Dravidian-Dixie Localism, Vol. II
The best way to make a man happy is to keep his stomach full and his balls empty
A while ago, I decided to make a post introducing a specific socio-culinary identity I have taken on that invokes an unexpected cultural fusionism unfurling in my life. The past couple of months have involved embracing that identity more deeply as a grand experiment.
Here, I will share some of those experiments. May they serve as a bedrock illustration of a simple principle of successful matrimony that undergirds my spousal search.
The Carnal Wisdom of Ajumma
I once took a class in East Asian languages, culture, and history taught by a feisty red-head who, despite living in Japan for over two decades, somehow managed to remain a committed Western third-wave feminist; who therefore bristled at my insistences – most of which I subtly injected into my various free response homework assignments – that patriarchy is not all that evil.
Even though she gave me a B- on supremely non-controversial essay1, simply because it praised the masculine flavor of libertarian conservatism underlying America’s founding culture, I managed to earn her respect over the semester and engage in some powerful one-on-one discussions during her office hours. For whatever reason, perhaps the only piece of knowledge from that class that remains in my memory comes from a week-long unit we completed on the complex canon of feminine speech & behavior norms in domestic life.
There is a Korean term samjong (삼종) that refers to the three bonds (or obediences) that a woman must seek to maintain in her life:
Obedience to her father before marriage.
Obedience to her husband during marriage.
Obedience to her son after her husband’s death.
However, as my teacher excitedly pointed out, as women move towards the third phase in their lives, they tend to gain a lot more freedom of speech.
Additionally, in Korean culture, the term ajumma (아줌마) denotes a middle-aged or older woman, usually 45+ years old. Ajumma, as I have confirmed with my dear friend and former co-host
, are known for their strong personalities, assertiveness, and the willingness to speak their minds. They are often portrayed as being less bound by the strict social expectations and behavioral codes that apply to younger women in Confucian society.Maybe because Indian women tend to be more outspoken by nature2, this same notion doesn’t explicitly exist in Sanskrit (or my native Tamil, either). However, if you go a large Desi gathering, e.g., a wedding, you can clearly tell which of the grandmas have embraced their ajumma personality.
On one such occasion, I managed to eavesdrop on a conversation: some younger ladies, gathered in rapt attention around a South Indian patti3 – with unapologetic repose – celebrating her 50th anniversary, was asked how she managed to maintain such a happy and successful marriage. Without missing a beat, she looked at the most innocent-looking girl in her small audience and chortled with a thick backwater accent, “The best way to make a man happy is to keep his stomach full and his balls empty.”
Ever since hearing that, I’ve known exactly what I aspire toward in my own marriage someday.
The Hideousness of the Sponsorship Economy
I am not techno-optimist. I am neither a techno-pessimist. I thoroughly enjoy modern technology and the exponential capabilities it offers to even the most plebeian members of society.
By that same token, I am made afraid by some of the ways technology is eating the world. I am not unaware of the insidious ways it imperceptibly moves to sap my attention and agency at every corner. To counter that fear, I usually try to show ways that technology can be used to facilitate good ends such as loving friendships, informative education, and healthy physicality.
What sometimes makes that goal incredibly difficult to accomplish is that in a world increasingly consumed by bite-sized digital communications, every single activity eventually becomes a SaaS advertisement, and those seem to have way more virality than my Substack essays filled to the brim with erotic frustration.
This disgusts me beyond belief.
Look, as a good little immigrant, when the Instant Pot first hit the market in 2010, I immediately made it my bosom buddy. When I left the Bay Area, a family member gifted me the newest model as a good luck parting souvenir. Honestly, that appliance is still probably the best gift I’ve ever received in my life (besides an unexpected blowie I got from my Colombian beau after we spent several hours acid-tripping at downtown Bogotá’s most popular Reggaeton club).
Technology has never been my enemy as a casual chef. I even bought myself a $7 avocado seed remover that makes preparing guacamole about nineteen times more pleasant.
But, as with the storied ajumma above, I’m not in the kitchen as a means to satisfy the demands of any productivity fetish, unlike this dude.
Look, my guy, I’m really happy that you got to go to your friend’s house and fry an egg with temperature control without the hassle of scrubbing your pan afterward – but why do you have to make such bombastic claims about the “newest kitchen gear you’re always learning about”? Since when did Whiggism start applying to spatulas and mixing bowls?
Forget everything you once knew, and everything you might know. Today, we officially enter into a world that nobody is prepared for. Now, you can make fondue, crêpes, and samosas all with the same appliance!
¡Viva La Revolución!
Yes, as you have stated, Nish, your inspiring thread is technically not a sponsorship since you don’t own any investments in Impulse Labs. Yet, you still seem to be taking on the role of a cloud computing salesman who has six days to hit your quarterly target by convincing at least two more customers that your team’s new authentication protocol is bold and innovative – and will save thousands of SWE hours per year.
Cooking is an opportunity to pursue simplicity for me, and often my only access to mental stability. If not that, then at the very least, a way use my skills to gain social capital or repay social debts in my local environment.
Not everything is about unblocking implementation bottlenecks, clearing ticket backlogs, and deploying updates from staging to prod, Nish. How many times in the last six months have you had a conversation about any topic where you don’t use the phrases ‘YoY’, ‘ARR’, ‘Series B runway’, ‘customer retention', or ‘subscription tiers’?4
Never mind that 70% of your existing clients were only ever interested in the enterprise-level service as an excuse to make a personal ghost account that would ensure their login process to Pornhub, where they’ve carefully curated a post-divorce playlist of 123 saved videos, remains tamper-free.
I’m trying to achieve the opposite of compulsive gooning, friend.
I want to please my man so perfectly that he has no option but to give it to me good in the intimacy of our moonlight backyard a hundred yards uphill from the gentle coursing of the river on which we spend our weekends kayaking together.
Anyway, I realize that I can’t get revenge for the heaps of professional and personal abuse I buckled underneath at the hands of Silicon Valley, so it’s probably just best to post the actual food and try to move on.
Garam Masala Potato Salad
Southerners have a peculiar way of making potato salad. They add weird stuff to it like cranberries, raisins, apples, and grapes. I have accustomed myself to tasting some of these things in mayonnaise, but not others, which is why the latter shall forever kept far away from my Dravidian variant.
Besides garam masala, my secret ingredient to make sure this potato salad is not bland-as-carpet is the following; makes my eyes water in the best way.
BBQ Rajma & Buttermilk Biscuits
I always thought chili was more of a Midwestern delicacy, but as it turns out, Dixies love themselves a bowl, too. One of the best things about living close to a Mennonite store is that I can buy fresh barbecue sauce in a ton of different flavors. Thus, it only makes sense to make a BBQ version of this classic Punjabi5 dish.
Moreover, buttermilk is, of course, a staple of the South Indian diet. We make all of our curd rice with buttermilk.
However, this time I decided to use buttermilk (well, leftover kefir, actually) to make a pastry – one that every southerly grandmother brings to church potlucks – instead of rice to go along with the kidney beans.
This was my first time making biscuits from scratch, and I chose way too small of a pan to fit eight whole biscuits into because I completely forgot that baking powder makes dough balls balloon in size. Luckily, I was able to fix that problem in the nick of time.
Korma Chicken Salad Sandwich
Alright, so this is one of the most confusing puzzles: Dixies (especially Tennessee ones!) loathe Yankees, but somehow every single bumbling ruralite I’ve ever talked to loves Coronation Chicken, which is about the most British dish in world history.
They especially love to eat it in burger-style or hot-dog-style sandwiches. Can anyone explain that dissonance to me? Just the strangest thing to witness. I guess it’s not my role to pass judgment on the internal alimentary squabbles of wypipo.
Of course, to me, something that tastes much better but looks similar to coronation chicken is korma chicken. In this case, before pan-frying the breast, I seasoned it with:
Freshly ground cardamom and cloves
After which I used a pre-made korma sauce from Walmart (don’t drag me for lack of authenticity, given that this is also very Southern behavior!).
And, because I have the gustatory sensibilities of a degenerate cosmopolitan, I added pesto to my toasted brioche bun. At least I didn’t swing back to full-throated liberalism by adding arugula; I stuck to romaine, instead, though the most culturally in-character accompaniment is butter lettuce.
Further Ideas
I want to try making (1) a vegetarian version of Hoppin’ John served with Puliyodharai – a type of tamarind biriyani with peanuts that Tamilians love to make, and (2) a salad that is halfway between Kosambari and Succotash.
Since summer is coming to a close, it is more difficult to find access to fresh vegetables through cheap barter, so those particular experiments may have to wait until next year.
If any of my readers have some fall recipes that originate below the Mason-Dixon line that they want to offer up, post a comment. I will muse – with all of my incredible Iyer intelligence6 – uponon which of my own subcontinental comestibles can be paired well with such suggestions.
I argued that George Washington and his bros created a society that was superior to one centered on pure Confucian duty because it balanced such external obligations with individual liberty.
Go ahead and read the Mahabharata and you will find example, after example, after example, of Draupadi causing a whole ruckus because she insists on vocalizing her deepest aggressions to everyone around her.
Tamilian term for grandmother.
I’m not knocking on anybody’s method of making a good living here, but I am pointing out something that everyone notices, but nobody brings up in public: that after working in the tech industry for a couple of years, people lose their ability to have normal conversations that aren’t conducted in product-speak.
Yes! I know Punjabi is not South Indian. Give me a break. I’m allowed to enjoy North Indian food, too.
Iyers are the specific clan (of Tamilian Shaivaites) from which I hail.