As our small town evolved, more families moved in from all over the world.
I remember one family bought my best friend’s house. It was something like 15 acres of fallow land, with a large house that was built at the pinnacle of their grandparents’ careers. The house was grand, with 10 bedrooms, two kitchens, a library, conservatory, and countless other amenities that I found fascinating as a kid who lived in a tiny two-bedroom turn-of-the-century home.
Five families moved into that house. It caused a stir in the community as you can imagine, but I’ve always thought it was one of the most practical things that a large family could do. The family went on to completely change how the region was farmed, but more important to me, they changed my perspective on food.
The food, oh the food! I remember the first time I smelled the food from their kitchen. It was a confusing and intoxicating symphony of sweet and savoury. They turned milk into a sort of cheese, and ate these large beans I had never seen, all with this fresh flatbread that had burnt spots all over it. They had a strange oven on the back deck used to bake the bread, and the meat that they ate sparingly.
Even then, I think I realized that the food served in our house wasn’t in the same league as the food of India. Our country stews were flat and pale in comparison, our soups were flavourless, and our canned foods were bland. It wasn’t until I was older that I learned about the spices and layers that make up various Indian dishes, but the seed was planted in my head at a young age.