In Praise of Comfort-Inducing Things

I have recently started ordering Potato Cheese Momos from The Blue Poppy Thakali at a rather alarming rate, which has replaced my original comfort food, pork momos, pretty viciously. The phenomenon began soon after my return from Gangtok (I will put up a post about the food there), and it is slightly alarming to me, since I am not a very big fan of vegetarian momos. However, there is something strangely comforting about hot aloo dum, mashed and stuffed inside thin dumpling skins with some regular, processed cheese – like a spicy, unputdownable pierogi that I want to eat, over and over again. My brain tells me that this is quite carb-heavy, in fact, probably far worse when I lightly fry their bottoms in butter before dousing them in fresh, red chilli paste, and I hope this is just a phrase that I am going through.

Speaking of phrases, an entire era ended for me recently. I am talking about The Big Bang Theory. I started watching it seriously in 2015, and over time, I developed a habit of watching it when I ate dinner – in the middle of the night. The Big Bang Theory had seen me through a lot – failures, successes, break-ups, back stabs – it was the one constant that stayed with me over the last four years, and I sort of feel bereft. I am so glad that Modern Family isn’t ending this year – with the end of Game of Thrones and TBBT, I don’t think I can take the end of yet another iconic television series. Speaking of that, what are you watching? If its funny, or something to do with mysteries (not grim), leave a message in the comments section.

But back to the comfort food topic – a few days ago, I was invited somewhere for dinner – sort of like a mystery dinner scene. I went in after reading the menu –  it sounded rather delightful because it was so many interesting combinations and rather dramatic pairing – and when I sat down for it, the initiation was great – the conversation bubbled and flowed like champagne, and we began the degustation menu on a rather positive note. But then, things went slightly askance from there, and I was left wondering if comfort was really the theme of this dinner, or its opposite. The biggest puzzle was the dessert – and I was trying to fit together its myriad notes, failing miserably, and wondering if I was the problem here, because clearly everyone around me were enjoying their meals. I pondered about failing taste buds and developing a rather pedestrian palate, and came home, walking down the road rather aimlessly, my fingers clutching my purse in witless desperation, hoping for answers that I didn’t really have (maybe it was the wine).

Two days later, I sat down with a friend, a glass of red in my hand, discussing my meal, and over an eggy Carbonara, the discussion moved towards that other night’s dinner – and isn’t it a wonderful feeling when you realise you aren’t the only one in this planet with unpopular opinions? That was one of those moments.

Tonight, as I type this, I know I will be told to not be too comfortable – to sit and discuss food as it should be and make you feel, things which make you realise your own outer limits and elements that shape you – its nothing to be ashamed of, but rather, embraced, as part of your self that refuses to back down in front of overwhelming pressure to say something otherwise, and chooses what makes the self comfortable over social protocols. I think that’s the beauty of these opinions, because it defines me.