Staples to spectacle: The urban makeover of survival foods

On a sweltering summer morning, in many households across eastern India, a bowl of cold, water-soaked rice, popularly known as panta bhat, would be served with a slice of fried red chilli and a few crispy red lentil fritters.

Often accompanied by the reassurance that it “strengthens the body and aids digestion,” the dish has long been part of everyday nutritional wisdom. Years later, the same preparation appears in food vlogs, described as a ‘rural delicacy for an adventurous palate’, garnished with microgreens and avocado.

What was once eaten out of necessity now returns as curated curiosity. This shift tells a story of cultural transformation, in which a meal once marked by deprivation acquires value for an urban gaze.

This transformation is not abstract; it is already visible in contemporary urban cultural spaces. Visitors to the recently concluded city festival, BLR Hubba 2026, witnessed hamaar litti, along with ghughani gully, which was one of the attractions at the Thindi Hubba. BLR Hubba, especially through spaces like Thindi Hubba, is the institutional recognition of everyday cultural practices. Additionally, there are khichadi parlours in Bengaluru, such as The Great Indian Khichadi, Khichadi Bar, Khichadi House, and The
Ghee Khichadi Project, signalling how these foods are travelling from kitchens marked by scarcity to curated urban plates, carrying with them fragments of memory, labour, and survival.

Historically, panta bhat has been associated with existential recurrence, poverty, and the “lower” socioeconomic rungs. Drawing on Satyajit Ray’s classic cult film, Pather Panchali, and Nandalal Bose’s illustration in Sahaj Path, there were enough references that resonated deeply with panta bhat. Particularly, millennials like us, who grew up in a joint family, often heard wisdomary tales from grandparents about this dish being a staple at breakfast and lunch. A close cousin is congee or kanji, derived from the Tamil word kañci, which is considered a wartime or famine recipe because it is made by boiling rice with a large amount of water. It is usually served with pickles. Similarly, maad bhat (hot rice water), which is rich in nutrients, used to be a lifesaver for a mother in the state of Bihar.

Khichadi’s story is not very different. It is served as a crisis menu for the masses. We witnessed khichdi being prepared for displaced people due to floods or other disasters. Khichadi is also synonymous with the prison menu. However, it is a lifesaver for students preparing for competitive examinations who are away from home and cooking in their own kitchens. Litti Chokha has an ambiguous story. It is a kind of delicacy in the metro; it is easily available in Bihar and eastern UP. It is a safe option for workers in small towns and tehsils. 

Though the vloggers are trying to make these subaltern food practices viral, they are doing so at the cost of erasure. Some celebrated chefs are giving it a makeover with shallow-fried mackerel and an assortment of salad and serving it to the elites with cottagecore aesthetics. This has created hype around these staple dishes, raising critical questions like: can the Internet-frenzied populace who Instagrams these dishes as savoury understand the original ethos of these food practices?

The original ethos of these food practices is sustenance rather than spectacle. The spectacle also comes with a cost of sustainability. These foods are evidence of century-old local sustainable practices. Panta bhat is made with leftover rice for fermentation, which reduces food waste. Fermentation adds to what is better known as probiotic food. Khichdi is cooked not for conspiracy but to save time and fuel. The original litti was roasted on a goitha or upla (traditional fuel cake or charcoal). The roasted littis often last two-three days without spoiling. Migrants from Bihar and UP often carry homemade litti with pickles during their long journey, as they are healthy and economical.

However, the modern or fusion preparation, which often includes adding counter ingredients such as deep-fried mackerel or extra ghee, often spoils the original texture. The aesthetics of low-capital food become the fetish of the rich. This fetish presents these foods as exotic. Though one can easily prepare these foods at home, they are priced exorbitantly in niche restaurants. What we are witnessing, perhaps, is not merely a culinary shift but a deeper cultural reconfiguration. 

(The writers are faculty at Christ [Deemed to be University], Bengaluru)