Coming of age, through food

“A sandwich and a bag of chips are probably what you need to take to lunch,” was what a cousin told me before I embarked on graduate school when I moved to America. She advised me that anything with an intense aroma might be construed as offensive in a public setting.

These rules became even more rigid when I braved the snowy weather in Cincinnati: My sweaters and wool coats were magnets for scents.

This balance of aroma swayed unevenly. On one side I had the perceived opportunity to make friends, while the other side held my desire to savor cherished flavors. Compromise endured, and I would cook with curry leaves and toast spices only when I had no plans to socialize within a specific time frame or if it was warm enough to open the windows wide.

Several years later, I had graduated and was living in Washington, D.C. On a windy, cold day, I found myself in a store looking for a gift to celebrate a friend’s new home. Ornately displayed were the usual scented candles, and since this was fall there were the predictable variations — but lo and behold! I saw Garam Masala and Curry as scents. Suddenly, these smells were perfumes desirable enough that people were willing to pay for them.

I left the store without a gift but with a new resolve. I went to a local Asian store and picked up a bunch of fresh, fragrant curry leaves. This is how this roasted squash salad with curry leaf dressing came into existence — a housewarming gift that, in many ways, was much more significant to me because it not only represented a new way of thinking, but it also became symbolic of how I wanted to represent my culture.