Cultural Foods I Want My Children to Remember

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Let’s face it. Most of us, especially those who grew up in cultural Bangladeshi households, were raised on the idea that unless you had eaten rice and curry, you hadn’t actually had a proper meal. It didn’t matter if you’d just come back from a huge dinner out. Whether it was lasagne, shepherd’s pie, pasta, roast chicken or a burger, none of it counted.

I remember coming home from a meal with cousins or colleagues, stopping by a relative’s house, and being insisted upon to eat rice and curry regardless. It’s funny now, because honestly? Nothing hits quite like a delicious rice and curry meal. It’s nostalgic. And I suppose the mountain of rice we pile onto our plates explains why we always feel so gloriously full afterwards.

Growing up, many of us treated other foods like exotic delicacies, and if our mothers cooked them, they’d make a desi-fied version. I can appreciate that now. Back then, we’d turn our noses up and complain it wasn’t authentic. True, curry spices in a shepherd’s pie isn’t traditional but it is a delicious fusion, and I can absolutely admit that now.

Being Asian and smelling of curry was not considered the cool thing. Even to this day, I avoid walking through my mum’s kitchen in my coat. I leave it in my nan’s room before going any further into the house. Growing up, I’d downplay what we ate, partly to fit in, and partly because “curry muncher” was one of the slurs thrown at us. Too right I’m a curry muncher now! What on earth is there to be embarrassed about? With age comes maturity, but I also think the times have genuinely changed. Curry is a weekly staple in so many British homes now that it carries far less sting as an insult. I can’t be entirely sure, since my children aren’t in the school system and I’m thankfully not close to that kind of bigotry anymore, but I do feel the world has shifted.

Fast forward to today, my children are still young and I do love cooking, even if motherhood has somewhat zapped my energy and enthusiasm for experimenting the way I used to! I’d say I’m a decent cook, or at least people don’t tend to hate my food. We have a good rotation going: wraps, curries, tacos, pies, roasts, soups and more. Home-cooked, varied, and made with love.

But what I’m most intentional about are the dishes from our heritage, the ones I want my children to grow up knowing, tasting and feeling proud of. My children are lucky to come from such a rich mix of cultures. I am of Bangladeshi heritage, born and raised here in England, and my husband, who grew up in Holland and moved to England as a teen, is of Egyptian, Italian, French and Czech heritage. That is quite the combination to bring to a dinner table!

From my Bangladeshi roots, I want them to know Handesh (molasses fritters) and Shemay, along with of course a proper Bengali fish curry. With Handesh, I will be very honest, I attempted to make it once and it was an absolute disaster. I now leave that entirely to my mum and aunt, who make it beautifully, and my children and husband absolutely love it when they do. Some things are better left to the experts! With Shemay, traditionally made with milk, cream and sometimes ghee, we tweaked it into a vegan alternative using condensed coconut cream and oat milk, and added a little date syrup for extra depth. The kids loved it, which felt like a proper win.

Fish is absolutely central to Bangladeshi cooking and culture, so a good fish curry is non-negotiable. And then there is shutki, the infamous spicy dried fish broth curry, pungent in smell and the kind of dish that lingers in the house for a good few days afterwards. I will be honest, I never thought I would be a convert, but after having my big brother’s version of hutki shira more than once last year, I can genuinely say it actually tastes decent when made right! My husband, however, is a completely different story. I don’t think I will ever convince him on that one!

From my husband’s Egyptian side, there is Molokhia, foul medames, ta’meya (Egyptian falafel) and Egyptian béchamel, a pasta bake well worth trying. His father makes it when we visit. Interestingly, Egyptians have a wonderful tradition of cooking grilled fish too, so between the Bengali love of fish and the Egyptian appreciation for it, my children are in very good hands on that front. It is a win win! My son already loves foul, which makes my heart happy. I did attempt falafel early in our marriage, but deep frying in a house with a child with a severe sesame allergy isn’t a risk worth taking.

And then there’s my husband’s Dutch upbringing. Stroopwafels, Dutch pancakes, and hagelslag: bread, butter and chocolate sprinkles for breakfast. I didn’t get it at first. I still slightly don’t. But apparently it’s a beloved Dutch tradition, and the occasional treat in our house? Absolutely fine by me. (Although I am not convinced he grew up eating it as my mother in-law has always been health conscious)

I want my children to grow up proud of every part of who they are, Bangladeshi, Egyptian, Italian, French, Czech, Dutch and British all at once. Luckily, they’re growing up in a world where social media has opened people’s eyes to the richness and variety of global food culture. What was once mocked is now celebrated, and that is a genuine, welcome change.

But more than what the world thinks, I want them to feel it at the table. In the smell of spices, the warmth of a shared meal, and the stories that come with every dish. Because food isn’t just food, it’s memory, identity and love, all served up together. And those are the kinds of meals I hope they carry with them long after they’ve left home.