Banu Mushtaq's recipe for Gobi Manchurian

One of the strange things about getting an English education is that you are afflicted with a French education too. And a little bit of Russian too.

- NISHA SUSAN

One of the strange things about getting an English education is that you are afflicted with a French education too. And a little bit of Russian too. What I mean is that if you have to study the English classics you are supposed to be thrilled by everything that the English thought was thrilling. Even if you have never sneezed in the direction of Marcel Proust, you will probably know that someone in a Proust book ate a tiny cake called a madeleine and then had an intense, emotional flashback. Sensory memory, particularly food-triggered memories, are real, of course. Contemporary cuisine loves to build on gastronomic nostalgia. Chefs know that it is like letting you bring an old friend to a party full of new people. Indians love all the heavy emotional artillery associated with food. Our books are full of deliciousness but off the top of my head though, it is hard for me to remember one right this moment. (This is a cue for you to please email my editor about all the superb books I have forgotten about or foolishly haven't read yet.) This brings me to the important matter of Banu Mushtaq and the Gobi Manchurian.

Banu Mushtaq, as you know, is the 77-year-old writer from Karnataka whose book Heart Lamp (translated from Kannada into English by Deepa Bhashti) has just won the International Booker Prize. When you get the book, I recommend you turn to The Arabic Teacher and Gobi Manchuri right away. If it was possible to take every last entitled male behaviour that drives women mad and turn it into a crispy pakora, that is what Mushtaq has done in this short story. Many spoilers ahead but really my plot recap shouldn't ruin your enjoyment of this story.