The humble varan bhaat toop is as versatile and ubiquitous as Radhika Apte’s appearances on Netflix. Sometimes it is plain simple comfort food, at other times it’s part of an elaborate offering to Bappa. A love for varan bhaat toop is the epitome of Maharashtrian-ness.

We seem to have become intolerant to the very foods that used to be household staples – butter, cheese, milk, and rotis! Has something truly changed, or as my mom would say, are we just trying new ways to push up our cool quotient?

Gujaratis inherit a penchant for "food terrorism". There were Gujarati kids at school who wouldn’t drink “jhoota” water in case it had been touched by a meat eater. And there was my grandmother who’d remind me that I was Jain every time I’d go for an evening snack.

On a good day, RoohAfza tastes like a vampire’s tonic that drowned itself in a vat of sugar. On a bad day, it tastes like pulverised incense stick. What then is the hype really about?

My mother has published a cookbook; my aunt has made meticulous recipe cards with the fond intention of passing them down to the next generation. And yet, an appeal to either one for how to make a favourite dish turns into an hour spent deciphering how much “about a handful” is, or when a dish “smells of dum”.

Ask any TamBrahm, and they would swear by their kula deivam (family God) that not wrapping up a meal with thayir-sadam (curd rice) and some lemon pickle is enough to get you ostracised.

For most people I know, it’s impossible not to get lost in nostalgia at the mere mention of Parle-G. The biscuit was my diabetic grandfather’s favourite treat. And the only way to get my school watchmen to open the gates and let you inside after the morning bell was with bribes of Parle-G.

Turn your plain old masala Maggi into crunchy spring rolls with this easy recipe.

Maharashtrian cuisine is endlessly diverse. Puneri cuisine is very different from food from Konkan, Vidarbha, or Kolhapur. Within these cuisines, lie the differences of caste and class. But the problem with Sachin Kundalkar’s Gulabjaam is that it doesn’t acknowledge any of this.

The mythology of food in India is storied and the best fables revolve around pregnancy. Twins, some believe, are the result of eating twin bananas – fruit that has the power to impregnate a man.

“Idli are the most boring things in the world,” tweeted Edward Anderson, a UK professor of history and expert in India-Britain studies. All hell broke loose. Anderson was schooled by angry Indians on Twitter over his blasphemous opinion – even Shashi Tharoor got involved.

Hello friends, chai kha lo, with this simple chai mousse sandwiched between Parle G biscuits. Chai time was never this tasty.

Food and sex go hand in hand. Making love on an empty stomach is like crossing the desert barefoot: You wouldn’t want to do it unless absolutely necessary. What we eat says a lot about who we are. Pick a five-course meal and we’ll tell you your favourite sexual position.

A potato-less diet makes me a social misfit in Kolkata. You can take the egg from the roll, but there’s no way to take the aloo from the posto.

In India, poverty isn’t just a state of mind, and paisa-vasooli is a way of life. Yet, people buy an extra birthday cake, just to smash it gleefully in some unfortunate soul’s face. What gives?

Settle down in front of your TV with these piping hot dal baras as, you watch the battle for Chhattisgarh unfold. #ChhattisgarhElections2018

Make these Lay's Cheese Nuggets for your chill session tomorrow. Also don't forget to stock up on daaru today because kal dry day hai.

When I was growing up, litchis were on an equal footing with mangoes during the summer. But now, you have Katrina Kaif seductively endorsing the shiny yellow fruit. As a result, the humble litchi remains as ignored as Abhishek Bachchan.

Don’t be a douchebag to your hungry homies fasting during Ramzan and pester them with stupid queries such as “Do you feel weak?”, or “Isn’t fasting old-fashioned?” or “Don’t you cheat-eat?”

On Durga Pujo, the lives of the big-eyed, gentle-faced, and maach-guzzling Bengalis are marred by a potent shadow of the world’s most deadly dose of ABC – ambol (acidity), bodhojom (indigestion), and constipation.

Despite being from a cosmopolitan family, I realised that every day, I was unwittingly consuming our caste on my plate. In the game of kitchen politics, caste is a far more deeply riven divide, than the differences between North and South Indian food.

Life is not a Quora thread and hence not all teetotallers have grand backstories that involve prisons, arrests, and a dozen deaths. Sometimes our reasons are as simple as we don’t friggin’ like alcohol. So stop urging us to “loosen up and embrace the times”.

Most middle-class Bengali families such as mine are moderately open-minded. You can make honest confessions to them about your vices and hope for a friendly ear, but never about your vegetarianism.

Every time my dad sent me to fetch cigarettes, I would buy Phantom cigarette candy from the paan tapri below my house. I felt like a big boy as I tapped out one and took a fake puff.

The idea of eating lamb testicles is enough to throw you into a moral and gastric conundrum. But not eating certain parts of animals leads to wastage of food on a scale you can’t imagine.

In a lockdown that has seen some truly questionable culinary innovations like Chocolate Maggi and Oreo Bhajiyas, Chyawanprash ice cream just raised the stakes.

Last month, when Alps, a four-decade-old beer bar at Colaba, shut down unannounced, no one seemed to instantly notice. It didn’t warrant blockbuster social media obituaries like Cafe Zoe did. That’s the thing about Alps, it never hankered for attention or loyalty. It just waited until it earned it.

Tired of regular old chips, fries and wedges? Make these crispy potato stacks and see the humble potato in an all new sexy avatar.

Make this masala chai with a boozy twist go ease the Monday blues at work. Kisi ko pata nahi chalega.