Culturally Appropriating Food: An Indian Female’s Perspective
The first time I cooked lunch during my exchange semester in Vienna was special for several reasons. It was my first time cooking a meal from scratch, and I had shopped for the groceries on my own as well. It was my first time using a kitchen shared by three other girls of different nationalities, and the first time I had succeeded in turning on the stove without running the risk of burning myself (the secret — it was an electric stove). And as I happily sauteed my chicken and mushrooms in olive oil and sprinkled in generous amounts of pepper and paprika, my French flatmate walked past, paused and came forward for a closer look.
A shocked expression spread across her face. “You use paprika???” she asked. With a smile, I nodded.
Her expression intensified. “You will die!” she declared.
Amused by her reaction, I lightly told her that most Indian dishes were as spicy as this, if not spicier. Still wearing that look of incredulity, she retreated into her room after one last half-fearful glance at my frying pan. As I dished up my meal on a plate and downed it after a liberal scattering of pepper, I thought about her reaction to my food and the way I responded, and wondered whether or not I had just been a victim of cultural appropriation.
The Oxford Dictionary defines cultural appropriation as “the unacknowledged or inappropriate adoption of the customs, practices, ideas, etc. of one people or society by members of another and typically more dominant people or society”. That definition has been stretched to cover pretty much anything derogatory said or done about cultures different from that of the sayer or doer. Perhaps naturally, the term is most used in the case of a white person/group/country being derogatory towards a non-white culture. Many white people laugh at or insult traditional food names/outfits/customs, or simply adopt those foods, outfits and customs as they please and without trying to pay due respect to the cultures where they came from. As a response to this, there’s a wave of backlash from non-white communities, criticising white people who comment offensively on their culture, wear their traditional clothes or hairstyles, prepare their traditional foods and celebrate their festivals without understanding or respecting the cultural context. And I largely agree with the backlash — while I’m not personally very ‘traditional’ in my tastes, I believe that all cultures should be respected, and offensive attitudes irk me as much as they would anyone.
We Indians, in particular, are fiercely protective of our food, and tend to jump at the throats of anyone who isn’t cooking it properly. Our spice tolerance levels are off the charts, and the versions of our favourite dishes in restaurants abroad often don’t make the cut. The result? Dozens of articles and social media posts decrying Europeans and Americans for not serving ‘authentic’ biryani (or tandoori chicken, or dosa, or khichdi, or rajma-chawal) — some humorous, some downright angry. The writers of the latter kind talk vociferously about cultural appropriation, and quite often they throw in the colonialism card as well (comments along the lines of ‘these folks oppressed us for two hundred years and they still can’t bother to make a decent biryani’).
Now I’m a spice lover to the core. And when it comes to Indian cooking? Go big or go home.
But this anger against white people for cooking inauthentic dishes?
Honestly, I don’t get it.
Let’s talk biryani first — that fragrant, mouthwatering delicacy of slow-cooked meat and rice that was invented in the kitchens of royalty and is one of the most popular Indian dishes. Ask people from Lucknow and Hyderabad what authentic biryani is, and you’ll get two entirely different answers. Kolkata is scorned for putting potatoes into biryani, while Kolkata scoffs at Andhra for putting gunpowder into it. Restaurants in India provide their own ‘gourmet’ twist on biryani that authenticity warriors will cry at. Are we all wrong? Or does anyone really know what constitutes ‘authentic biryani’? Or whether there even exists such a thing as one authentic biryani, superior to all the rest? And when we Indians can’t come to a consensus on this ourselves, how on earth do we expect outsiders to do it for us? The same holds true for recipes in ‘white’ countries. Pasta carbonara, one of the most popular pasta dishes worldwide, is also one of the most debated. Cream or no cream? Pancetta or guanciale? Romans are fiercely proud of their version of carbonara, but so are the Neapolitans.
So who’s culturally appropriating whom?
Or are they all authentic versions in their own way, indigenous to the regions that created them and thus all worthy of respect?
I know, I know. There may be grey areas when it comes to authenticity, but there are still certain generally accepted standards for preparing any given recipe. But even so, I don’t think there’s anything disrespectful about preparing a dish to suit the taste of the consumer. Different countries have different tastes, and unless you’re preparing food at a standardised kitchen like McDonald’s (and even those have regional variations, you won’t find the McAloo Tikki anywhere outside India), any sensible restaurant owner will prepare the dish according to what his or her customers like. Try telling a bunch of choking English that you’ve made biryani the authentic way with tons of spices and they should just respect Indian culture and eat it up. You may have stood up for your beliefs, but you’ve just lost yourself a whole bunch of customers. So unless you’re only interested in authenticity and don’t care about sharing your culture with others, you might want to consider modifying the recipe — strategically — so that it can give the consumers a good idea of what the original is like even if it isn’t purely authentic.
And for those labelling cultural appropriation as a ‘white’ thing, try feeding an Italian the street-side version of pasta in India. If they don’t wince as though you’ve put thumbscrews on them, you can change my name. And yet hundreds of Indians scarf it down with pleasure every day, and would laugh if someone tried to school them about it not being ‘authentic’ pasta. Because to them, it just tastes damn good, authentic or not. I regularly slurp up pasta at Indian cafes, and I’d be miserable if someone came and shut those cafes down for being guilty of cultural appropriation. And what about Chinese food, and India’s deliciously crispy and spicy version of it? What about shawarma, that hummus-smothered Lebanese delight? Any Italian, Chinese or Lebanese might well call me out for cultural appropriation when they see me eating India’s version of their food. And it would be the same as if I called them out for their versions of biryani or paneer makhani. So while I wouldn’t touch the under-spiced version of biryani with a bargepole, I presume it tastes good to the Europeans/Americans with less pungent tastes — to which I say, enjoy! Your food preferences, your choice.
And much as we like maligning white chefs who cook Indian food, there are several chefs who cook ethnic food with respect and often in accompaniment with Indian chefs, like Jamie Oliver on his YouTube channel, and I support and respect his endeavour. Even Gordon Ramsay, who gets a lot of justified flak about his temper, foul mouth and racially insensitive comments, did a decent job with his Gordon’s Great Escape show. I watched his episodes on India, and he did a pretty good job of showing humility, curiosity and appreciation of the techniques Indian cooks were sharing with him. Obviously, there were plenty of detractors who called the show out for invading the food cultures of Eastern countries, but I didn’t see anything particularly invasive about any of the episodes — on the contrary, I saw some very pleased Bastar locals grinning as Gordon struggled to climb a tree and collect the ants that are the special ingredient in a unique chutney. All the hosts seemed glad enough to share their culinary traditions with Gordon, who in turn appeared genuinely keen to learn. There was no swearing at the others (though plenty to himself) no insulting, no racially offensive dialogue — so unless all the participants had off-camera guns pointed at them, I’d say this was a consensual affair and an interesting one about that.
As for questions on why certain foods are prepared or eaten a certain way — I like to think that much of it comes out of a genuine curiosity to know more about something unfamiliar. When my French flatmate was surprised about my liberal use of paprika, it’s because she probably hadn’t encountered such cooking on her own — not because she was being racist. I think a lot of us tend to be overly sensitive about what white people are saying about our cultures, and it’s understandable given that racism and cultural insensitivity do exist. But it’s important to remember that curiosity is not an exclusively ‘white’ thing — we are all curious about things we aren’t used to, and it can sometimes extend to shock or even disgust when we encounter food habits that are unusual for the cultures we come from. It probably wouldn’t have gone down well with my flatmate had I told her that I find the idea of escargots yucky (I honestly can’t imagine anyone eating snails) — it would have been a rude remark, regardless of my skin colour.
Now there are obviously many things that are unambiguously offensive and that I am not okay with. White chefs trying to teach Indians how to make curry is not okay (and lumping all Indian dishes under the heading of curry isn’t okay either). People openly laughing at food names in other languages is not okay. People openly telling someone that their cultural food looks/sounds/smells/tastes ‘weird’ or ‘awful’ or ‘funny’ is not okay. People scoffing at someone choosing to eat with their fingers is not okay (you try eating roti with a fork and knife). Any kind of commentary or action with the intention to malign/patronise/slur/mock is not okay, no matter who’s making it. We will always encounter things that we may not associate with or even like, but to be polite about it is basic manners. At the same time, while many of us may feel upset about someone preparing or consuming that food in a manner that doesn’t strictly adhere to the traditional way, it’s important to remember that food is a way of connecting people and increasing awareness and respect, and the best way to do so is often to modify it so as to reach out to more people. It may not be authentic, but it will still be a representation of your culture and a way for others to connect to you more. And that, all said and done, is a pretty good thing.
At the end of this rant, I remind myself of how often I do not practise what I preach — watching white people on TV eat inauthentic Indian takeout frustrates me, and their often-horrified reactions to spicy food make me itch to talk about narrow-mindedness. But then I think of the time I nearly retched in public when I saw someone crunch on deep-fried insects in a South-East Asian country, and say nothing.
