From Hippie Tofu to Colonial Tea: The Myths of 'Foreign' Food
The Whisky in Ameerpet and the Miso in Allahabad: Rediscovering What India Can Make
By Shashi Bellamkonda |
Yesterday, I found myself standing in a liquor shop in Ameerpet, staring at a bottle of Rampur Whisky. It was a strange moment of cognitive dissonance. I know this bottle. I know it wins awards globally. I know connoisseurs in the US who hunt for it. And yet, here it was, sitting quietly on a shelf in Hyderabad, amidst the chaos of traffic and daily life. It felt like bumping into a Hollywood celebrity at a local kirana store.
It made me pause. If we can produce world-class single malts that rival Scotland, what else are we capable of that we simply aren't seeing?
The Myth of the Imported Plate
I was reading Vikram Doctor’s recent column, "Eat, Drink & Discover India," and it struck a chord that has been humming in the background of my culinary wanderings for years. His premise is sharp and necessary: With the rupee fluctuating and food adventurism at an all-time high, why are we obsessed with importing flavors we can—and often do—produce right here?
Vikram points out a few historical nuggets that stopped me in my tracks. As someone who lived in Goa in the 1970s, I remember the vibe, the music, and the freedom. But I was genuinely surprised to read that the "hippie era" wasn't just about culture; it was a seedbed for tofu and tempeh production. We think of these as modern vegan trends imported from East Asia or California, but they were being fermented in Goa half a century ago.
Even more startling was the revelation about miso paste in Allahabad. Apparently, in the 1960s, a Japanese professor at the Sam Higginbottom University of Agriculture, Technology and Sciences (SHUATS) introduced miso making to the region. To think that while the rest of India was grappling with food security, there was a quiet corner of Uttar Pradesh fermenting soybeans is mind-boggling.
"We often look across the ocean for 'gourmet' ingredients, blind to the fact that our own soil has been yielding them for decades. It is not a lack of capability; it is a lack of narrative."
When History Rewrites Your Lunch
We tell ourselves stories about our food to make it feel eternal. But history often contradicts our nostalgia. Vikram notes that tea was not a mass-market staple in India until the 1920s. It took an aggressive marketing campaign by the Tea Board to turn a colonial export crop into the 'chai' that now fuels the nation. Similarly, our daily bread—the white sandwich loaf—is largely a legacy of the 1960s American wheat aid (PL-480) that reshaped our carbohydrate intake.
This brings me to the modern disconnect. Vikram asks a poignant question: Why import Matcha?
I admit, I don't fully understand the matcha craze gripping the younger generation. It is vibrant, yes, and grassy, but is it superior to the phalap (smoked tea) made by the Singpho and Tangsa communities in Arunachal Pradesh? We are importing a Japanese ceremony while ignoring our own indigenous tea traditions that are just as complex and arguably more soulful.
The Millet Disconnect
The column also touches on a painful truth: the promotion of millets has largely been a failure. I wish I could disagree. Despite the government hype and the "Year of Millets," these grains haven't replaced wheat or rice on the average family table. Why? Because we focused on the idea of millets rather than the pleasure of them. You cannot guilt people into eating ragi; you have to seduce them with flavor.
According to the People's Linguistic Survey of India, we speak over 780 languages. If dialects change every 20 kilometers, our food changes every 10. The variety on this subcontinent is staggering—more than Europe combined. Yet, we struggle to market this internal diversity effectively. We are sitting on a goldmine of culinary intellectual property, from the fermented bamboo shoots of the Northeast to the sun-dried berries of Rajasthan, yet we look to supermarket shelves stocked with imported jars.
The Business of Taste
This isn't just romanticism; it's economics. Why import Japanese matcha when we can empower Assam's small growers? Why buy Andean quinoa when Himalayan amaranth exists? It is time to stop viewing "Made in India" as a compromise and start viewing it as the premium tier it deserves to be.
The Rampur Whisky in Ameerpet is proof that we can do it. We just need to believe the story.
Sources:
1. Doctor, Vikram. "Eat, Drink & Discover India." Times of India, 30 Dec. 2025.
2. People's Linguistic Survey of India (PLSI), regarding linguistic diversity.
3. Historical data on PL-480 wheat aid and Tea Board marketing campaigns (1920s).
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