Ever since I started cooking for myself, my taste for takeout has rapidly declined (pizza and sushi exempt). Take chinese takeout for example: when I was a kid, it was the ultimate treat. My Friday lunch if I used my allowance wisely. I’m not sure what you know about Bengali moms, but they are …
Begin rant: I’ve got social media fatigue. I even convinced myself at one point that it was a productive use of my time, because wasn’t I mainly reading news articles and stuff? Recently, that answer became a glaring NO. Buzzfeed compilations, vine videos, 20 ways to know you’re from this city or …
For Bengalis, rain does not mean good books, cozy blankets or hunter boots. Nor does snow signal hot chocolate, snowmen or shoveling. No, for Bengalis, any sort of precipitation means only one thing: khichuri. Growing up, I always noticed, though never understood why on any overcast, slightly cool …
Apologies for dragging him into yet another one of my posts, but I’ll do it anyway. One of the many things my dear husband and I bond over is our mutual disdain for South Asian sweets. It seems they’re all permutations of milk products or by products, overly sweetened and offering little by way of …
