Priyan R Naik
When I set out for Laos via Bangkok, I was determined to eat local, think global, and return home with a sense of satisfaction. In the culinary carnival that is Bangkok, this resolve held firm for about forty eight hours, until suddenly on Sukhumvit Soi, like a twist to a plot, I saw it: “Amritsr Restaurant”. The name glowed, my pace slowed, my eyes lingered and my resolve crumbled!
The truth is, Indian food inserts itself into your travel narrative, whether you like it or not. The first three – four days are fine, but soon enough between sampling pad thai and tom yum, the mind begins to drift towards that unmistakable comfort of a well made dal. Your intention of being a model traveler, curious, adaptable, and gastronomically adventurous, wanting to eat what the locals eat, embracing new flavors and returning home boasting of a refined palate seems attainable only before leaving for a destination.
For the first couple of days, I did reasonably well. In Vientiane, I sampled sticky rice, fresh herbs, grilled meats and the ubiquitous papaya salad. It was delightful, light yet deceptively simple. And then, quite suddenly and without warning, it struck; the craving. Not a passing thought, but an insistent longing for Indian food. It began as a mild curiosity. Within hours, especially during meal times, this innocent thought evolves into a mission. Eyes, once admiring colonial buildings and Buddhist temples, start scanning signboards for familiar words: curry, tandoor, naan.
Laos had anticipated this moment of weakness. In Vientiane, I stumbled upon ‘Roti House’, a modest establishment that did not pretend to be anything other than a lifeline. The moment I saw “roti” on the signboard, my pace quickened. Inside, the menu read like a comforting reunion; dal, paneer, chicken curry, and yes, the eternal favorite, butter chicken. I ordered with an urgency quite untypical of me, the first bite restorative, the spices, the warmth, the sheer familiarity felt like being gently welcomed back into my world. Around me, other travelers, clearly from various corners of India were engaged in the same ritual, an unspoken camaraderie hung in the air, a shared recognition that we had all reached the same culinary conclusion.
A few days later, in Luang Prabang, the pattern repeated itself, my quest leading me to ‘Nisha Indian Restaurant’. The setting was charming, the food unapologetically Indian, and the clientele visibly smug. Plates of dal makhani, naan, and biryani were making the rounds with the solemnity of sacred offerings.
I do not think this phenomenon is uniquely Indian. Travellers from all cultures experience similar cravings. The British may long for their roast dinners, the Italians for their pasta, and the Japanese for their rice bowls. So why shouldn’t this not happen to us? What’s wrong about craving Indian food on overseas trips?
Perhaps it is the sheer complexity of Indian cuisine, the layering of spices, the variety of textures, the regional diversity, that cannot be easily replicated or replaced. After a few days of unfamiliar flavors, the palate begins to protest. Globalisation has ensured that Indian food is rarely out of reach. From Bangkok’s bustling sois to the quieter streets of Laos, Indian restaurants have quietly established themselves as culinary embassies, places to find a decent curry. These restaurants, scattered across unlikely geographies, usually serve a dual purpose. They cater to homesick travellers while introducing Indian cuisine to the world.
My own travel adventure was enriched by these culinary detours. Between bowls of local delicacies and plates of familiar comfort, I found a balance, a way to explore the world without losing my footing. And perhaps that is the true essence of travel: to wander far, to taste widely, but always to find your way back, preferably with a piece of garlic naan.
