Once upon a
time, when energy conservation wasn’t fashionable and the term global warming
wasn’t invented, I used a primitive dabba called the ‘solar cooker’ because
‘gas’ was rationed and expensive. Those who had a single cylinder had to keep
track of its use and keep track of exactly when to book a refill so that it
came just when the ‘gas got over’. Or depend on the messy, smelly, less
efficient kerosene-stoves (I had a wick one) which had to be retrieved from
attics or garage corners and spruced up urgently.
In states
(like Rajasthan, Andhra, UP, Jharkhand) where the summer sun’s rays can make
your blood boil even in the shade, using the solar cooker wasn’t a fad. It was
a wise investment. Bought with a government subsidy, mine paid for itself within
two years, in reduced ‘gas’ consumption.
It was a 2 ft
x 2 ft plastic box with insulated walls, painted black within and without.
There were two lids hinged at one side, which could sit on top of each other
when shut. One lid was made of convex glass and the other had a mirror on the
inside to catch and reflect rays. When closed, the glass lid touched the rubber
rim of the box’s interior, thus sealing off whatever was kept within it: four
thin aluminium vessels with lids, painted black on the outside. In these
vessels I cooked our meals. Dal, rice, a vegetable and a cake could be
cooked/baked in three-four hours. I’d ‘load’ my cooker in the morning and by
lunchtime, the meal was ready. Roasting sooji/ groundnuts, clarifying butter,
boiling potatoes, even making biscuits was possible. Whilst in use, the glass
lid was kept down and the mirror-lid kept open. The heat generated was such
that I suffered burns a couple of times when I opened the glass lid without
taking adequate precautions. It had latches with kept the lids in place and
wheels that helped transport it from one place to another.
Since the
cooker was left in the open verandah to get maximum sunlight, besides inquisitive
neighbours, there was always a monkey or two that wanted to see what was
inside. Specially when the vessels’ lids weren’t on (like when a brinjal was
being roasted). It was amusing to me and horrifying to the poor animal when it
touched what it thought was access to an easy meal and recoiled when it found
it extremely hot to touch. I compensated it for the disappointment with a
banana.
“It was more,”
Shri Husband said, “like you were paying fees for the entertainment it provided
you.” Whatever. Sometimes, when I steamed fish in it, or broiled chicken, cats
found their way to it, sniffed around and left disappointed.
From March
till the monsoons, with eight hours of bright daylight, I could cook two meals
per day. Through the chilly winter months, it took an entire day for a single
meal of four items. No, the ingredients didn’t spoil. Slow cooking has its
advantages.
The
disadvantages were cloudy/ dusty days. Unexpected clouds meant the meal had to
be transferred to a conventional cooking method, involving waste of time. Rare,
that was.
“It’s surprisingly easy to predict
weather conditions when your food depends on it.” Shri Husband stated once,
long years ago.
“So,” some friends asked me, “How do
you season the dals, sauté the vegetables?”
“Same as,” I answered, “when you boil
something in a pressure-cooker or other vessel. After it’s cooked, you give the
phodnni/ tadka.” But I’d found that if I seasoned the dal and sautéed the
vegetables before putting it into the solar-cooker, at mealtime, I simply had
to put the vessels directly to the table from the solar-cooker.” The difference
in taste was negligible.
Can one solar-cook with coconut milk?
Don’t know, never tried.
With my penchant for forgetting
stuff, I learnt that nothing ever burns in a solar-cooker because the
temperature doesn’t go beyond 100 deg C. And no ants/ cockroaches could enter
the seal to the inner compartment even when I’d forgotten about the odd item
left inside it.
“What else can you use the
solar-cooker for?” Bai Goanna asked.
“Stupid question,” I retorted.
“Not really,” Shri Husband butted in.
“A pressure-cooker can be used for autoclaving instruments in a crunch. So, is
there any other use for a solar-cooker is a valid question. You may say ‘no’ if
there is no other use, but you can’t call the question ‘stupid’.”
I reserved my comments. As always.
And then I remembered, I’ve used the
solar-cooker for drying damp paper napkins and they’d come out as good as new.
“Why would you want to recycle used
paper napkins?” Bai Goanna asked.
This really was a stupid question. I
snapped: “Damp, unused.” Then added: “The solar-cooker was quite good for
making crisp slightly soggy snacks and even roasting besan for ladoos. Of
course, the micro-wave oven wasn’t available in India then.”
“You must have saved lots of money,
huh?” Bai Goanna asked next.
“Yes,” I said happily.
“What’s your idea of lots?” asked
Shri Husband.
“Yeah,” said Bai Goanna taking his
side. “Not as much as Vijay Mallya, no?”
“But,” I wanted to say, “Mallya
didn’t make his millions by eating solar-cooked food.” Instead I kept quiet. My
life is a world apart from his. For some strange reason, my limited income is
meticulously tracked by the government. And unlike those of his ilk, I do
believe that, come summer, if I use natural energy I will save on bills and
help the planet in some small, indirect way.
Welcome, summer.
Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in
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