Why would anyone throw perfectly good sponge cake out of a car window?
For the patient, curious, and intrepid traveller, there is almost no better place for a food adventure.
For an Indian living in the U.K., an angry yellow curry is better than no curry.
Do we love the idea of cooking more than the act of cooking itself?
Can love taste like a red velvet cupcake? Can pride taste like freshly baked bread at four in the morning?
People who swear by fancy-sounding diets would do better to promote the love of good food than make debatable claims.
Just like an alcoholic’s tragic relationship with his seedy madhushala, my lonely nights had come to be punctuated by sub-standard meals at Kolkata U.P. Chats and Paratha Center.
This decade has rendered us incapable of facing a gathering on a Sunday without a cocktail or three.
It was no surprise, then, that I, like the rest of my generation, embraced the coffee culture with a vengeance. It was my way of telling tea to go to hell.
The kitchen is a wonderful, impenetrable place for many of us, a place where breakfast, lunch, dinner, and other good things are made.
There’s no space on screen for even an extra inch of flesh. Or, for that matter, in T.V. shows, advertisements, billboards, music videos, or even in our own heads.