One afternoon, I decided to scan the headlines of a Bengali newspaper that was lying around my parents' living room. The political news is too disheartening to read and besides its all everyone talks about when they meet anyway. I think I am well caught on on the shenanigans of the Chief Minister and her cronies.  Instead, I decided to out the food and culture section of the paper. To my great dismay some new age chef had taken it upon himself to re-invent Hilsa recipes to make them fare akin to what one might expect at mainstream American restaurant - he had effectively murdered the Hilsa the favorite fish of many a Bengali including me. I could not for the life of me imagine why the man wanted to fillet and batter fry the Hilsa and serve it mayo, cheese and fries. Had the world gone completely mad, I wondered? 

This is no different than than using a Veuve Clicquot champagne to make vinegar to clean the kitchen countertop. I am not sure in what universe that would be considered appropriate use of one of the best champagnes in the world,  but in mine, I was absolutely appalled by the travesty in the name of cooking Hilsa. I felt outraged enough to look for the chef's email and considered writing to express my outrage. In my few days in Kolkata, I did cook Hilsa in the manner that has been passed down the generations of my family - great grandmothers to me. It was deeply satisfying to cling to my roots notwithstanding the times and changing tastes of my people.