Neither Indian nor English, and a Slight Oddity to Both
Neither Indian nor English, and a Slight Oddity to Both
English Crumpets and Indian Chutney in Birmingham
My dad, who migrated from south India to the U.K. in 1974, has a signature breakfast: English crumpets smothered in Indian chutney. It’s 9:30 am at our family home in Birmingham, a big, multicultural, staunchly unglamorous city in central England. Breakfast is underway.
As he opens a packet of crumpets—a deeply English snack, a sort of thick and sponge-like pancake that you toast—he considers my question about when this all started. Probably more than 20 years ago, he says after some um-ing and ah-ing. The crumpets make a good substitute, you see, for idlis, the cloud-like steamed rice cakes that south Indians dip in chutney and eat for breakfast.
These days, crumpets and chutney is his trademark combo. He proudly serves it to relatives who visit from India: one uncle liked it so much that he packed his suitcase with crumpets before the end of his trip. My mum keeps the fridge stocked with homemade chutneys in every flavor, from mint to tamarind; my dad says the sweet and sharp onion chutney goes best with crumpets, which he toasts for the exact time that’s required for them to be slightly crisp outside but still spongey inside, all the better for absorbing butter. He also has unusually detailed opinions on the merits of different crumpet brands (Warburtons is his pro tip).
This morning, he’s having tomato chutney. There’s also a small pot of dark brown kara kuzhumbu (repeat after me: ka-ra koh-rum-boo) left over from the weekend, so he drizzles some of the intense tamarind gravy on the crumpets, too. That’s a step too far for me, and I wonder how the crumpets feel, having thought they were destined for a high-tea and the delicate kiss of strawberry jam in some English idyll. But to each his own.
My dad migrated as part of a wave of Indian doctors brought over by the U.K.’s National Health Service in the second half of the twentieth century. He worked for the NHS until he retired last year. Britain’s much-loved health service often pops up in lists of the world’s five biggest employers, alongside odd bedfellows like the Chinese army and Walmart, and it has long relied on foreigners to meet those huge staffing needs.
After 40 years, my parents’ identity is a patchwork quilt of Indian and English squares. They never ask awkward questions (English square). They never turn away guests (Indian square). Our house is always packed full of people unfettered by awkward questions. Like, you know, when they’re leaving.
For me, crumpets and chutney sums up that patchwork identity. It’s neither Indian nor English, and a slight oddity to both. But if you give it a try, you’ll load up your suitcase with more.