After thirty years on the assembly line, I know a thing or two about pressure—but nothing like facing a four-day Sheffield Shield match on a green top in Perth. My youngest, who’s now in Gurugram, sent me a video of the WACA crowd singing “Under the Southern Cross I Stand,” and for a second I forgot my knees. Everyone talks about the Ashes like it’s the ultimate test, but ask any old-timer: the real exam is surviving a tour of Australia when your parivaar’s watching from a tiny balcony, and the chai’s gone cold.

Last Sunday, I harvested a handful of chillies from my three pots and made a simple mapo tofu. Wife said it was too spicy, but I told her, 'Beta, this is how Sichuan people roll.' We ended up arguing about cricket with the tea-stall uncle, but the tofu reminded me of those old Hong Kong movies where everyone is fighting and eating. Nothing beats seeing your own parivaar enjoy a meal made with love, even if the knees complain the next day.