What is comfort food, after all?
Whenever I fly back to India after a
long trip abroad, the first thing I do after I have checked in is call home and
order dinner. It's always the same menu: khichdi and aloo chokha with a side of
onion raita. That, to me, is the authentic taste of home. And that's what I
long for after a week or so of eating Thai, Italian, Chinese, or generic
Continental food.
I guess it is true what they say:
your taste buds are set by the food you grew up on. And in my case, it was
bog-standard, fairly bland, vegetarian fare, the kind that ayurvedic buffs
would classify as satvik food. And that is the food that I always long for,
after my palate has been over-stimulated by spicy, exotic, even esoteric fare.
I assume it's the same for all of
you reading this. It is the tastes of your childhood that you miss most as you grow up and travel far from home.
For some it may be simple dal-chawal and subzi; for some it may be an aromatic
biryani; for others it may be a masala omelette wedged between buttered toast;
or some curd-rice with pickle and fried papad. But while the choices may vary,
the idea remains the same. We long for the food we cut our milk teeth on.
Speaking for myself, I still
fantasise about the singada (samosa to all those who grew up in north India) I
ate at my Calcutta home. The highly spiced potato mix, encased in the most
delicate pastry, and dunked in an unctuous sweet-sour sauce. Bliss! Over the
years, I have eaten samosas all over the length and breadth of India but
nothing ever comes close. And each time I experience a little pang of
disappointment as I take my first bite.
The jhaal-moori sold outside the
school gates, all the more special for being contraband; the orange-stick
ice-cream lollies which left our tongues a lurid colour; the kanji my
grandmother would make each season; the sambar that was the Sunday special at
home; all these tastes still linger in my mouth, all the more flavourful for
being infused with nostalgia.
No matter how much we grow up or how
far we travel, the taste of home is always comforting. Brits who are exiled
across the pond, whether in New York or Los Angeles, long for a jar of Marmite
(no, I don't get the appeal either).
Australians are a bit mental about
Vegemite, which tastes pretty ghastly to the rest of us. Italians hunt out the
local pizzeria the moment they hit a new city.
The Japanese think nothing of
spending a minor fortune on eating sushi and sashimi on their travels. And we
all know of those Gujarati or Marwari groups who go everywhere with their own
maharaj (that's cook, not king) so that they can get their fill of theplas,
undhiyu, gatte ki subzi, raj kachoris and other deep-fried delights no matter
where in the world they are.
Even hardened soldiers who go out to
war do so while kitted out with their home staples because - as Napoleon
Bonaparte so famously said - an army marches on its stomach. We recently got a
good look at the pre-packed meals of the soldiers of different countries
serving in Afghanistan when they were served at a charity dinner organised by
The Guardian newspaper.
Here are just some of the items in
the kitty. The Brits get Typhoo tea and Tabasco; the Italians get minestrone
and a tiny measure of alcohol (coyly called cordiale); the French get (no
surprises here) cassoulet with duck confit and venison paté; the Americans get
peanut butter and spiced apple cider; the Germans get liver-sausage spread for
their rye bread; the Singaporeans get a pack of Sichuan noodles and soya milk;
and the Australians get steak and (you guessed it!) Vegemite.
Because at the end of the day -
whether you spend it on the warfront or in a boring conference room - everyone
longs for a taste of the home they grew up in. And that's why even Michelin
star-quality Chinese food doesn't hit the spot quite like your mom's Maggi
noodles.
Seema Goswami HTBR 140309
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