Our earliest memories of food begin with our grandad. God bless him and we hope he continues blessing us.
Even at 93, his diet (cravings) put us all to shame. He needs about 5-6 orange candies a day. A mugful of sweet lassi, nimbu-paani, rose milk, Indian mithai twice, some ‘fried’ namkeen - everyday. And to top it off, kulfi or icecream is more than welcome.
The toddlers, who are always sniffing their way around the dining table, think life is always this wonderful.
Of course, grandad has earned all of this. He’s conditioned his body very well, and brisk walked for 2-3 hours, regularly, for over 40 years. The rest of us just hope we’ve inherited his genes!
The woman responsible for turning him into a food connoisseur was our grandmaa, a real-life food genie. She whipped up magnificent delicacies out of nowhere, in a matter of minutes. She’s trained so many women (and men) in developing exquisite culinary skills, it’s unbelievable.
Bapuji, as we all address him, can be quite a critic of cooking that isn’t absolutely up to the mark. Can’t blame him, with the standards he’s been used to. It doesn’t matter who you are, he is frank and in your face. He’ll tell you that the ‘khandvi’ he had 30 years ago, at someone else’s, was so much better than what you just made. In a very matter of fact way! And if you want him to taste your handmade chocolate pastry, you’ve got to give it an Indian name, say ‘barfi’ and he might taste it. Else, no chance. Very “vocal for local”.
My dad’s generation and the next has continued in a similar vein.
We have a white board at home, where we write our menu for the week - breakfast, lunch & dinner. Our discussions mirror an Arnab debate where no one wants to give in. There’s a lot of shouting, and there’s even sulking. Ultimately, we (re)bond over food.
If food is ever served anything less than piping hot, it’s total blasphemy. We’ve fought with so many restaurants in the city over this, their managers literally catch a fever when they see my dad walking in. Other patrons start feeling neglected with all the waiters trying to serve us first, straight out of the oven. My brother has even thought of fixing individual induction plates for our parents on the dining table at home.
Dry fruits.
I’m guessing most gujjus love their dry fruits. More than anything, their size, and the price matters. The more expensive they are, the more nutritious and rich they become. My mother, despite being a jeweler, probably values her dry fruits more than gold.
Gujjus hate it when food becomes diet food. Just the word is enough to turn them off. Which leads to the creation of delicacies like “diet ghee khakhra”, “whole wheat cakes”, and a bunch of roasted but not fried snacks, that have enough sugar and salt to take your BP and sugar out of control, while supposedly having zero trans fats.
Our jain “pratikraman” happens once a year in a big hall where all gujju males gather together to perform our pooja, topless. My favourite activity during that is to try and count the number of flat bellies in the entire hall. And I’m always struggling. Right from young to old, signs of prosperity are visible everywhere. Parents are so happy when their children have a rounded tummy. Myself included. I like a slight belly on our kids too!
I’ll confess, good food habits is one area where I find it difficult to practice what I preach. I need my dose of junk everyday to keep me going!
“A life without satisfying your cravings is not worth living.”
Said,
Yours truly.
Take care! Eat well!
