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The Best Cookbooks of the Century So Far

 
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PostPosted: Tue Jul 16, 2019 1:17 am    Post subject: The Best Cookbooks of the Century So Far Reply with quote

Annals of Gastronomy

The Best Cookbooks of the Century So Far

By Helen Rosner
July 14, 2019

https://www.newyorker.com/culture/annals-of-gastronomy/the-best-cookbooks-of-the-century-so-far

In the digital age, cookbooks have reinvented themselves.

The Internet really ought to have killed cookbooks. Recipes—tidy, self-contained packets of information that for centuries were individually swapped and shared, indexed and catalogued—are ideally suited for digital transmission. As they migrated online, liberated from the printed and bound, multiplying giddily, the thousand-recipe doorstops and easy-weeknight omnibus editions that had, for so long, stood in hardcover at the end of the shelf closest to the stove were rendered obsolete. And that should have been the end of it.

Yet somehow cookbooks stuck around. In fact, as the rest of the book industry found itself in a post-millennial free fall, cookbooks were selling better than ever. This is because, coinciding with the rise of the Internet, cookbooks reinvented themselves. What once were primarily vehicles for recipes became anything but: the recipes still mattered, but now they existed in service of something more—a mood, a place, a technique, a voice. Cookbooks of the pre-Internet age remain essential, of course. (What would any kitchen be without the guiding voices of Madhur Jaffrey, Julia Child, Edna Lewis, Harold McGee, and a hundred others?) But, to my mind, the best cookbooks of the twenty-first century are among the very best ever written.

What follows is a list of my personal favorites from the beginning of the new millennium to the present. It’s a list that’s shaped by the particulars of how I eat, how I cook, and how I read, and its ten volumes—which include a profanity-filled restaurant scrapbook, a historiological cookbook of cookbooks, and a multi-thousand-page set of culinary lab notes—may not be the same that populate the Top Ten of any other cook. But what compels and delights me about my particular catalogue is that each book is, at heart, a text that teaches rather than dictates, that emphasizes cooking as a practice rather than as merely a means to a meal. They’re books that not only have great recipes and gorgeous images but take exuberant advantage of their form—subverting, reconsidering, and reframing the rules and limits of cookbook writing. If I’m stuck on what to make for dinner, I have only to Google some variation of “salmon arugula cast-iron easy.” For proof of what an extraordinary object a cookbook can be, I turn again and again to these.

“The River Cottage Cookbook,” by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall (2001)

Changing one’s relationship with food “involves no sacrifice, no hardship or discomfort,” Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall writes, in his poetic ode to the hands-on, homestead-ish life. His prescription is simple: get in there and do it yourself—grow your own food, meet your meat, learn the colors and patterns of the landscape around you through all its seasons. Years before “farm to table” was a buzzword and Michael Pollan a household name, Fearnley-Whittingstall was urging readers to move away from industrial food systems and reacquaint themselves with lo-fi self-sufficiency: he will teach you how to cultivate your own berry brambles, trap your own eels (this is a very British book), and raise (and slaughter) your own pigs. The idea that pastoral practices can be pleasurable instead of burdensome is old news for the many home cooks today who know how to spot ramps in the wild and whip up D.I.Y. ricotta. But “The River Cottage Cookbook” ’s ideas (and straightforward, elegant recipes) remain striking reminders that what we eat isn’t just food on a plate but part of a thrilling natural cycle, our human lives brushing up against countless others, plant and animal alike.

“The Zuni Café Cookbook,” by Judy Rodgers (2002)

Since its introduction, in the late nineteen-eighties, the roast chicken served at San Francisco’s Zuni Café has earned a reputation as the best roast chicken in the world—crisp-skinned, impossibly juicy, served atop a salad of torn bread and bitter greens whose tart vinaigrette blends with the rich, golden drippings. That recipe alone would land this book on any list of the great and essential, but the rest of the volume has a magic, as well. Judy Rodgers got her culinary footing in France, living for a year with the family of the chef Jean Troisgros, and in Berkeley, where she cooked at Chez Panisse, and this five-hundred-page manifesto draws on those threads of experience (and others). The result is a remarkable collection of emphatic culinary opinions, several hundred of which are disguised as recipes: the merits of some soft cheeses over others, the precise way to dress a salad, the nonnegotiable importance of salting raw beef and fowl a day or more before it’s cooked. The book’s magnificent opening chapter, “What to Think About Before You Start, & While You Are Cooking,” lays out the philosophical blueprint for every New American and California-casual cookbook that followed.

“Baking: From My Home to Yours,” by Dorie Greenspan (2006)

It’s true, unfortunately, that the art of baking is more rigid and exacting than that of stovetop cooking. The whims of a search-engine algorithm won’t cut it if you want your biscuits perfectly fluffy, your cakes precisely lofty yet moist, and your cookies angelic; a baker, more than any other cook, needs a recipe writer she can truly trust. To my mind, there is none more reliable than Dorie Greenspan, a lapsed academic who found her calling in cakes and pastries and built a career writing uncommonly precise road maps for replicating her success. With her as a guide, there is no room for self-destructive improvisation: her stylish, rigorous, cheerful recipes work because she tells her reader exactly how to make them work, anticipating our errors and our questions, building contingencies, alternatives, and solutions right into the text, and evincing a soothing flexibility. (If the ganache at the bottom of a layered pudding spills up the sides of the cup, “it’s pretty; if it doesn't, the chocolate will be a surprise.”) And if you only have one Greenspan book, it should be this one, a masterwork spanning breakfast to midnight snacks—not to mention her famous World Peace Cookies.

“Momofuku,” by David Chang and Peter Meehan (2009)

For many accomplished restaurant chefs, authoring a cookbook is just another checkbox on the to-do list of culinary celebrity, something to fit in after headlining a charity auction but before doing a stint on reality TV. Accordingly, countless celebrity-chef cookbooks consist of little more than dinner-party recipes sprinkled with pleasantly superficial biography. David Chang, whose Momofuku restaurants blew up American restaurant culture and then rebuilt it again in a decidedly hipper, more global, more postmodern form, did something similarly upending with his Momofuku book. Co-written with Peter Meehan, who later became Chang’s collaborator on the now-defunct food magazine Lucky Peach, the book is sometimes brilliantly cookable—see the dazzlingly effective method for cast-iron ribeye, or the near-instant ginger-scallion sauce, which tastes good on almost anything. Other times, by design, it is absolutely impossible, outlining finicky and complex recipes that are best suited for a brigade of swaggering line cooks. (I love the headline for the frozen foie-gras torchon, which advises you not to make the dish.) Throughout the volume, Chang spends time grappling with what was, at the time, the central drama of his career: initially the proud outsider, devoted to rejecting the restaurant world’s stodgy establishment, Momofuku’s culinary subversion was so forceful (and so appealing) that it became an establishment of its own.

“Modernist Cuisine: The Art and Science of Cooking,” by Nathan Myhrvold, Chris Young, and Maxime Bilet (2011)

The molecular-gastronomy movement was in full swing in 2011—you could hardly snap a napkin in a top-tier restaurant without hitting a spherified cocktail and disrupting a stabilized emulsion or two. Into the haze of edible smoke thudded Nathan Myhrvold’s five-volume, 2,438-page, several-hundred-dollar magnum opus, the result of three years of testing in a full-time, fully staffed research kitchen. (Myhrvold, a technologist and former Microsoft C.T.O., has a habit of professionalizing his extracurricular interests.) “Modernist Cuisine” strapped turbo boosters to the slow, iterative experiments that had been happening in restaurant kitchens, delivering hundreds of ideas, models, and scientific answers on a scale that had been previously unthinkable. (For those of more modest culinary means, there’s also the companion volume “Modernist Cuisine at Home.”) Curiously, almost as soon as the book landed, high-end chefs’ attentions moved elsewhere—the mad-scientist era of gels and foams gave way to the more anthropological, emotional sense-of-place cooking spearheaded by chefs like René Redzepi, of Noma. “Modernist Cuisine,” it seems, had explored its subject so comprehensively that there was little ground left to cover.

“Zahav: A World of Israeli Cooking,” by Michael Solomonov and Steven Cook (2015)

This book isn’t responsible for the new trendiness of Middle Eastern food—that honor belongs, arguably, to the collected works of Yotam Ottolenghi, and his artful deployment of pomegranate seeds and tahini. But, in my mind, Ottolenghi’s books make better sources of inspiration than instruction or learning. For the latter, there’s Michael Solomonov. “Zahav,” like “Momofuku,” is a restaurant cookbook that avoids the clichés of restaurant cookbooks—it’s based on the menu of Solomonov’s Philadelphia restaurant of the same name, where the kitchen specializes in what he calls “modern Israeli cuisine,” a patchwork of Levantine, Maghrebi, Persian, Egyptian, Yemeni, and Eastern European influences. The book goes both deep (into Solomonov’s own life story, which is marked by great loss) and broad (addressing the cultural and political complexities of considering Israel as a culinary entity). It’s also a patient and encouraging guide to Solomonov’s dazzling recipes, worth the price of entry for almost any single chapter alone, especially those covering Solomonov’s magnificent salatim (dips, salads, and other small vegetable plates) and his approach to open-fire grilling.

For the Love of Bread

“Franklin Barbecue: A Meat-Smoking Manifesto,” by Aaron Franklin and Jordan Mackay (2015)

There are a handful of conventional recipes in this book—a few sauces, a coleslaw, some beef ribs, your usual barbecue accoutrements. But the big one in “Franklin Barbecue,” the singular one this book exists to document, is the one for the Austin pitmaster’s legendary smoked brisket. The actual brisket recipe fills eight pages late in the book, but the two hundred or so pages that come before are, arguably, as essential to the process. With the reverent intensity of the true believer, Aaron Franklin delivers an almost comically sweeping exercise in obsession and precision: if you want to make Franklin Barbecue–quality barbecue, you can’t just buy a hunk of meat and light a fire. You need to build a smoker and learn how to make it purr, you need a wood guy, you need to learn how to manipulate flames and air. The great lie of most restaurant cookbooks is the promise that you and I can do it at home. Like Chang’s frozen foie-gras torchon, Franklin’s barbecue comes with a hard truth: you probably can’t. But if you wanted to—if you really wanted to—he’s here to show you every single thing you need to know to pull it off.

“The Jemima Code: Two Centuries of African-American Cookbooks,” by Toni Tipton-Martin (2015)

Early in her career, the food writer and editor Toni Tipton-Martin noticed that virtually none of the cookbooks she encountered in professional kitchens were written by black cooks. Over decades, she read and researched hundreds of rare and often forgotten works of the African-American culinary record. “The Jemima Code” is a chronicle of her learning, an annotated catalogue of some hundred and sixty volumes, many from Tipton-Martin’s own library, spanning from the days of slavery to just a few years ago. Whether writing about a brief recipe pamphlet or a dense guide to household management, Tipton-Martin gives each book a generous page or more of comment, limning the biographies of the authors and celebrating their accomplishments. It’s a beautiful and essential corrective to the ongoing erasure of generations of black American culinaria and its indelible influence on American cuisine writ large. (“Jubilee,” Tipton-Martin’s more conventional cookbook, compiling recipes from the books in this collection, is publishing this fall.)

“Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking,” by Samin Nosrat (2017)

Reference books, almost by definition, aren’t meant to be read straight through; they’re index-driven, drily instructive knowledge-delivery mechanisms. They’re certainly not supposed to do what “Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat” does: just flat-out teach you, from the ground up, how to be a good cook. The title’s four words refer to the central pillars of cooking; the book explains how mastering them will transform everyday cooking from rote recipe-following to something more intuitive, jazz-like. The lush, four-episode Netflix series inspired by this book might be the trebuchet that launched Samin Nosrat to household-name status, but it’s her book that we’ll still be reaching for decades from now, as a guide for beginners in need of essential egg-scrambling techniques or for experienced cooks looking to burnish their confidence and bolster their skills. I always thought I knew how to use salt, for example; after applying Nosrat’s lessons—layering different varieties, seasoning at various stages of the cooking process, exploring the mineral’s different guises and effects, bold and subtle—I feel like I’ve levelled up from journeyman to master.

“Feast: Food of the Islamic World,” by Anissa Helou (2018)

Anissa Helou, who grew up in Beirut, made her name with lyrical Mediterranean cookbooks that make ideal celebratory dinners. “Feast” maintains her crisp, evocative prose and approachable recipe writing, but shifts its boundaries from the geographic to the religious, chronicling Muslim culinary traditions across Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. The book’s three hundred recipes trace the path of Islam from its seventh-century origins in present-day Saudi Arabia to the vibrant Muslim communities of Senegal, India, Indonesia, China’s Xinjiang province, and more. The food itself is phenomenal—breads, salads, stews, curries, sticky-sweet desserts—but even more illuminating is Helou’s decision to include blocks of different recipes for a single dish. At first, they seem redundant: half a dozen simple flatbreads, or innumerable variations on ground spiced meat formed into kebabs. In fact, in outlining their minute differences side by side, Helou reveals the habits, rituals, and histories that make up a vast and heterogeneous religious culture and cuisine.
Helen Rosner is a staff writer at The New Yorker. In 2016, she won the James Beard award for personal-essay writing.
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PostPosted: Wed Sep 09, 2020 7:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The Best Cookbooks of 2020

These books gave us projects when we needed to pass the hours—and quick dinners when we just couldn’t take another second in the kitchen.

By The Editors of Epicurious
December 11, 2020

https://www.epicurious.com/shopping/the-best-cookbooks-of-2020-article

All products featured on Epicurious are independently selected by our editors. However, when you buy something through our retail links, we may earn an affiliate commission.

In the Before Times, when we thought about the best cookbooks of the year, we sought inspiring dinner party recipes and fun dishes for a crowd. In those days, books full of elaborate baking projects were things to admire but actually only to bake from once or twice a year.

Thinking about the best cookbooks of 2020—which ones we used the most, which ones kept us from ordering delivery after the millionth night of staying in—was different, of course.

We loved our cookbooks more than ever in 2020. But we loved them for reasons that are a little contradictory. This year saw the rise of project cooking: kneading dough as an edible stress ball, and folding butter into flour with the understanding that we weren’t going to be popping out for croissants with a friend any time soon. But this year also brought thousands of dinners cooked at home, bored kids signing off of virtual school and immediately demanding dinner, and dishes…all of the dishes. So we reached both for cookbooks that offered elaborate, time-intensive projects, and also for books that would allow us to get dinner on the table without having a breakdown. Hard and easy. Fast and slow.

Below are the 2020 cookbooks that we loved most of all. All of them were written before the pandemic with no knowledge of just how useful and comforting and helpful they’d be. But these deep dives on dim sum, dependable guides to building dinner around cabbage, and unsnobbish instruction books for getting cocktails on our coffee tables did just that: instructed us, calmed us, held our hands. And in that not-so-insignificant way, they helped get us through this difficult year.

Vegetable Kingdom by Bryant Terry

Food justice activist and chef Bryant Terry wrote this cookbook with the intention of making the many foods of the plant kingdom irresistible to his daughters—to inspire their curiosity and show them the pleasures of eating nourishing food. Turns out, the book has inspired many of us too. With dishes like Citrus and Garlic-Herb Braised Fennel, Jerk Tofu Wrapped in Collard Leaves, and Roasted Sweet Potato and Asparagus Po’Boy, the collection of recipes emphasizes the ingredients, techniques, and dishes of the African diaspora. Each page offers proof that plant-based cooking needn’t rely on meat substitutes to be flavorful and fulfilling. Flip through Vegetable Kingdom, and you’ll find a number of delicious ways to enhance the vegetables you’ve always loved (and maybe find some vegetables that are new to you too). Case in point: Creamy Ginger Dressing, which does triple duty as a marinade, dip, and goes-on-everything sauce. As in Terry’s previous work, Afro-Vegan, you can treat this cookbook as a soundtrack to your kitchen: He’s paired each recipe with the perfect song to play as you cook.

Vegetable Kingdom: The Abundant World of Vegan Recipes by Bryant Terry

A lot of cooking in 2020 started with opening the fridge, fishing out whatever wasn’t wilted, and trying to figure out something to do with it. And for that, Start Simple seems prescient. Released in February, before the realities of America’s pandemic set in, the book quickly proved its value with vegetarian recipes that are uncomplicated, dependable, and specific to whatever’s on hand. Volger divided his book into chapters named for common foods you can build a meal around: “A Block of Tofu,” “A Head of Cabbage,” “A Stack of Tortillas.” His ideas for what to do with those things (ginger-scallion stuffed tofu, cheesy cabbage soup, Swiss chard enchiladas) are neither revolutionary nor boring; instead, they hit the sweet spot of being craveable but still familiar. So no, this isn’t really dinner party fare, but dinner parties weren’t a thing in 2020 anyway. And even when those parties come back, Start Simple will stay relevant. Those fridge-staring days may be slightly less common when the pandemic is over, but as Volger knows, they’ll never go away completely.

Start Simple: Eleven Everyday Ingredients for Countless Weeknight Meals by Lukas Volger

As much a cook’s resource as it is a collection of recipes, Nik Sharma’s Flavor Equation teaches the science of, say, sweetness, and follows up that knowledge with a recipe for gooey Chocolate Miso Bread Pudding, or a saffron-swirled bun. It explains the chemical structures of aromas and then shows you how to capture them through toasting, smoking, zesting. At first glance, some of the science may seem intimidating. Don’t worry. Each recipe more than stands on its own if you’re just here for the cooking—and Sharma has a knack for clear-eyed explanations. This is definitely a book for leveling up your cooking with newly finessed techniques and impressive dishes. But we’ve also turned to it for quick bowls of smoky raita, a week’s worth of dal makhani, and pitchers of tangy tamarind-laced refreshers. Whether you’re seeking a richly-flavored weeknight meal or a whole cooking master class, Flavor Equation does not disappoint.

The Flavor Equation: The Science of Great Cooking Explained in More Than 100 Essential Recipes by Nik Sharma

Meera Sodha’s latest cookbook is a celebration of vegan and vegetarian cooking that highlights flavors from across Asia—From Bangalore to Beijing reads the subtitle, and that’s no exaggeration. Think Thai-inspired eggplant larb, flaky leek-and-chard martabak made with frozen phyllo, sweet potato bibimbap, and chapters for sweets and condiments as well. Sodha presents the kind of food you want to make right this second: bright and flavorful, vegetable-forward (but not preachy in its meatlessness), weeknight-friendly, and hard to resist. Fans of her New Vegan column in The Guardian and the straightforward style of her recipe writing will love the 100-plus dishes here.

East: 120 Vegan and Vegetarian Recipes from Bangalore to Beijing by Meera Sodha

Just looking at a guide to making sourdough online is enough to deter you from ever attempting a loaf. Recipes are long and excruciatingly detailed—and it can feel like if you do one tiny thing wrong you’ll end up with a pancake of a loaf. The world of sourdough and breadmaking is also painfully whitewashed. As Epi contributor Rachel Khong wrote in her review of the book, Brian Ford’s New World Sourdough is the antidote to all of that, and the perfect book for anyone who’s wanted to try sourdough but felt discouraged by Instagram grids full of perfect scoring patterns and crumb structures. Ford wants to make bread baking accessible rather than intimidating, so the book doesn’t contain complicated percentages or details about hydration levels. Instead, it offers simple recipes laid out in grams. And Ford offers a broader range than what you see in many other sourdough books, with recipes for pan de coco, sourdough tortillas, and challah. While 2020 was the year of sourdough, that doesn’t mean it didn’t feel exclusionary to some—luckily Ford’s book proved that breadmaking truly can be for anyone who wants to try it.

New World Sourdough: Artisan Techniques for Creative Homemade Fermented Breads by Bryan Ford

A deep dive into the recipes that made Nom Wah a New York City institution, this book offers both history lessons and dumpling primers, with stories from a few of the characters central to the restaurant’s century-long history dropped between cooking instructions. As owner Wilson Tang assures the reader, dim sum is meant to be as easy to prepare as it is to eat, so the dishes he presents are straightforward and often accompanied by helpful technique illustrations—not to mention evocative, celebratory photographs by Alex Lau.

The Nom Wah Cookbook: Recipes and Stories from 100 Years at New York City's Iconic Dim Sum Restaurant by Wilson Tang and Joshua David Stein

Drink What You Want by John deBary

Drinking is supposed to be fun—not that you’d know it from reading most cocktail books. Drink What You Want stands out from the crowd, though, from its first cheeky illustration through its (numerous) swear words. Author John deBary, a bartender known for his work at the Momofuku restaurant group and PDT (he’s also a cofounder of the Restaurant Workers’ Community Foundation), empowers folks at home to get more confident in their cocktail-making, including forgoing tradition at times to make tastier versions of old-school drinks. The Diablo, for example, is usually mixed with ginger beer, but deBary brightens it up by calling for sparkling wine and fresh ginger syrup instead. You can make his three-ingredient Preserves Sour with tequila and peach jam as written—but he urges you to try gin and raspberry, bourbon and marmalade, or rum and plum too. Without being didactic, he shows how various cocktails are related, though he also offers plenty of more advanced ideas for certified beverage nerds. Maybe, by the time you drink your way through, you’ll be one too.

My Korea by Hooni Kim

For anyone interested in Korean cooking, My Korea is a new essential. Chef Hooni Kim shares the building blocks of Korean cuisine before diving into the classic dishes and modern interpretations that have made his two New York City restaurants so popular. There are recipes in here for cooks who are quite familiar with the cuisine as well as for cooks who’ve never tasted a bite of Korean cooking. Earlier this year, associate editor Joe Sevier wrote about a few of Kim’s favorite weeknight dishes, including several from this book. My Korea teeters between ambitious, restaurant-driven recipes and easy weeknight stews, stir-fries, and noodle dishes; between traditional and contemporary—and it does so effortlessly.

My Korea: Traditional Flavors, Modern Recipes by Hooni Kim

You’re going to want to make everything you see in Claire Saffitz’s first cookbook. Each turn of the page reveals a stunning new image: a glossy quince tart, fudgy malt-infused brownies, the best pumpkin pie you’ll ever make. Her basics, like Flaky All-Butter Pie Dough and Silkiest Chocolate Buttercream, will become your new go-tos; her cakes and cookies will be the first things you think of when it’s safe to have friends over again. It’s not all sweets, though. Despite the Dessert Person moniker, Saffitz shares a whole chapter of savory recipes that are equally enticing: Caramelized Endive Galette, Pigs in a Brioche Blanket. It’s Saffitz’s meticulous attention to detail and ratios that will turn anyone who picks up this book into an accomplished baker, and her friendly, nonintimidating approach that will keep you reading. To quote Saffitz, no matter your status before picking up this book, once you do, you’ll know: “We are all Dessert People.”

Ottolenghi Flavor by Ixta Belfrage and Yotam Ottolenghi

Yotam Ottolenghi has long worn the crown for making England’s most impressive vegetable dishes. Ottolenghi Flavor continues that tradition (it’s the third book in the vegetarian Plenty and Plenty More trio) but with a broader flavor profile, more teaching, and a new coauthor, recipe developer Ixta Belfrage. Yes, the recipes are often projects, but no more so than many other books’ meaty mains. And unlike Ottolenghi books of the past, the dishes often rely on a dramatic less-is-more approach—Hasselback beets stand alone save for a drizzle of lime butter, while little golden onion orbs, basted in miso butter, are the star of their own dish. The essays key us into how the chef’s London test kitchen thinks about pairing flavors and how they choose techniques such as charring or aging to coax flavor out of vegetables and to build texture. The photos—of spice-laden, sauce-drizzled roots, shoots, and leaves—will inspire even the most quarantine-fatigued home chef.

Ottolenghi Flavor: A Cookbook by Ixta Belfrage and Yotam Ottolenghi

Maneet Chauhan grew up in Ranchi in East India but is now based in Nashville, where she runs three restaurants. In this cookbook, she presents recipes for the chaats and snacks of her childhood train trips across India. As cheesy as this sounds, it is truly the book for anyone who misses traveling—and the varied street foods that go along with travel, if your path happens to take you through India’s train stations. The book is divided by region and features beautiful photography of the bustling India Chauhan visited while working on the book. But the book works oddly well in isolation for more than just nostalgia: The chaats, which bring multiple elements (salty, tangy, crunchy, soft) together in harmony in a singular snack, are lovely meals for one or two when your cooking fatigue can only be overcome by the magical power of Snacky Dinner. And the book goes a little further than just chaat, with cocktails and refreshing beverages, more hearty recipes, and sweets like this fresh paneer cheesecake. Try the creamy and bright Ros Omelet from Goa or the worth-the-effort Idli that train passengers in Chennai line up for every morning.
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