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.

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.

When vegans claim their diet is better for the environment, but rely on imported foods that waste water and fuel, are they being any more hypocritical than those who eat “Jain chicken”? Is their irritating preachiness so out-of-place in a country that has forced the world’s largest burger chain to create a beefless menu?

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”.

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.

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?

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.

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.

I began to cook when I moved out of my house because I simply had to. I don’t know when I embraced the kitchen, but cooking gave me a sense of self.

My parents are divorced and there’s nothing ideal about my family, except our love for food. And, in some truly unique ways, it has kept us together.

“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.

If there’s one piece of advice I could pass on to you in 2020, it’s this — don’t break your head on Swiggy and Zomato over where to eat. If you pass by a restaurant that has a table full of elderly ladies, step in. If you can get past the talk of potential marriages, I guarantee you’ll have a meal that will fill your soul.

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.

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.

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.

Closely observing people’s eating habits is one of my biggest pet peeves. If eating at an authentic regional cuisine restaurant, why order the most generic, non-regional thing on the menu? And think of all the dosas being eaten with a knife and fork!

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.

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.

A Richard Attenborough-esque observation of the Humans of Iftar, who populate the table of every Serious Salim during Ramzan.

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.

Is it okay to eat a cow that wants to be eaten?

I miss the days when my big family, all 25 of us, travelled on a train to Goa for a winter break. But what I miss the most is the train-wallah tomato soup with a side of croutons.