Cookbook Review: 'Indian-Ish', by Priya Krishna

When looking at cookbooks, there are tons of things to consider- recipe count, accessibility, complexity, theme, time, place, readability, and more besides. Here's a subtle thing to check: "Who's the author? Who wrote the recipes?" If those names aren't the same, you might have a problem. This one, Indian-Ish? Bit of a problem. In rather smaller font behind Priya Krishna's name is the actual writer of the recipes. (Surprise! It's her mom!) While the book's tagline is 'Recipes and antics from a modern American family', that kind of subtle marginalizing of the primary source is upsetting. Culturally, historically, even practically, I get it. But that still doesn't make it correct.

The early pages have basics like spices, rice, quinoa, and potatoes- not uncommon for some styles of cookbook, and it doesn't hurt to have them here, even if it might feel a little patronizing. There's an interesting one on the technique of tempering spices and aromatics in oil (used as a finisher for many dishes), commonly known by its Punjab name of tadka/tarka/तङका here in the West. In this book it's referred to by the Hindi 'chhonk/छौंक', most likely to draw attention. Now this, I understand- it's a word that sounds funny to English speakers. It's more memorable, but it's also a somewhat different thing. Chhonk typically focuses less on dried whole spices, also including aromatics like chili, onion, curry leaf, even tomato (watery things!) in hot fat alongside spices, making a more complex, textural sort of finishing splash. The method and intent, though, are the same- creating a last-minute fresh, powerful flavor and aroma enhancer. In French cuisine it might be called a liaison finale.

Just save this, honestly.

Right after that comes a variation on something I made myself a long time ago- an ingredient flowchart for shortcutting Indian food. A clever quick-reference guide like this can be quite handy for the unfamiliar, even if the concept is as old as dirt. The notion of using certain static ingredients as 'building blocks' for delicious food is no stranger to a thinking cook, even if those ingredients vary widely all across the world. Given the book's likely audience, it's a wise inclusion of Mama Krishna's.

Now this book is here to tell a story just as much as it is to share culinary information, and the brilliantly colorful and stylized photographs couple delightfully with many of the shorter, simpler recipes to reflect that. Together they paint a picture of a family home rich in experiences and creativity, with just enough chaos to keep things inspired. Many of the recipes are beginner friendly dress-ups or simple tweaks in existing concepts, like the Lima Bean and Basil Dip (p.52) that's just 'hummus' via a different bean with some basil and lime instead of tahini and lemon. Building block concept, comparable substitute for the primary ingredient, simple flavor change. A well executed fundamental. A few seem to miss the mark- I don't recommend trying the Saag Paneer (p.83) without thinking carefully about seasoning first. Swapping the standard paneer for feta without a mention of the vast difference in salt content could easily lead to an inedible dinner. Keep that in mind and look closely at any recipes you want to try so you're not caught off guard.

Obnoxious on one side.
Uninformed on the other.
Everyone loses.

The flavor text, as it were, wanders widely. Topics vary, with things like fasting (Red Chile Potatoes, p.114), or traveling (Roti Roli Poli, p.135), and they often offer a good bit of color and context to flesh out what might seem like unexpectedly simple notions. A few, though, are heavy with gotchas likely to grate, like this one for Kichdi (p.158): 

"...But like many things in India consumed by small infants and ailing patients... white people in wellness circles have managed to co-opt the dish, acting as if they have unearthed this monumentous discovery... do all us brown people a favor and remember that kichdi was invented by Indians, not L.A. yoga instructors.". 

To give that kind of dismissive grief -particularly since it's hitting a sizable chunk of the book's probable audience- seems strongly self-sabotaging. I'm as guilty of the occasional White People Facepalm as any restaurant professional, but this book sometimes reads like it's trying to make a sale while giving prospective buyers the finger.

All the important fundamentals of a quality cookbook are here: the food's good, the recipes are relatively easy to execute, and there are how-tos for the entry-level stuff to take the fear away. Based strictly on the recipes and their photographs, it's a rock-solid read for all skill levels. As a whole though, it has a more dissonant feel. Food meant to bring comfort and happiness, shared by a voice that tries and fails to hide its insecurities behind eyerolls.