In the practice of tolerance, one’s enemy is the best teacher, says the Dalai Lama. I say it’s the stomach. Or maybe, the palate.
Of late, there has been—deservedly—much discussion and criticism of prejudices, ignorance and xenophobia driving us Indians to snub the stranger; to disallow unfamiliar literature or even a different way of thinking. To fit in, everyone and everything is expected to blend in; to conform to established tastes and erase any differences. Turns out, the differences are in everything but food.
It’s not a totally new phenomenon. For a while now, metro-dwellers have been supplementing their home-cooked food with foreign options (and I’m not just referring to the onion-and-capsicum-filled chowmein sold at the grungy van around the corner.) The menu of Hyderabad’s Paradise restaurant lists Schwezan fish and Chilli Prawns ahead of the Supreme Special Biryanis. Jaipur’s six-decade old Niros tom-toms its Continental, Chinese and Mughlai offerings rather than Rajasthan specialties Lal Maas and Dal Bati Churma. The Bongs of Calcutta have always supplemented the Maacher jhol-bhaat at home with Chelo Kababs from Peter Cat and Conti at the club.
But now, the choose global-chew local fever has infected the nation. As eating out becomes de rigeur, people from Aizawl to Salem to Thalesarry are knocking back Zinger Burgers and Pizza Puffs at foreign fast food restaurants.
Indians are also watching agog—and applauding—as chefs and restaurateurs experiment with old recipes. There are no lack of takers, for instance, for Chef Manish Mehrotra’s Truffle-flavoured wild mushroom kulchas and Foie gras-stuffed galoutis at the capital’s most-awarded restaurant Indian Accent, or for TV superchef Ranveer Brar’s fusion chocolate rasmalai terrine.
Contrast this with the attitude of countries fighting to keep the foreign hand—and any promise of novelty—away from their people and food. England’s protected Cornish pastry ingredients are so specific that chefs can’t add even an extra pinch of salt to the designated recipe. And Italy, which already has more ‘protected’ products than any other country, is out to stealthily but surely kill the kabab.
In 2009, the walled city of Lucca, in Tuscany, declared war on ‘ethnic’ food outlets in a bid to preserve local culinary traditions. Kebabs, curries and couscous were declared enemies of local specialties like zuppa di faro and torta di spinaci. Earlier this month, Florence joined the protectionist party and mandated that 70 per cent of food sold in its Unesco-protected historic centre had to be of local origin. Last week, the mayor of Verona (of Romeo and Juliet fame) banned new restaurants serving ‘ethnic and deep-fried foods’, apparently in response to an outbreak of new kebab counters. His reason? A by-now boring protection of ‘the typical culture of the Verona territory’.
It’s true that in recent years, new eateries have sprung up everywhere, selling food that’s cheap but not always traditional. No doubt affordability plays a part in their popularity but surely native restaurants and foods should be able to survive without protection, simply by being good. After all, Haldiram’s, the bastion of bhujia, also serves pasta in arabiatta sauce. And yet, the longest queue is still for its Raj Kachori.
shampa@newindianexpress.com