Respect the Food

India really does have a good food culture. That means something more than just how good the food is. For me, it means that they have a way of thinking about food that, while maybe not unique, is something that they cherish and celebrate every time they walk into the kitchen.

It’s what I call a closet-case food culture. That’s because it’s not very well-known on the world stage. People hear all about French and Italian cuisine all the time, about foie gras and risotto alla Milanese, about expensive and rare ingredients and fancy plating techniques. It’s no surprise that Indian cuisine, with its simple recipes and rice every day, tends to fall by the wayside. This is a mistake that I hope to remedy here.

This morning, Shammi, my cook (I always feel guilty when I mention that I have a cook, it’s very embarrassing) came in to prepare a breakfast of bread pakoda. Pakoda just means that the dish is fried. Indians like to pakoda the hell out of most foods, so why not bread? He started by making a simple batter out of chickpea flour, spices and water, then dipped the bread into it and fried it. In addition, he pulled a small dish out of the fridge containing about a quarter-cup of potato. This was some potato left over from breakfast two days ago. It was less than could have been eaten in three bites, and he rolled it into two small balls, dipped it into the batter, and fried it along with the bread. I commented in the simple English that we have been using for these past few weeks, “No waste.” He responded with one of the best things I have ever heard said about food.

“Indian culture, respect the food. Gifts from God. Maximum important.”

Nothing could sum up the way I have felt about food better, and nothing could have made me feel even more appreciative about the food I eat every day. I was simultaneous ecstatic and humbled. I have always felt that I love food more than anything else, and I have always tried to be conscious of what I eat. But compared to what Shammi just said, I knew immediately that I do not respect food the way it needs to be.

The rest of the morning, I thought about what I have seen so far in Indian cuisine and the way people cook, and I realized that this was an attitude shared by all. It had been staring me in the face, and I just didn’t put two and two together until now. Some time ago, I made brownies at Harmit’s house so his mother could learn the recipe. I scraped the contents of the mixing bowl into the baking dish and put the bowl in the sink, but Mrs. Singh said, “Why didn’t you empty it properly?” She then removed the bowl from the sink, dug into every surface and crevice with her finger, and deposited an extra teaspoon of batter into the baking dish.

Whenever we make chapattis, we use a container of flour to roll the uncooked dough and make it less sticky and easier to work. This container and its flour are always saved for the next day.

I used most, but not all of a bottle of vinegar to make mustard at KLB. The leftover vinegar, less than a quarter cup and worth about 5 rupeees, is still in food stores, waiting to be used.

Whenever I make anything here, I’m asked to save any crumbs of brownies or falafel in case anybody wants to eat it.

Shammi saves leftover rice that I don’t eat to make kheer, a sweet rice pudding-type dessert, or fried rice.

Everything is saved here; nothing goes to waste. Not a grain of flour or rice, not a single crystal of sugar. It’s not that they’re all poor, though some people surely are. It’s that they really do believe that each morsel of food is a gift from God and should be treated as such. I’ve never been a very religious person, and going to church held about the same appeal to me as pulling teeth. Nevertheless, I do believe that there is something “out there,” a presence that is something more than what we can sense in this existence. Now I know how to respect it: by respecting the gifts I receive every day.

“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”