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I will be the first to admit that I didn’t
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fully appreciate my mom’s cooking when I was growing up.
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I was one of a few Indian kids in my grade at school,
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and all I wanted was to fit in with everyone else.
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While I was busy being an angsty teen
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my mom was performing culinary wizardry
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in our kitchen every night.
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And there was one trick she taught me
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that makes pretty much any food taste better.
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When I was growing up in Dallas, Texas,
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I’d sit in the kitchen as my mother put lentils,
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along with a spoonful of sunflower yellow tumeric,
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and a handful of salt in the pressure cooker to make dal.
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Then came the secret ingredient.
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She’d take out her butter warmer to make chhonk,
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a common Indian technique that’s a mixture of ingredients,
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usually spices cooked in fat
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to release their essential flavors.
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She’d plop in some ghee and let it melt.
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Then she’d thrown in a spoonful of cumin seeds
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and wait for them to sizzle,
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filling the kitchen with a woody aroma.
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She’d toss in a pinch of asafetida,
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a common spice in Indian cooking.
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A pinch of red chile powder.
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And two long dried red chiles,
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which immediately grew crisp and glistening.
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Those 60 seconds that it took to make chhonk were dazzling.
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The cumin seeds browned and fluttered around
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The chili powder stained the ghee the color of a sunset.
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The asafetida disappeared into the mixture
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leaving behind a perfume of garlic and onion.
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Then she’d dump the mixture into the dal.
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Vivifying this otherwise humble staple
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with a rich complex flavor.
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[speaking Hindi], she’d say in Hindi.
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I’ve added the chhonk.
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And I’d know it was time for me to set the table.
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A lot of people say their mom is the best.
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But my mom is actually the best.
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My mom grew up in India at a time
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when women weren’t expected to pursue a career
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other than being a mother.
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Instead, she moved to America, married my dad,
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put herself through college by folding clothes at Sears,
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and became a software programmer
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and eventually the manager for an airline software company.
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So when she immigrated to the United States
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she watched tons of PBS cooking shows
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and melded those techniques with her memories
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of her grandmother’s food,
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the best dishes she’d eaten while traveling,
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and of course the requests of her two needy daughters.
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Who were very much products of American culture
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and demanded spaghetti and pizza every night.
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[chill electronic music]
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[grinding and buzzing]
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Making chhonk, which goes by many names across India,
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including tadka in Punjab, and vagar in Gujarat,
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is simple, but it does require vigilance.
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If the pan stays on the heat
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even a few seconds too long the spices will burn.
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Unlike other condiments, which can be cooked
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in large batches and stored,
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chhonk should be prepared a la minute
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to best bring out the texture and pungency of the spices.
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In writing Indian-ish, which is about
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the Indian American food I grew up eating,
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I found the chhonk was used
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in a surprising number of my mother’s recipes.
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In her saag paneer, which features feta
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instead of paneer, the hard white Indian cheese.
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The spinach gravy is infused with cumin and coriander.
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And then a chhonk of asafetida, cumin,
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and red chili powder is swirled over the top,
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providing nuttiness and heat.
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I wasn’t necessarily proud of my culture growing up.
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After an incident in which I was told
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that my lunch box smelled like rotten curry
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I made my mom pack me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
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from elementary school all the way up until senior year.
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I was mortified when she dressed me in a salwar kameez
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for school on Diwali.
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It honestly wasn’t until I became a food writer
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that this shame started to melt away.
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I saw the lack of representation of Indian food
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but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to say anything.
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That food shame from my childhood kept creeping in.
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Maybe the food of my heritage wasn’t interesting
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or cool enough to be included
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in the pages of this splashy food mag.
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That’s when I remembered that I’d been immersed
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in Indian food literally my entire life.
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We spoke Hindi at home.
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And ate dal for dinner.
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And religiously went out to watch Bollywood movies.
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At that time there weren’t a ton of voices like mine
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being represented in food magazines.
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Why not be the perspective I wanted so badly to read.
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I know I’m not the first or last food writer
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to talk about chhonk, but I’ve realized that
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the more it is mentioned, deployed in recipes,
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showcased on social media by all kinds of people,
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the more integrated Indian flavors
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and techniques will become in America.
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So here’s to being the awkward Indian kid
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with over-plucked eyebrows and crippling insecurities.
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I’ll take comfort in the fact that being
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told my lunchbox smelled like rotten curry
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served the larger purpose of getting me a book deal.
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All those things I used to be ashamed of
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I’m making a living off of them now.
