Photos by Vaishnavi.
HOST
WHERE WE MET
To those who came to yesterday’s meetup, thank you so much! I really enjoyed the food and the company.
Anjali
Dropping a note of gratitude to the founders of the Local Food Club. The intent, ethos, community guidelines, and effort are beautiful. Thank you for creating this space.
Sonica
An activity where members picked a chit listing three random fridge leftovers and had to reimagine them into a complete meal.
An attendee trying to create a recipe with three fridge leftovers. Equal parts chaos and creativity, it sparked big ideas from the most unlikely combinations.
Chole Papdi Chaat, where crisp papdi meets spiced chole, tangy chutneys, onion, tomato, and sev.
MEET YOUR HOST
What does local mean to you?
Food means people and the people make it local. It could be a carefully guarded recipe passed down generations or an impulse experiment with random ingredients. Cooking is an act of love, and when approached earnestly, incredible food can come from anywhere. I strongly believe that the pursuit of ‘authenticity’ is the death of good cuisine. Every recipe, even the more ah, ‘controversial’ ones (chocolate dosa or tandoori Afghani momos) comes from individuals with diverse life experiences. The legend of the galouti kebab being invented for Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula by his khansamas is a quintessential example of this belief. He loved kebabs so much he wanted to eat them even when he was old and toothless. Another instance is how the textile mill workers in Mumbai craved something filling at the end of a long day of hard work and meshed together leftover vegetables and ate it with bread resulting in our beloved Pav Bhaji.
One afternoon in Chennai in 2012, my family and I were jolted out of our afternoon naps by incredible tremors. An earthquake had occurred in Indonesia, with the aftershocks being felt in India. After the initial panic, we all evacuated the building. We stood in the parking lot and wondered what to do.
The sky was overcast, and tension was thick in the air, reminiscent of the time immediately before the tsunami of 2004. The tremors stopped as suddenly as they started. We gradually trickled back into our own homes.
The atmosphere at home was somber. We were all sitting solemnly at the dining table. Amidst this, my grandmother slowly ambled towards the balcony, looked up at the grey skies, and said, “Shall I fry up some bhajji?” Her sheer nonchalance cut through the tension leaving us dumbfounded before we all started laughing. The bhajjis were crispy and delicious.
Whether it is a fever or food poisoning, heartburn or heart break, my one constant go to is an extremely spicy cup of ginger masala chai.
Mangoes. They are versatile and thrive during summertime.
Moving beyond monthly potluck meetups to unconventional food walks where we collectively try new places and support local eateries.