Rediscovering the lost flavours of Assamese cuisine through the food of Chiang Mai

As we traversed the night market in Chiang Mai, I was consumed by the abundance of food options, each of which beckoned to me with open arms. I had only one lingering apprehension regarding whether my mother would share my enthusiasm for Thai cuisine, as there are numerous accounts of Assamese individuals who either do not appreciate it or fail to recognize it as Thai cuisine beyond green curry, tom yum, and the like. I took a chance and ordered a variety of foods I thought Mother would like, but I was ready to be let down when she couldn't eat them. I brought to our table a variety of items, including morning glory, bamboo shoots stew, congee, an egg and tomato preparation, and other items of which I was unfamiliar with the Thai names and selected based on the descriptions on the menu. Most of them were simple foods that were either boiled or tempered in oil. Nothing was cooked to the point that the ingredients lost its identity. The idea that food can bring one to heaven took on a new significance for me that evening. I observed a look of joy on Mother's face. It wasn't just any joy of having a good meal, it was also the delight of finding something that was lost. Mother was reminiscing about something and establishing a connection to traditional Assamese cuisine with each nibble, at least in the region of Assam where I was raised.
She repeatedly said, “This is exactly how we used to cook.”

My heart was instilled with a sense of pride for our own cuisine, which is gradually being derided as rustic or outdated. I was reminded of my own memories of childhood. Whether it was summer or winter, I recalled my grandfather sitting in front of the hearth, which was always lit. He enjoyed his own cooking. In a pot would be boiling water, sometimes lentils in it, and into it, he would slowly add his magic. The dishes were prepared using a variety of vegetables, meats, and fish (naturally, the traditional understanding of foods that don't go together was preserved), and the outcome was stunning. For delicacies, he would simply melt cherry tomatoes that he would pick from the backyard in oil. Once the tomatoes had disintegrated, he would crack an egg into the mixture. It was simply the most amazing thing that didn't require any seasoning other than salt to make it tasty.

That was precisely the food that my mother and I rediscovered on the humid July evening. As our culture transitioned from an agrarian to a service-oriented model, it was as though we had lost pride in our own food, which was obscured by imported spices and oils. In the food we ate that evening, there was clearly no fuss about peeling the garlics or the ginger, or about how they were chopped. Green peppers, herbs, microgreens, and any other natural product that our ancestors deemed edible were present. Everything went into the dishes, everything that was seasonally available. In the midst of that, I could picture someone at home scoffing at what we were eating. The anecdotes of individuals I know, particularly the Assamese, who lament their inability to partake in local Thai cuisine and instead opt for burgers, salads, pasta, and other items that are readily available at any café worldwide, prompted me to contemplate the extent to which we have forfeited our own culinary heritage and knowledge over time. Things change of course, yet discarding traditions for more flashy, more affluent ideas as a result of outside influence, without truly understanding the value of what we had all along, is laughable. If anything, we simply need to change our lenses and recalibrate them into seeing the true value and richness in our traditional culinary knowledge.

Well, the good thing is, Assamese people are beginning to appreciate traditional Assamese food, albeit under the tag of “ethnic food”, paying high prices for them at food joints. If only they paid attention to the memories of their grandparents! Yet for a long time, what they now appreciate as ethnic, they laughed to be tribal, food of the savages, the uncultured!

Snobbery has now infiltrated Assamese kitchens. Women will thrive to remove every last bit of peel on the vegetables, every pit, peel, or stem that had been traditionally used are now discarded with an air of self-importance, perhaps with the hope that it will, by some unseen scrutiny in the air, rate them higher than the rest. Spices and the liberal use of oil, which were not even necessary for the preparation of Assamese cuisine a few decades ago, have now become staples. Culinary skills that were previously restricted to the elites, who employed them to preserve their distinction and superiority over the rustic farmers, have supplanted the concept of simple, uncomplicated food of the larger Assamese people with agrarian roots. Although certain culinary techniques and concepts may possess a scientific basis, the majority of them are merely an attempt to establish one's self-importance. Ultimately, the elitism of a small group was embraced, while the majority's habits were abandoned as lowly as individuals began to prioritize financial gain.

It is observed that young boys and girls are also inheriting such snobbery, as well as patriarchal ideas that measure women based on their ability to peel a potato. They could be heard saying, “you have cooked well, but made a blunder by not peeling the potato well” or “I can still find garlic skin in my food.” Thus, the rustic Assamese cuisine, which utilized every component of a plant or vegetable, is gradually dying a slow death in the pursuit of an erroneous notion of opulence.

What's interesting is that, educated Assamese are thriving to preserve the old culinary traditions and aren't ashamed of embracing them any more, whereas it is the other lot who are more finicky about how their food should be cooked. Assamese, who have now spread into different corners of the global world, are proudly rediscovering and embracing their simplistic yet rich cuisine, and spreading their knowledge through social media as well.