What and how we eat is a crucial, political statement

Gurugram: It is this that also came up recently, at a fireside chat with celebrated writers and chefs — on the future of Indian cuisine.

Last Sunday I got the opportunity to dine at Gurugram home-chef, Surabhi Bhandari’s home. She hosts a seasonal pop-up by the name of ‘Jeeman’, celebrating the food of the Marwari community from Jodhpur in Rajasthan. Stepping into her home, which was decorated with simple orange marigold flowers, the aroma of dal vadas and papad blanketed the air — setting the tone for the afternoon that awaited us. Surabhi’s husband, Dev, and her teenage son Ayush, were the perfect hosts — holding the fort and welcoming the guests, while she busied herself in the kitchen.

Ornate silver thaalis were set for the 15 guests who had signed up for this pop-up, and as the tunes of the ravanhatta played in the background, the first course of malpua was served to us. Crisp, soft and not overly-sweetened malpuas, topped with a creamy rabdi and dry fruits were served on a betel leaf — as per Ayurveda, one must always begin their meals with something “meetha”, as it enables the flow of the digestive juices.

This was followed by a rather unique ‘open’ fried kachori and dal vada, served with a spicy coriander chutney and powdered shakkar to cut down the spice, showcasing a novel concept native to Jodhpuri households.

For me, the bhutte ki subzi, served with hot phulkas, stood out. Desi corn on the cob, slowly cooked on a sigdi in a gravy of onion and yoghurt, made for an extremely delicious main dish on the thaali. As she stepped out for a breather and joined us at the table, Surabhi told me that it is this that is the star attraction at her maternal home — especially in the monsoon season.

Through this rather exemplary instance of a home pop-up, I realised the true takeaway — an insider seat within a community that was so far largely reserved only for those within that community itself. This peeping lens into the inner courtyard of a community comes through the food that they eat. Eventually, it is this that has helped us fathom at greater depth the nuances of Indian cuisines — showcasing the eventual importance of such micro-cuisines. In turn, this helps us shape finer nuances of why we eat what we eat.

It is this that also came up recntly, at a fireside chat with celebrated writers and chefs — on the future of Indian cuisine. Many opined it is about time that Indian cuisine is globally recognised for its diversity. While I echo their thoughts, I do feel that before this wide-brushed and fairly common conclusion, it is important that we as Indians first learn to acknowledge and respect the diversity that our country offers in terms of its food, culture, and its people.

Novelist Zac O’Yeah’s recent book on his cross-country culinary travels, Digesting India: A Travel Writer’s Sub-continental Adventures with the Tummy, published by Speaking Tiger publications, evokes much food for thought in this regard. In a recent memorable chat with him, O’Yeah highlighted a rather profound point — while we overarchingly speak about food as a unifying factor, eventually, we often forget that today, it also makes for a dividing factor as subconsciously, we also try to control what others should eat.

Food is political and how we eat depends a lot on the demography of the society that we belong to. The fireside chat I mentioned before raised a rather contentious point — on street food being lesser in terms of its complexity factors. There is, however, a significant question to this notion — not only does it sound myopic, but this also overlooks the role of street food as a bellwether for mass sentiment. As a result, it paints a mirror image of sentiments that fuel the broadest demographic base of our nation.

Street food is not only quick and delicious, but also affordable. In empirical terms, a tandoori momo or a pineapple sandwich may sound grossly imperfect in every way but they exist in the market because there is an audience for it. Food, historically, has been about adaptability — if a dish adapts to the flavour profiles of a region’s population based on popular demand, there is nothing wrong with it. As to which lasts in our dishes and taste buds for longer is a different question; that does not necessitate modern adaptations and divergences to be shunned.

Today, Indian food stands at a point where we have home chefs bridging the gap that street food and restaurants have had. While pop-ups such as Surabhi’s offer boutique, nearly-bespoke experiences that bring you into resplendent dining rooms, these will always coexist alongside the massively popular and indomitable stores on the sidelines of marketplaces — such as Raju bhaiya’s 40-a-plate littie-chokha in Noida’s Film City.