Fish fry at my mother’s house every Sunday is legendary. My mother, arguably the best Kerala culinary artist I know, takes great pains to make the dish, and each time, the fried fish turns out different. Sometimes it is cooked just so, succulent within and soaked in spices. Often, it is curled crisp along the edges, done golden brown, and loaded with hot pepper. On other days, it is charred gently on a flame and melts in the mouth in a burst of flavour.
I often wonder if the fish fry that we enjoy every week reflects my mother’s thoughts as she works at the stove that day. Does the dish turn deeper gold when there is a surge of affection, a sudden warmth, a special memory?
I realised some years later, that I was not entirely wrong. There is something very intimate and special about food, and writers across the world have cashed into the trend. This kind of literature has a new brand name too…they are called literary cookbooks, foodie novels, and such.
For those of us who grew up on a diet of Enid Blyton, dreaming of buttery scones and devilled eggs, and Laura Ingalls Wilder, descriptions of food had to be a part of children’s literature. As we grew older, however, we read about foods that had a dash of romance, like a crystal bowl of crushed strawberries, and a platter of madelines.
Today, however, writers go one step further. You would find books full of food descriptions and recipes too. Just as you are enjoying the storyline, the text flows into a full fledged recipe, complete with specifications. For instance, in a book about a vast Italian family, you would suddenly find the recipe of Cousin Dee's peanut butter balls while in Laura Esquivels’ famous book, Like Water for Chocolate, there are recipes as varied as cream fritters and quail in Rose Petal Sauce.
Some authors are content to give you fleeting images of food, but even these are vastly evocative. A pared crust of bread, apple sauce, maple candy or even ginger beer can conjure all kinds of memories in the head. The food in many of these books takes your mind off the rest of the plot for a few moments, and it turns out to be an interlude that you find yourself enjoying.
I decide to ask my bookworm friend Laila about the trend, and we decide to try out a swanky tea bar, simply because it seemed far more literary.
“I hate elaborate descriptions of food in books,” she says surprisingly, as we wait for our orders. "Peach iced tea for me and some sweet Darjeeling brew for her."
“Too much of good food in a book is not a good idea,” she continues. “A certain author once said, ‘Food descriptions bring on a bad case of food envy, because the people in the book were having far better food than me’. I agree with him entirely. But a hint of food in a book…aah… that’s just perfect.”
“But don’t you enjoy the fact that you might get a free recipe along with a literary work?” I ask. She shrugs. “That would be a bonus I guess, like when I read Amulya Malladi’s Mango Season and learnt to make some delicious avvakai pickle one summer. In fact, books like Blessed Are The Cheesmakers or Eat Cake, which revolve around food, are also very enjoyable.”
As we pay for our tea and get set to leave, I wonder suddenly whether some foods might actually surpass all attempts at description.
My mother’s delicious fish fry, for instance, tossed by a loving hand and stirred by memories, can perhaps never be portrayed adequately enough!
Comments