I keep watching these foods shows about the Mediterranean way of eating and always have borderline dreams that touch upon the idea of at least tasting all these delicacies at least once during one of my dreamy vacations. But the reality? I am a true Punjabi in most ways and the chances of actually biting into stuff that looks half-dead or still has a layer of its actual, wilderness or ocean life are very, very remote. This comes with being a Delhi-bred Punjabi. Our logic with food is rather simple. If you have killed it, roast it to the extent that it loses its identity. I mean the French preparation of marine being is such that sometimes you must get fish that stares right back at you. The other end of the story – if you have pulled it from the ground or plucked it from a tree then undress, cut, slice, dice, fry, simmer, re-fry, and re-heat it until what was once from the plant kingdom now seems like a serving of something mixed in a highly enthusiastic mix of onions and tomatoes. Not doing this every day of your life, not staying true to this way of interpreting food, and not passing judgement on food that hasn’t been prepared in this way is unbecoming of a Delhi-ka-Punjabi.
