Thought I was kissing my sons hand while heโs drinking milk - turns out Iโve been kissing the bottle instead ๐ถโ๐ซ๏ธ reminds me how I shouldnโt be scrolling through twitter during feeds
Love Shan. Use it myself. But here is a thought that keeps me up at night: we are sleepwalking into a world where desi food tastes the same everywhere. Every biryani, every nihari, every qorma, slowly converging towards one standardised flavour profile from a packet. Our grandmothers never measured. They tasted, adjusted, added a pinch of something they learned from their mothers who learned it from theirs. That chain of taste, passed hand to hand across generations, is one of the most extraordinary acts of cultural preservation on earth. Every family had its own biryani. Every household had a secret ratio. Every city had a signature. That is quietly disappearing. The packet is convenient. The packet is consistent. The packet is also replacing a thousand family recipes with one industrial formula. In fifty years, nobody will remember what their grandmother's version tasted like. They will only know Shan's version. And Shan's version is good. But it was never meant to be the only version.