Whether it’s Pakistan, Bangladesh, or India, we all remember the strong smells of spices brewing in our childhood kitchen. Suddenly, the pressure cooker whistles out, interrupting my homework train of thought. It was in these moments that I realized my culture was both a pleasure and a weight. In second grade, I remember dripping yogurt on the lunch bench and a girl withdrawing as she screamed, “Ew, white stuff!”. In that moment of shame, I was so lucky to have a high population of south asian students in my school. My elementary best friend snapped back: “It’s not white stuff. It’s just yogurt!”. I eased, proud.

Just as my friend linked with me, I have seen South Asian founders band together to carve out belonging in the Western culinary sphere. After attending two PR events last week, I realized that they were not pretentious like I expected because they were deeply rooted in making our culture a widespread conversation. I was enamored with the founder of Kolkata Chai Co. (NYC) as if he was a celebrity. As I remembered that Hasan Minhaj is his partner, I understood that food is pop culture. After all, Golden Milk is the hottest new drink. “Also known as haldi doodh, golden milk is touted for its healing, anti-inflammatory properties largely thanks to curcumin found in turmeric” (Minimalist Baker). After being told by our aunties as kids, a range of South Asian adults are now seeing general Americans accept their culture. The truth is that ayurvedic practices, which are personalized and natural for the whole body, are 3,000 years old. Today, Los Angeles claims veganism and Starbucks boasts Golden Turmeric Latte. Yet, it’s almost as if they forget the shame that came before. It’s like how people think fortune cookies came from China when they originated in San Francisco. The west commercializes South Asian food without labels crediting history. Still, people flock to their shops for overpriced and distilled versions of the pure health in homemade Haldi Doodh.

South Asian adults in steady business careers face directly with culinary entrepreneurship. How could they modernize their flavors without giving into an americanized market? Would they be the next Priyanka Chopra selling pani puri shots? PBS exemplifies with their docuseries, Spice Road. It “isn’t so much about South Asian food in the U.S.; it is about how this food is now American” (PBS). Journalist Bedatri D. Choudhury examines how the series breaks down the generational history and home recipe. This transparency over surface-level brands. More and more small businesses arise from the ashes serving fusion chai, chaat, ice-cream, indo-chinese, and pizza. In their discussions, they understand that it’s not a competition on who is to be the next Sanjeev Kapoor. The point is to have more of us so that the fusion becomes a conversation. The more popular South-Asian founded food becomes, the more affordable they can be for everyone. The goal isn’t only to be exotic, premium pani puri shots. It is to move accessibility as if people are eating from the side of Mumbai Streets.

In the U.S., it’s wonderful to see that South Asian Cuisine is no longer an exotic shame. Yet, our spices have already touched the UK's roots. My favorite moment is when Bridgerton’s Simone Ashley ends her 24 Hours with Vogue video by eating at her favorite Indian spot. We must remember that discovering South Asian food is not a forced act in reclamation. It is an innate appreciation and utility that people already have across the world. And so, we discover these countries which are a quarter of the world’s population. As we do so, we will discover how South Asian cuisine leaves a print on more than the west. I can’t wait to uncover more nations' cuisines and communities.

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