“The roots of food culture are not simple, and there is no one cause for a certain way of eating.” —Chitrita Banerji

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“The roots of food culture are not simple, and there is no one cause for a certain way of eating.” —Chitrita Banerji
how to cook
Image by anokarina
“What remains, though, is a language of cooking that owes its brilliance to these widows. The pathways through which a cuisine assumes an identity leans on the vulnerable: It becomes easier to deny authorship to women like my great-grandmother when the world around them barely considers them people to begin with. If the world you inhabit already ostracizes you, how can you expect history to pick up the slack?” —Mayukh Sen

“The roots of food culture are not simple, and there is no one cause for a certain way of eating,” Bengali food writer Chitrita Banerji told me recently. “However, once the practice of food deprivation was imposed on widows, it did contribute to the enrichment of Bengali vegetarian cooking since many widows were given the responsibility of cooking the vegetarian items for the extended families they lived with.”

food52.com/blog/20010-the-sad-sexist-past-of-bengali-cuisine

“Alone”
how to cook
Image by ortizmj12
Had they been the ones dying under the cooking sun, picking through the dust, scratching at the barren earth, had it been THEIR fucking insides spilling into the sand, they’d see on cracking land their spirit cannot triumph.
—-

It wasn’t until I enlisted in the US Navy that I learned the true evil that is the US government. It was my good friend Wilsoz! who introduced me to Propagandhi, one of the greatest political thrash bands of ALL TIME! (IMO)

"Life at Disconnect" by Propagandhi

Had they been the ones dying under the cooking sun, picking through the dust, scratching at the barren earth, had it been THEIR fucking insides spilling into the sand, they’d see on cracking land their spirit cannot triumph. Take a breath. Sit back and relax. Enjoy your moment of peace. You’ll soon be back in the middle. Prepare for this one to make you flinch in disbelief. When you catch a glimpse of those just following the paths that got us to where we are. Who are these human shadows with still-beating hearts? Scratching at the door to our paradise. Why do corpses litter the road? Who are these humans? So this is paradise. Beyond the distant hands of the world. Here we all think we don’t belong but still bow our heads to our Emperors. Is this all there is? Maybe we really have nothing to say. Maybe we truly are just shallow and lame and we’re all just waiting for the end, the spectacle, or some kind of catastrophe to bring us back to earth to stun our ever nodding heads. To introduce us once again to the one incorruptible as she flushes us from her veins. Kills us to live again. In case you wonder – I’m not trying to be cynical. I know how you feel – If your life’s disconnect. In case you wonder – “What the fuck’s wrong with me?” If it all makes sense you’re the furthest fucking gone. They’ve got badges that they cover with their hands while they’re bashing your fucking head. They’ve got graveyards that they’ll fill with that head if you start getting anywhere. I won’t pretend that we’re on the winning end. But when did that matter before anyway? That never mattered before anyway.

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