atharva's internet place

Friends know me for having a broad and discerning palate. In recent years, I have realised that this quality of mine has been an endless stream of joy and that has enriched my day-to-day. I have also felt that many people don't draw from this stream enough.

Here's my attempt at making a case for why being a “gourmet” in India is an accessible way to make your life richer and happier.

Clearing the misconception: discerning palate = snobbery

A desire to refine your palate and understanding of taste has been associated with pretentious, stuck-up, upper-class elitists. Picture the pop-culture image that a gourmet conjures—a cynical man with a stiff upper lip, a carefully cultivated accent, a dull groan-upness and an aversion to the simple joys of life.

A gourmet, gastronome, connoisseur or epicurean aren't labels typically ascribed to the bourgeoisie. But I see a golden opportunity for the good and common folk in our country to reclaim these words. You and I can be all of those things while still being able to appreciate the humble darshinis and pani puri stalls next to our houses. Actually, it is necessary to be all of those things to truly appreciate the art and magic of the deft hands that produce fantastic food around you, one that draws from a rich blend of culture and history that has evolved over generations.

For the type of gourmet I speak of, every meal becomes a highlight of the day, a simple source of happiness and a meditative experience that grounds you to the present moment. And it's impossible to have a sense of well-being in the 21st century without being able to connect to the present.

Pushing stuff through pipes

It would help to get the essence of what I'm saying by describing what the other extreme of my philosophy looks like. Those afflicted with this modern disease display some distinct characteristics—they finish their meal within fifteen minutes, their mind is occupied with something other than what they are eating and their motions are mechanical; they have no clear boundary of when their meal started and when it ended. An invisible force could sprinkle more salt into their food or vacuum up the spices as they eat, and they would not notice it at all. It is only during a special meal or in a restaurant that they might get a vague indication of “I like” or “I don't like” as they are belting what's on their plate—and they won't be able to tell you why.

In such mealtime moments, the afflicted person is a mechanical wooden doll, munching some nondescript substance and pushing it down their pipes.

It's easy to flip this situation around to get to my approach to food.

An upma example

If I were served a plate of uppitu, I first observe what's on my plate. I try to notice the coarseness of the ground rava—is it large and separate or smoothly incorporated together? I look at what the cook has chosen to add to their Upma—are there onions, curry leaves, sprinkles of coriander, tomatoes, urad dal, chana dal, cashews and the little black pearls of tempered mustard seeds? Do you smell the nutty, roasted and mildly spiced aroma? Once I eat a spoonful, am I able to taste all these ingredients individually•? Do I notice the distinctly sharp character of the mustard seeds as I break them with my teeth? Do I notice the nuttiness of the urad dal jump out of the relatively neutral and silky mouthfeel of the soft rava? What does the interplay of these tastes and aromas feel like? What's the texture like?••

It's not important for me to have answers to all those questions. What's important is to use these prompts to experience the raw sensations that arise when I eat. It's to pull me away from my thoughts about my day and ground me into the only thing that's real—the here and now. A benefit of this way of eating is that even the simplest food becomes enjoyable. Even when I mess up my cooking, I am able to enjoy dissecting where the flaws are and what they feel like. The Indian tendency to pack a lot of flavours into our food really helps with this activity.

This practice of noticing has transformed my every meal. I am now able to notice things that I missed for years—be it the taste of roasted dough in chapatis, the glutinous texture of rice, the sour background canvas of tamarind in sambhar, the cool funk and smoothness of curd or even the subtle flavour differences in water from different sources.

I am by no means a master taster and I can't tell you what's the most delightful mineral water brand on the market. My only goal is to fully be present for all that I experience with food. And my life is richer for it. You can enrich your life too—your next meal awaits you.

Appendix: a tasting journey mood board

• Try to figure out what went into your food.
• Go to your kitchen and taste every ingredient (don't do this with meat or eggs, please).
• Smelling and looking at the food is important.
• Tastes: Sweet, Sour/acidic, bitter (there's good bitter and bad bitter), umami (think of the enveloping salty-ish feeling of garlic, onion, tomatoes and soy).
• Heat: Can be hot and global or sharply localised and stinging.
• Spices: Can be sweetish like cinnamon, sharp like mustard, minty and woody like cloves. There's a lot of complexity here that I cannot do justice with words.
• Sourness: can be citric like a lemon, or mild like curd/yoghurt.
• Bitter: earthy like coffee or burnt like charcoal.

Notes

• It helps to raid the kitchen and taste these things separately to be able to do this

•• The synesthesia scene from Ratatouille captures the spirit of what I'm trying to say quite nicely.