Food Without the Fuss

Lately I have been watching a strange trend growing around us. It has to do with food the one thing that should be simple comforting and honest. But in many fancy places it has started turning into a sort of stage show and not a very pleasant one.

It began harmlessly. A kadhai paneer served in a tiny kadhai. A daal arriving in a little bucket. One smiled at the effort. But then the ideas became wilder. Kebabs carried in on toy bullock carts and wheelbarrows. And the other day I saw a video of a soup served in a ceramic bowl shaped like a toilet seat. I stared at it for a long moment wondering whether I should laugh or cry.

There is another group the very serious food lovers who visit restaurants with stars awarded by a company better known for making automobile tyres. Some say the star system began just to make people travel more and wear out more tyres. Perhaps it is true perhaps not but it does make a fellow think.

These restaurants serve portions so small that you finish them before your appetite even realises what happened. A single bite sits on the plate surrounded by decorations that look more impressive than the food. Then comes the show. Smoke trapped inside a soap bubble. Liquids poured over dishes for no reason at all. Fire rising from the sides like a cheap magician’s trick. Maybe it has to do with our primal attraction to fire. The chef walks by with a pair of forceps and places one little leaf of parsley as if he is completing a delicate surgery. And the way some sprinkle pepper from a great height makes me wonder if they hurt their elbow in childhood.

The trend to play with food has now travelled to street food too. Everything is drowned in el-cheapo butter or greasy mayonnaise. Or mixed with things that should never meet. Tandoori chai. Old monk chicken. Ketchup ice-cream. One wonders where we left our sense and our taste buds. Fusion dishes have also joined the parade. Gulab jamun pizza. Daal makhani sandwich. Noodle pizza. When I hear these names I feel a quiet sorrow somewhere deep inside.

And the new names people invent. Sewai is suddenly called Sweet Ramen Dessert. A simple pink drink is being falsely sold here as “rhododendron energy drink” only because of its colour. Delicately crisp fried wrap with savoury potato filling – is our dear old humble Samosa. I have never seen someone in India call a hamburger a “Pao with meat-vada” so why must we pretend Sewai is something it is not?

Good food does not demand all this noise. It does not need fire or bubble tricks or pouring techniques or even fancy names. Food made with care and eaten with peace has its own quiet charm much like a simple meal enjoyed on a winter afternoon in the hills. It warms you from the inside and leaves you content. And that is more than any theatrical dish can ever do.

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