Desi Delicacies edited by Claire Chambers - Review

Desi Delicacies / Edited by Claire Chambers (Picador India, 2021)

Desi Delicacies is a delectable anthology of food writing from writers of Muslim South Asia and its associated diaspora, edited by Professor of Global Literature at the University of York, Claire Chambers. This publication is part of a wider project named Forgotten Food: Culinary Memory, Local Heritage and Lost Agricultural Varieties in India – a multi-pronged project headed by Siobhan Lambert-Hurley; a Professor of History at the University of Sheffield. I enjoyed the novel’s dynamic structure of two parts: the first, a collection of essays, the second, works of fiction – each segment punctuated by a recipe. Towards the middle of the book, I realized I could anticipate which recipe would be shared with the reader by the poignant way in which a certain dish was brought to the fore in each piece, making my mouth salivate at the thought of tasting it. Then, we are rewarded with the recipe at the end of the piece – a clever literary device to entice a foodie audience to keep reading. 

When trying to explain the accuracy with which Chambers and Lambert-Hurley navigate the ins and outs of Muslim South Asia in this project, I am reminded (in contrast) of a recent COVID-19 press conference by the current British Prime Minister, Boris Johnson. Presumably written in by his speech writer to sell Johnson as someone who relates to the British Hindu community, the PM cheerfully stumbled over the words ‘gulab jamun’ (a South Asian sweet) and ‘samosa’(a pyramid-shaped, savoury fried snack) when describing the Desi delicacies that had to be shared alone this year. This struck me as an affirmation of cultural disconnect and staunch Britishness of our PM, supposedly of the people. I write that preamble to illustrate how impressed I am with Chambers in collating authentic, relatable Desi voices to convey a genuine story. How wonderful that an academic project could yield such languid, visceral poetry – a publication removed from the rigid, scholarly tone of a research paper. The essays and stories in this short novel instead speak volumes of love in tongues – quite literally – as we navigate cuisines of India, Bangladesh, Pakistan and their role in families and communities across generations. 

Of course, this novel would be nothing without the contributing writers - it is sensational, the way in which this talented cohort recount their experiences and craft words of fiction, and it was both reaffirming and comforting to read shared experiences across the Desi world. The essays were educational as well as warm – covering topics of love, class, caste, kinship, faith, and family matriarchs – who often ignited the love of food within the writers with their cooking. Upon reading Nadeem Aslam’s opening piece on the subject of being randomly reunited with a cousin from the homeland, whilst in the diasporic land, I was initially confused. I thought the fiction section was Part II, and his experience read like a short story about serendipity. Then I remembered the tight-knit diaspora communities in South Asian hotspots are partly characterized by serendipitous encounters with long lost extended family, so I realized this tale was rooted very much in reality. I was educated by Sanam Maher’s piece about Pakistan’s ‘Burger’ culture and how it evolved as a reaction to the ubiquitous corporation of McDonalds. I was impressed by the resourcefulness of Pakistani businessmen in infiltrating the chain and collecting their secrets, appreciating how this historical and sociological account helped to contextualise my narrower, more scientific understanding of the global nutrition transition. 

Authenticity is also a topic that is discussed in abundance across the essays – allowing the reader to ruminate upon the subjectivity of the notion of authenticity in dishes. As the writers point out – when chilies and potatoes are but exports into Desi geography, who are we to argue what is authentically Desi or not? Like language, food evolves undeterred in response to the culinary climate at the time – whether that is a malaise towards carbs or an efficiency of potato crops. One of my favourite essays was by Sauleha Kamal, which dealt with her difficulty in reconciling her identity as a feminist (in a culture where women’s roles remain somewhat rooted in the kitchen) with being a woman who simply enjoys cooking, and revels in exercising her choice to do so. As an unmarried South Asian feminist myself who also enjoys cooking for the joy of it, but feels very strongly about this not being associated with any desire for domesticity, I felt her dilemma viscerally. 

“Perhaps I should have eschewed cooking. Perhaps that would have been the more obviously feminist thing to do, I think sometimes, but then I remember that feminism is about choice and it is my right to make this one.” (Kamal, page 28)

Part II, Stories, is a collection of beautifully woven stories dealing with myriad themes and different geographies. One issue I took with this section however lies in the somber tone of most of the stories – tinged with narratives of sacrifice, sadness, death and archaic family dynamic stereotypes. I found this strange – as so many of the essays in Part I talked about the joy of food and culture and how this is passed on to generations old and new – the fiction frequently told an alternative reality. Recognising that a theme of the wider Forgotten Food project is of struggle – of course I expected some of the stories to convey this, but perhaps not to this degree. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the ludicrousness of Aamer Hussain’s What’s Cooking? and the prevailing, unlikely love story of Rosie Dastgir’s A Brief History of The Carrot. I found Uzma Aslam Khan’s The Origin of Sweetness to be beautifully written, though morose, and Sophia Khan’s Hungry Eyes was a harrowing, sobering conclusion to the novel, dealing with disgust, savourism, voyeurism, poverty porn and the lack of food and love, rather than their abundance – leaving me in a very different place to where I was at the beginning. 

Overall, Desi Delicacies is an artfully penned ode to Desi food and its intricacies. It effortlessly deals with a plethora of intersecting themes – perfectly depicting why food is not merely fuel. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to source out of season ilish maach for my ilish fish pulao. 

5/5

The royalties from this book go towards charities working to provide food for people in need in South Asia, so do go out and buy a copy if you can!