The aloo posto burger is not as innocent as it looks |
A cafe chain has put an aloo posto burger on its Durga Puja menu. And a section of Bengalis is incensed — perhaps understandably. The potato mashed, its edges crisped and browned, will presumably be folded into the nutty texture of poppy seed paste, pressed into a patty and tucked into a toasted bun. The umbrage, very likely, is not about the burger itself, but about seeing something intimate, pocket-friendly and comforting being recast in the language of fast food. When a dish has lived in one’s home for generations, giving it a new form does risk making innovation feel like intrusion.
One of the oft-repeated accounts of eastern India’s culinary history is about how posto became a part of the everyday meal. It is the story of a food born, in part, of the human instinct to make do with what is available. Cultivated in enormous quantities to supply the East India Company’s extractive colonial trade, the opium poppy left its tiny white seeds behind for use in local kitchens. Soaked and ground on the shil-nora, the grainy texture of the seeds gives way to a thick, pale paste, almost creamy. The residue of an imperial cash crop was absorbed into the frugal economy of homes.
It found a companion in the aloo, a traveller so completely naturalised that its foreignness now seems an affront to the spud. The potato becomes........