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Not My Idli

Nice illustrative example of cultural appropriation by way of the humble idli. Being Bengali and thinking of idli as my favorite comfort food is perhaps an act of cultural appropriation too. I have learned to make them through trial and error over the years but have yet to achieve the sublime perfection that was served by Mrs S, my childhood bestie's mother. That is the gold standard of idli to me. My gravitation towards food quite a bit distant from my cultural roots was likely the first of many steps in growing apart from them; until coming to the point of feeling unmoored and lost. 

My efforts to regain connection has led through hilsa cooked in fiery mustard paste or mishti doi. But it feels like infatuation not love. At the height of allergy season, when I am sneezing fifty times a day and curled up in a ball on my couch, nothing will pick me up like a steaming bowl of rasam. If I was lucky enough to come by some idli and chutney a la Mrs. S,  I might make a full recovery on the spot. Yet it is not my idli to love as I do.
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