Greetings from the home of the happy hausfrau! Don those aprons and follow me into the kitchen, chop chop.
This blog has given me many things. But since my last hausfrau post, its greatest gift has been the realization that you guys are kindred spirits. You love eeda. I love eeda. Ergo, TrueLuv4Evah. We’re twin flames! Yolkmates from lifetimes past! With the crack of each shell, our karmic connection (and LDL) grows stronger! And in celebration of this life-changing event, today we make akoori: authentic Parsi scrambled eggs.
Joining us on this journey of Higher Learning are:
Clockwise, from top: Salt, cooking oil, 2 medium onions (preferably red), fresh cilantro/coriander, the 3 Magi of Indian spices: coriander, turmeric, and red chilli powders, ginger-garlic paste, 2 medium tomatoes (no, you aren’t seeing things, I substituted), and 4 eeda.
Why are the eeda white this time? Because we’re an equal opportunity household and value diversity.
Start by pouring some oil into a pan and remembering to turn on the heat.
Drizzle and then sizzle. Oh yeah.
While the oil’s getting all hot and bothered, turn your attention to the onions. Onions, I’ve always felt, are the classic middle children of all god’s creations. Put to work, but not really acknowledged. Hands up if you’re a middle child. *keeps hers smugly lowered.* 
Peel and chop the onions into fours. The reason you’re being spoiled with so many pictures today is because we had a guest photographer in the house kitchen. I hereby dedicate a song to him: I love yoooooooou, You pay my rent.
Hit that ‘chop’ button. GRRRRRRRRRAAWWWWR!!!!
Once the onions are soft and translucent, add a teaspoon of ginger-garlic paste and order them to assimilate. They’ll meekly comply if you threaten to share the Parsi sugar-in-milk story.
Next, your tomatoes do the bump-and-grind routine. In red spandex. And leg warmers.
Add them to the pan and give everything a big stir. Oh you rabble-rouser you.
Next, add a flattened teaspoon of turmeric. …..
A heaped teaspoon of powdered coriander…..
And a flattened one of red chilli powder. You can substitute this with 2 green chillies if you wish.
We 3 kings of Orient are
Adding heat to OJ’s eeda
….and so on and so forth.
Dust the mixture with salt and stir, stir, stir.
Add chopped kothmir and stir, stir, stir. If you go all North Indian on me and call this “dhania”, this is all you deserve: 🙄
At this point, the akoori base starts looking decidedly green. In my mother’s kitchen. In mine, it stays red. But you know what Michael Jackson said. It’s what you are on the inside that matters.
Ready to crack your eeda?
Why do I have such gnarly fingers?
Oh look at that cozy family of four, the resident photographer gushed. We’re still humoring him. Because he pays the rent.
The resident photographer would like you to know that this is when you pop your waffles in the toaster.
(Pssst! English muffins/rotlis/toast will do just fine.)
He also thinks it imperative that you know the perfect heat setting to gently scramble the eeda.
I don’t eat no butter, he proudly proclaims.
(I get all my cholesterol from eggs.)
Scramble away, but ensure the eggs are still moist and slightly runny. They’ll continue to firm up after you pull them off the heat, and you don’t want them too dry.
Ladle the akoori onto the waffles and serve right away. And before you dash off, here’s a nugget of trivia: The Bollywood movie ‘Being Cyrus‘ was first titled ‘Akoori’, except there were concerns that the general audience wouldn’t know what that was.
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas: educating the world, one clueless blog reader at a time. 😎
Jumjoji!
Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas 
Vox populi