The Forgotten Salt: A Palak Paneer Ballad

In the wok’s embrace oil shimmers, setting the stage,
Garlic and ginger join in a fragrant prelude, age-old sage.

Onions twirl, a caramel gown they seek,
Softening to gold, they render flavor at their peak.

Coriander, cumin, and fiery chilli’s pow,
Turmeric’s golden sun, and garam masala’s vow.

Spinach freshly chopped, in the wok they dive,
Under the lid’s concealment, in warmth they come alive.

Blended till smooth, a silken emerald sea,
Eager to join the symphony.

The kadai calls again, butter’s richness unfurled,
Bay leaf lands with flair, as another onion twirls.

Golden flecks in the dance, sweetness poised at the helm,
In goes the verdant puree, paneer cubes overwhelm.

A simmering lullaby, with the lid gently perched,
The curry’s whispered dreams in cream are gently nursed.

Cooling on the silent stove, the artist’s work almost complete,
A squeeze of lemon, an afterthought of vibrancy so sweet.

A swirl of cream, butter’s final float,
Yet, as the taste unfurls, salt’s absence strikes a note.

Realization dawns, dismayed by the forgotten grain,
A hurried pinch, a rescue, the dish’s honor to regain.

Paneer’s quiet royalty, if tofu takes its place,
In this poem’s realm, with grace they both embrace.

The lesson learned—every spice, every herb plays its part,
In the curry of life, too, remember salt from the start.