What is the extent to which we love food

To feel the need to safeguard something we love is a human tendency. Now, I’m not sure how many of us keep our respective meals locked away in the refrigerator but that doesn’t mean they aren’t dear to us. In fact, for many, the happiness derived from eating is greater when food is shared. Favourites might be a touchy matter, though. A quarrel isn’t unlikely over a dinner table with one bowl of French fries for eight. Even if three bowls of potato salad accompany it. As humans, we also want just what we want sometimes.

It’s not that variety has ever been hard to come by within the Indian culinary scene, but lately, fusion food menus offer what might otherwise have been wild fantasies – flavours and textures unimaginable on one plate. I’m just as excited about bao stuffed with keema, hoisin duck kulcha, or a dash of Old Monk in a dessert as I am about chhole-bhature, sushi or a basic chocolate donut. But would a purist have a hard time digesting a chicken katsu burger? Especially since Japanese cuisine earned status as intangible cultural heritage on UNESCO’s exalted list last year? French and Mexican food made it to the same list in 2010 after a long period of contemplation over whether or not it would mean stifling innovation. Perhaps the body gained more faith in itself with the knowledge of protected geographical indications.

Take chimney cakes for instance. They’re made by wrapping a ribbon of dough around a wooden cylinder to resemble a stack of thick bangles, baked by manually turning the cylinder over an open coal fire (much like roasting kebabs on a skewer), and then glazed with caramelised sugar. Once cooked, the cake is finished off with a generous sprinkling of sugar, cinnamon, and chopped almonds.

I first had a chimney cake at a street food fair in Prague – mainly because it looked interesting – and later found out that it is a PGI in the Czech Republic and Sweden. What I also discovered later was a little café in London that sold savoury chimney cakes made with cheese, garlic and olives. It made me very curious about whether the Czech or the Swedish would accuse the café of bastardisation. My thoughts quickly shifted to how it wasa hot, cheesy snack that hit the spot on a rainy day, though.

Maybe these decisions made by UNESCO or the European Union aren’t meant as statements of finality, but are just protective measures. I wonder if India prizes its gastronomy as much. Goans consider their cuisine to be “in danger of extinction” – be it rechad masala preparations or the bolo sans rival (a traditional cashew nut cake). Could Goan food be up next to be officially recognised as heritage? And if yes, then will fusion restaurants have to write it off of their recipe explorations?

Some Indian chefs are synonymous with innovation, while others openly claim to be purists. Correct me if I’m wrong in thinking that as of now, the nation shares an equal fondness for both.