Pakoras on a cloudy day

Why do we eat what we eat when grey clouds appear on the horizon and that first rain drop hits the ground? SHONALI MUTHALALY has some answers. And hashtags.

November 03, 2016 06:08 pm | Updated December 02, 2016 01:13 pm IST

   palak pakora

palak pakora

We look at each other blankly. “The city’s best samosas?” ventures one colleague. No. “Ooooh. How about chai? We’ll do a fun chai trail.” No. Pakoras? Bhajjis? Aloo parathas? No. There’s an excited high-pitched squeal from the writer seated beside me. “I got it. Picture this: A soup trail.” No chance. “How about we make it a trendy soup trail – the cover picture can be a chic model in plum red boots holding a graphic print umbrella in one hand. And a bowl of soup in the other.” We groan in unison.

I blame the rain.

It’s pouring steadily outside. Not the comforting rhythmic pitter patter that tempts you to throw open a window and take deep breaths of that first-day-of-the-monsoon scent: a cocktail of scorched soil, dry leaves and tepid rain. If I could bottle it, it would be my second choice for a signature perfume. (My first is still the scent of a just-baked cake. I’m convinced I would be irresistible wearing that. *Insert dreamy pause so we can all think about a crystal bottle filled with buttery, sugary vanilla magic.*)

This is the kind of rain that makes you want to call an Uber, head straight home and dive under the blankets. Or maybe it’s just me. Ever since last year’s rains in Chennai, which involved an unnerving amount of driving through violently flooded roads, that’s been my first response to a storm. A few days ago, someone knocked over a table on the floor above my office, and, convinced it was thunder, I simultaneously pulled on rain boots, grabbed an umbrella and dialled a friend to ask him if he could loan us his emergency boat to get home. Yes. There are people with emergency boats stashed in their garages in Chennai.

Right now, however, our problem is coming up with a non-food-related lead. Rain in India is always associated with food. And romance. Fortunately, there’s isn’t too much coy running around computer monitors at the MetroPlus office. There is, however, a marked preoccupation with food. Especially today. We’ve got pakoras, bhajjis and chai on our minds.

Curious about the psychology behind this, I ask around, trying to find out why we crave certain types of food when the sky turns grey.

Cornell University’s ‘Food and Brand Lab’ polled 1,004 Americans to find out what their comfort foods were, and discovered that potato chips topped the list, followed by steak, pasta, salad and soup. So what about the Bridget Jones eating-cake-in-bed stereotype? They found that women chose ice cream, chocolate, and cookies, while men picked ice cream, soup and pizza/pasta. The study concluded that men “prefer the more ‘meal-type’ items because this gave them a feeling of being ‘spoiled’, whereas those same foods reminded women of all the work that went into preparing the meal.” Not very helpful for the monsoons – considering a plate of crunchy onion pakoras takes quite a bit of work. Unless you can snag it on Swiggy.

The same study claims we eat comfort foods as a reward, and not when we are depressed: About 86 per cent of the people surveyed said they eat comfort foods while happy, as opposed to the rest who said they eat their way through sadness. Last year, I would have told you rain makes me happy, before ordering myself a steaming ginger chai and bag of samosas. This year, it makes me nervous. But I’m still going to get myself chai. And that bag of samosas. The only difference is I intend to eat them under my blanket fort.

If you ask the holistic health brigade, they’ll insist your body craves foods it needs. I skim through a pile of Ayurvedic monsoon eating plans – apparently, the rains are a great time to detox, with kichadi and tea. They also recommend more sour, salty and oily food, as well as an extra dose of ginger. Intriguingly, these guidelines do align almost perfectly with traditional desi rain food.

Finally, the strongest influence of all: food memories. Comfort food reminds us of family. This is why we turn to it when we feel lonely, as well as when we want to celebrate. It’s food that has meaning, and it’s food with strong regional ties.

I look through various social media accounts on Instagram, Facebook and Flickr to see what food Indians turn to on rainy days. Unsurprisingly, it’s fairly region-specific. In the South, it’s sambar rice, vadais and filter coffee. In Delhi, an Instagrammer writes “Chole bhatura and lassi are used as anaesthesia in North India.” From Pune, there’s a picture of a classic Parsi breakfast, complete with creamy akuri, fluffy brun maska and chai in a glass: “The place becomes extra awesome in monsoons.” And a social media enthusiast trips over hashtags in a post featuring samosas and bhajis: “#Foodieforlife #Foodgasm #Foodislove#Foodobsessed#Yummyinmytummy #Lovefood #Ilovetoeat#Instayummy.” Phew. (Full disclosure – I deleted about a dozen to shorten the word count.) When it comes to #MonsoonFood on social media, all you need is love. Okay, likes.

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