The untold story of the tea tribes of Assam, who nurture and bring tea to the world, while struggling to make ends meet

Words by Aritra Chakraborthy; Art by Jemma Jose

Making tea, I’ve been told, is both an art and a science. It involves an accurate sense of measurement and timing to derive the required aroma, colour and flavour. It is a ritual — one that takes years of practice and perseverance. At my home, this delicate, but important, task is, thus, left to the deft hands of my mother.

Every morning, she waltzes into the kitchen, in a…


A Syrian Christian bemoans the gradual extinction of certain culinary traditions of her community

Words by Anjuly Mathai; Art by Sruti Menon

My parents are out attending a function and my grandmother and I are having dinner at our home. I watch her hand shake as she stirs a bowl of oats, the lattice of veins on it standing out, bearing witness to the 91 years of her life. Then, the plates are cleared and the tube light is switched off. …


How a young Jewish woman found her faith, not in the holy book or at the synagogue, but in the kitchen while cooking a Rosh Hashanah meal miles away from home

Words by Sheri Lindner; Art by Sruti Menon

L’dor v’dor (From generation to generation)…

… they shall go forth from their native land, from the house of their father and mother, and go to a land that they will show us, and if they take with them the courage of their fathers and the wisdom of their mothers, we need not fear.

Twenty years ago, my daughter was initiated…


What it means to have the food we grew up eating and loved be wiped out of our culture only to be replaced by newer, hipper flavours

Words by Bill Cushing; Art by Jemma Jose

As Autumn is the season signifying old age, it only made sense that it was in September that I read of the impending demise of an old and much-loved friend: the Carnegie Deli. Even if you don’t know the Carnegie, you should hope that someone will step in to save the Manhattan gastronomical landmark. …


Reminiscences of a serial forager or why you need to stop to look at the world around your feet

Words by Brianna Minks; Art by Jemma Jose


It took a village to make those homemade treats my grandmother made for us daily. My journey to discover this, through her own words, and why I will never be able to recreate it the exact same way

Words by Monisha Cardoso; Art by Shweta Lia Matthew

My grand-aunt Emilia was a wonderful cook. Like all true cooks, she was enthusiastic not just about the process of cooking, but about feeding people, and, then, having fed them, about narrating her recipes to them, in rigorous detail, so they could go forth and reproduce it in their own kitchens if they…


It’s better to leave the classics alone. Or not. A chance invention that turned a traditional dish on its head, became a family favourite and added fuel to an already raging fire of in-law tensions

Words by Terri Gilson; Art by Maya Pillai

In an attempt to disguise the taste of the liver, Mom would create bizarre concoctions of apples, onions, gravies and the like. But it was hopeless; there was nothing that could be done to transform that wretched bovine organ into something the least bit palatable. …


A die-hard foodie explains why she would rather splurge on adventurous culinary experiments than on other pricey pursuits

Words by Mam Sutheera; Art by Sruti Menon

“Hmmm…”

The sound involuntarily escaped from my throat as I closed my eyes and savoured one of the best dishes I had ever had.

The velvety foie gras, perfectly seared and seasoned, was the first to make a grand entrance. Then, the sweetness of the rhubarb jam stole the spotlight before the tanginess from the unexpected cornichons sneaked in. At that moment, my world turned all sorts of different colours in my mind’s eye.


No two people make the same kind of bread as each loaf has a unique personality that it takes on from its creator. Memories of a taste then remain mere touchstones that we aspire to recreate

Words by Flora Refosco; Art by Maya Pillai

There is a kind of happiness I feel sometimes. I know the precise sensation of it, but I don’t think I can describe it right.

I name it “feeling bodily happy” because it is not a satisfaction that lives in the dimension of ideas. It makes my muscles feel comfortable, my lungs breath fully, my face…

Clay Pot

Clay Pot is an independent journal on food and culture from around the world. www.inaclaypot.com

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