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Every time I make Aalu Posto, I'm instantly taken back to my childhood. Those slow, sleepy afternoons when the whole house smelled of mustard oil and poppy seeds. I remember maa standing by the stove, crushing posto on the sil batta, her hands moving in rhythm like she had done it a thousand times. No measurements, no rush just love, patience, and instinct.

Lunch was always simple a plate of hot rice, aloo posto, maybe a green chili on the side, and that was it. But somehow, it felt like the most luxurious meal in the world. I'd sit cross legged on the floor, waiting for that first spoonful, knowing that nothing outside those four walls could ever taste this comforting.

Now when I cook it, it's not just about the food. It's about recreating a piece of home, a moment in time, a memory that never really left.