Comfort zone: In sickness and in health, a bowl of steaming, hot rasam

Last year felt like being pushed through a pasta extruder while dealing with a truly bizarre news cycle. To dispel the pandemic blues, I turned to food. A piping hot bowl of rasam fragrant with freshly chopped coriander, brightened with spices and curry leaves floating neatly is capable of instantly lifting my spirits (except when eating it at weddings, as it almost inevitably threatens to breach the confines of the banana leaf).

There is a lot to love here, not least of all the fact that you can prepare rasam with even the barest of cabinets and sip on it under a blanket or mix it with rice to make for a full meal. Rasam has no rigid identity. You can experiment, even with herbs like lemongrass and basil. The dish can alluringly be transformed into what you want it to be.

Rasam also feels restorative because of its association with my childhood and familial reassurances at a time the pandemic disrupted everyday life. I now realise that food isn’t just physical nutrition: it also provides emotional sustenance.

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