My cooking has always been very hyphenated. Introducing flavors of the places I have lived in India to traditional Bengali fare was my way of preserving the connection I felt to those regional palates.
After coming to America, the pan-Indian is now hyphenated with Chinese, Arabic, Greek, Jamaican and Italian among many others. I have over the years acquired a sense for which flavors and spices will work in harmony and yet delicately surprise the taste buds.
While the base note still remains steadfastly Indian, the upper notes could be from anywhere in the world. The only time I end up cooking authentic Bengali food is when J misses her grand-parents or I miss home. The "real" thing seems to comfort both of us in equal measure.
An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t
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