fuzzy slippers sliding over each step. He pulls bowls from the lower cabinet. Metal rims clink against stacked pots and pans. Some mornings he makes muffins, some mornings he makes dosa.

He loves the “pop” and “crackle” of mustard seeds when he and Dad spread them in the pan. He always spins the mixing spoon to blend cinnamon and cardamom into pale, wet dough when making dosa. When baking popovers, he’ll always poke the top with a fork to make sure the buttery, flaky bread is perfect.

He pours himself a large glass of orange juice. A fresh bowl sits on the counter. He pours a cup of flour into the bowl. Dad hands him two eggs.

Crack!

He drops two yellow yolks in the bowl. Milk splashes up the sides as he pours. Dad turns on the stove to heat the griddle. Vishal pours in the remaining ingredients. He stirs the batter with the spoon until it is bright yellow. With a measuring cup, Dad helps him pour a puddle of batter onto the griddle. Soon, the whole kitchen smells of pancakes.

This morning is extra special because both of his grandparents are coming for lunch. His Ayya, Appatha, and his grandma and grandpa. Both of them love food and Vishal's cooking, but they don't always like the same things.

He sits down with his syrup and pancakes, saying, “I want to make the best meal today!” to his dad, who is sitting at the kitchen table with his coffee.

“Oh, what do you have in mind?” asks Dad.

Vishal takes a big bite. “Let’s make dosa!”

Dad looks at his watch. “I don’t think we have time for that.”

Suddenly growing anxious about the time, Vishal rushes to the counter. He’s worried about finishing in time. He grabs a bunch of books from the counter.

“Bang!”

Books tumble from Vishal’s hands onto the floor. He curls onto his knees.

“Swoosh!”

Pages flap open. Vishal flips through a summertime cookbook. “What about pretzels?”

Dad picks up one of the dessert cookbooks. “What about something sweet, like a cake?”

Vishal frowns, “No, I don’t want to make cake.” He didn’t want to make dessert; he wanted his meal to be the star of the day.

Dad opens a Chettinad book from their last trip to India. “We could make chutney and vada?”

Vishal scratches his head, “But grandma doesn’t really like spicy food.”

Dad opens the fridge. “We have salmon.”

Vishal lies back on the cool tile. “But Appatha and Ayya are vegetarian.”

Vishal opens the pantry. Cans and bags line the shelves. He steps onto a stool to find ingredients for pizza. There's not enough flour or sauce.

He yanks open the fridge. Butter, cheese, and vegetables fill the shelves. Only one egg remains in the carton. His Bernedoodle, Finn, jumps up playfully.

“Crack!”

The only egg splats onto the floor.

Dad kneels with some paper towels. “Sorry, buddy, we’ll think of something.”

Still searching for a main dish everyone will enjoy, Vishal huffs out of the kitchen. Tears sting his eyes. He wants to make something both grandparents will like. He wants it to be the main dish. But he can’t think of anything. Feeling defeated, he retreats and crawls under the dining room table, wishing to disappear. He covers his face as his cheeks burn.

His foot pulls forward. Finn has his sock in his mouth, tugging it out from under the table.

“Stop, Fin, leave me alone!” he shouts.

Dad crawls under the table. “Hey, want to help me roll out the chapatis. Your sister loves your chapati, and she’ll be up soon.”

A little encouraged by Dad's suggestion, Vishal lumbers from beneath the table, shoulders slumped. In the kitchen, a large dough ball sits in a yellow bowl, waiting.

“Plunk!”

It lands on the floured counter. Vishal rips off small chunks with the palms of his hands, and he rolls them into balls. Dad places the wooden rolling pin next to him.

Vishal places each dough ball at the center of his floured mat. With both hands, he pushes the rolling pin to flatten each ball into spinach-speckled brown circles. Dad heats the black griddle pan nearby. Using tongs, Dad lets Vishal carefully drop the flattened dough onto the hot pan.

Bubbles rise within the dough. Spots darken, signaling it's ready. Vishal reaches over and, with daddy’s help, plucks the cooked chapati from the pan with the tongs.

“Arruff,” Finn barks at a passing car.

Vishal startles, dropping the chapati on the rolling pin in front of him. “Finn!”

It flops over the rolling pin like a little bridge. Vishal laughs, “It looks like a taco!”

An idea pops into Vishal’s head. “Grandma likes tacos, and Appatha likes chapatis.”

He pulls open the fridge. “Do we have chicken?”

Dad opens a drawer within the fridge. “We do!”

Vishal races to the pantry. “Do we have chickpeas?”

Dad reaches for a bag on the top shelf. “We do!”

With his mind now full of ideas, Vishal grabs bowls and mixing spoons from the lower cupboard, excited. We can make Chicken 65 and channa masala tacos!

“What is Chicken 65?” asked Dad.

Vishal pulled a crumpled yellow note from his Appatha in the drawer. Each line listed ingredients, and below were the instructions for making chicken 65 in four sentences. “It’s the perfect baked chicken that we can put in the tacos for grandma!”

“Plop!”

Vishal drops a large cup of yogurt into the yellow bowl.

“Whizz!”

Vishal squeezes lemon juice out of the freshly cut lemons, forcing him to squint.

“Clank!”

Vishal twists the pestle to grind the ginger in the mortar stone bowl.

Dad pours chopped chicken into the rest of the ingredients in the big yellow bowl.

Vishal sprinkles the salt, turmeric, and masala. With a few fingers, he dusts it with chili powder. “Not too spicy for grandma.” He mixes in the chicken. The golden red sauce drips from his spoon. With the chicken completely covered, Dad dumps it in a bag to marinate.

They make the chickpea channa masala in a different bowl. They reuse lots of the same ingredients from the chicken.

“Buzz!”

Dad purees tomatoes for the sauce. Vishal pours the chickpeas into the bowl with everything else. This time, he adds a healthy teaspoon of chili powder for Appata and Ayya.

“Crunch!”

Dad chops green peppers, cucumbers, and carrots.

“Splash!”

Vishal mixes the shredded veggies with salt and yogurt in a bowl. He mixes them together to make a crunchy mild dip called raita.

“Fizz!”

Dad pours the marinated chicken into a pan.

While Dad cooks the chicken and chickpea dishes on the stove, Vishal places the cooked chapatis on a plate next to the raita on the table.

Soon, multicolored bowls are set on the table with sautéed vegetables, rice with tomatoes, black beans, raita, channa masala, and Chicken 65.

“Chicken 65 and Channa tacos!” exclaims Vishal, excited by his blended dinner idea. “Everyone has something to eat!”

Dad spins him around. The doorbell rings. Vishal runs to the door to welcome his guests.