A note to the Connoisseur

“A note to the connoisseur”; but why am I even talking about a connoisseur?

When A=B and B=C, we mutter A=C, not even thinking that there are other 23 alphabets left, one of which could solve the equation too.

Likewise, the connection between connoisseur and writing on a professional platform like this seems to be out of the place. But, when authors like Beckett can be categorized into those of the Absurd; absurdity does connect the dots somewhere and the writers write just for this sake.

A connoisseur is one who is an expert in things, or better say, in judging them. The food industry has connoisseurs too. I had earlier thought of them as some un-necessary, sophisticated and extravagant add-ons to the food glam. But, it turns out, as opposed to the idea formed by the online picture most-found related to a connoisseur – an elegant, black-suited man with a white collared shirt – connoisseurs do exist ordinarily, and form a part of our daily food choices.

So, this is a letter; well, not a letter. A letter is often associated with personal feelings and emotions. And this piece is a detached, conversational one. So, calling it Note would be better. If I imagine giving this note to a connoisseur someday, I can picturise it as both of us cross-armed; and I handing over this letter to him as an official exchange.

Many choices, likes and dislikes are made by the others’ choices, likes and dislikes; and so intricately too, in a subconscious manner. This might raise fervor of denial in you, a protest that no one can label my home, and food? “Hah! I am me, my choices are mine”. However, deep down, there may simmer some doubts growing from instances like when you last saw that Italian restaurant on a blog for an evening outing. About anyone and everyone, is passing their comments online on the food, and Instagrammic food stories are a rage.

I am not pointing to our inefficiencies as choice-makers. We all are making choices and screening them online, so no one is at fault or anything. There is nothing wrong with diving in the pool of co-exchanging opinions, it is a healthy one. We are affected by others, and others affect us. Now that you heave a sigh of affirmed pride and self-respect, let me start over again with my conversation with the connoisseur.

I intend to have a small conversation with the connoisseur; I know I have weaved a long sort of ‘calling-out’ in the beginning. But, all I want is a fairground to have a conversation and foremostly, to question. I want to ponder on my perception of food. And, for this, I may have to dig out some pebbles of memories –

I had always been an addict to food. I confirm that addict is the right word because I never really felt what I was eating; addiction is like being bound to a compulsive habit and we can’t do anything about it. Or, can we?

I remember one day when I was, as usual, non-sensically gobbling on food, and relishing the deep-fried stuff. And, one of my favourite food items had become more important than my life. After the hectic day from work, this was my sole haven. I couldn’t think of anything else but having that cheese-filled savory. It was my resort of happy emotions after so many disappointments of the day. I would become full and glowed with red fullness after feasting, which well-covered the color of my chagrin. As long as I was going well, I did not much think of this habit. “Everyone has peculiar habits, so this was mine,” I had thought.

But soon, the fulfillment started to get exhausted. I started to look out for other food items online; I mean, the market can never disappoint you with its million, varied cuisines and titbits. So was becoming my lifestyle – hovering over options and choices; this era is lavish. Everything escalated well, until one day or I would say one fortnight.

It was a long vacation. Out of nowhere, I saw this 15-day detox workshop at a nearby yoga center, when I was mindlessly scrolling down the Facebook Feed. And, like a whim, I signed up for that. The first week there was horrifying for me, and at the same time, bemusing. How can one eat only porridge three times a day, for every day! And looking at food with gratitude and emotions! That was dramatic and humorous for me. But slowly, as I was bound in that paid workshop, I started uncovering things, taste and mostly, myself. It was a different joy, much different than that when I gobbled on my favorite food, all alone. Involved in the process, looking at the food being made so generously by people there – who were permanent residents there, they liked being called ‘tapasvis’ – it toppled down my frail, superficial perception of food. I realized that food was not just a timely habit; it is much more than that, including the incessant thoughts we have every day. We take in, not only food, but many other opinions, emotions, ideas, and stories. Whenever I drool over the whole yogic concept of food, it shackles me.

So, this was the note – like that piece which you read on the newspaper scraps of street food servings - to the connoisseur, who at some level, is within us; concretizing food tastes, categorizing cuisines and limiting our lives.