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In a small kitchen in Mysuru, an aunt of mine keeps a brass tin of triphala powder on the shelf above the stove. Every…
In the kitchen of a small flat in Pune, an aunt used to lay her palm flat against her stomach after lunch and say,…
The lamps in my grandmother's house in Vellore used to come on around six, even when the sun was still out. She did not…
Years ago, in a small writing residency on the Moroccan coast, I shared a kitchen with an older woman from Bangalore who had a…
In the old tea-room culture of Kyoto, water is treated almost as carefully as tea. A kettle is kept warm in the corner. Small…
The first time someone explained the six tastes to me, I was eleven years old and helping my grandmother put together a Sunday meal…
There is a small steel plate in my parents' kitchen, slightly dented at the rim, that has eaten more meals with me than any…
In a small village outside Madurai, I once spent a summer week in a friend's family home where the afternoon, between roughly one and…
There is a small lunch room in Kyoto where I used to eat almost every weekday for a year. The owner, a quiet woman…
The spice shelf in my mother's kitchen in Bangalore is not the romantic kind. There are no hand-labelled glass jars or chalkboard signs. It…
The smell of ghee being made is unmistakable. Slightly nutty, faintly toasted, with a kind of patience that no other cooking smell quite matches.…
The first object I remember picking up in my grandfather's bathroom in Hyderabad, around the age of five, was a small, U-shaped piece of…
