Food Landscapes of Nepal: Churpi and Gooseberries
In Bhaktapur. Kathmandu, Bhaktapur, and Patan are the ancient kingdoms of the Newar ethnic group. Newari people have a deep culture of food and caste traditions.
“How was your trip?” is often the most difficult question to answer when I come home. My journeys in Nepal were so rich in transformation and memories, I have trouble thinking of how to frame my time there. Though I am forced to answer friends in a few short sentences, I would much rather take the time over a meal to illustrate aspects of the culture and untangle my personal experiences with them. Because that is how most of my beautiful Nepali friendships and adventures began: over a plate of steaming momos or with a hot milk tea in hand. So that is how I will share my stories with you today: layer by layer, plate by plate.
“Don’t chew your worries, your suffering, or your projects. That’s not good for your health. Just chew the string bean.”
CHURPI
The first day in Nepal I had a treat that I will never forget.
I had never come across anything like it in my life: a dried cube of cheese that you suck on like hard candy. As I walked from the main tourist district of Thamel in Kathmandu, I stopped to buy a piece from a roadside seller who plucked a cube from her large woven basket. My Nepali friend, Akanksha, did not warn me churpi was a hard solid object in the moments before I took my first chomp. I heard the crunch through my skull.
We laughed together at my surprised grimace and continued giggling as we boarded the packed public bus to her uncles’ house. It was my first time on the bus (sometimes they are more like vans), so I was surprised the only limit to the number of passengers was the door closing behind the last person. Once during rush hour, there were about 20 people in a small van that should only have held 10. Passengers were forced to fit their limbs like in Tetris.
Still rolling the churpi in my mouth,
I shifted uncomfortably in the aisle while precariously hanging over a seated woman. I silently watched her Nepali music videos with her as my only relief.
The roads in Dustmandu are riddled with potholes. Despite the lack of traffic lights, our van weaved through the streets like magic. Though I feared for my life the first time in the bus, I would come to love this wild pace of organized chaos in the streets. Life in Nepal - leisurely in attitude and exhilarating to experience - was exactly what I wanted when I walked away from Harvard. Compare: the now defunct “Harvard time” (starting class 7 minutes after the hour) to “Nepali time”. In Kathmandu, because of the constant heavy traffic and general lackadaisical attitude, it’s acceptable to be anywhere from 15 minutes to one hour late to any planned meeting. This suited me just fine.
As I clung to the rail, I jostled with the rhythm of traffic and bite into the churpi every time the bus lurched. Unlike American candies, churpi never loses its smoky cheese taste. Delightful. We veered off of the main road which circles Kathmandu city (Ring Road) onto the small local roads. This caused me even more anxiety as cars, trucks, and motorcycles zip down narrow winding streets, kicking up dust in their wake. As I looked anxiously out the window, the cheese slowly softened in my mouth until I could chewed it like gum and dissolved. Akanksha signaled with a hand that we were almost there and we shoved our way to the door. I told Akanksha that I would never try churpi again. She laughed and shrugged as we prepared to get off and put our dust masks back on. But as soon as we got off the bus, we were laughing again, as I realized my breath still smelled like cheese.
The door to Akanksha’s uncle’s house.
GOOSEBERRY
In Nepal, I tried a green gooseberry for the first time.
We had picked up the fruit from a street vendor selling them in small cones made of rolled up newpaper. I was walking with my Nepali friend Reecha and her little sister, Roshani, into Bhaktapur. In actuality, to call her a friend at that time was a bit of a falsehood since this was our first meeting. I touched down in Nepal scared out of my mind because I knew absolutely no one in the country. But this is the kindness of Nepalese people: I went to a college campus of 50,000 students during my visit to China. Only one was an exchange student from Nepal. I had the opportunity to meet the Nepalese PhD student briefly, and he gave me the contact of his niece, Reecha, who had just moved to Kathmandu. She assumed I was a middle aged woman on a family vacation. I assumed she was an established doctor. We were both happily surprised to be twenty-somethings meeting in the big city.
The gooseberry was hard little thing, a bit bigger than a blueberry. I only made a small tear in the fruit on the first bite, but the accompanying bitterness was so intense, no food in an American or Chinese diet could have prepared me.
Reecha and her younger sister, Roshani
I wanted to make a good impression because it was our first-time meeting, but it was difficult to hold a straight face. I tried intently to focus on her serious concerns about applying to graduate schools abroad. What I would later learn is that most Nepalese youths also had the same concerns on their mind too. In fact, most Nepali students who have the means and funds to study or work abroad choose not to return home. The country’s number one source of income before tourism is remittance (money sent home from family and friends abroad).
The young generation here is looking outward, to explore the world beyond the Himalayas
and live where the pay and opportunities are better. Most Nepalese people I met had a relative in Australia, America (many in Texas for some reason?), Canada, England. And if they didn’t already have a relative, they had their own aspirations to go abroad.
Patan
“If most of the younger population is moving abroad, isn’t this a crisis for those who remain in Nepal?” I thought to myself. My worries were assuaged by Nepali youths I met throughout my journey who were actively bucking the trend incredibly loyal to their Nepali identity and the future of Nepal. One was an open-minded finance major who had travelled internationally, only to come back to his roots in Kathmandu. He told me his life’s plan was to have a first career as a business man when he would get rich and accrue influence. After he became a model of success, this would be the only way for him to slide into politics and help his country rise again. Though his words left me skeptical, his face shined light under his round glasses. He talked less about his current disappointment in the government, and more about the hopes he had to lift his country out of poverty in the future.
Reecha’s little sister Roshani, dual major in law and management, carried the same fiery optimism. Unlike her sister, Roshani had plans to set up a criminal law agency that focused on pro-bono work for poor Nepali people who couldn’t afford good lawyers. Later in the car, we talked for a long time about why she felt the government was failing and what her future law firm would look like. I probed further and asked her why her life’s goal was to help underprivileged people. She looked at me blankly.
“Because they need me the most,” she said simply.
It was Roshani whom I turned my head back to after that first bite of the gooseberry. My face was screwed up in pain as I winced at the shocking taste. She smiled. “Don’t worry! Keep biting and the taste will become sweet,” she soothed. And slowly, the sour turned to a rush of smooth sweetness. It was rather an addictive process: bite, cringe through the sour juice, and wait for it to slowly twist into mellow tangy flavors.
Wild orchids on the outer rim of Kathmandu Valley
I turned back to Reecha who was pouring out her struggles of leaving the country. I didn’t know Reecha well at that time (though we would later become great friends), but I already felt a kinship with her. I felt like I was hearing what must have been the thoughts of my parents when they immigrated to America from China. Reecha joins the community of people like my parents and all the others who sought and are seeking a better life abroad. Those who brace for the bitterness of immigration, of living displaced, of being a minority, of assimilation. Because on new soil, they hope to find the fruits of a good life and the sweetness of meaningful pursuits.
Reecha reached into the cone and popped a gooseberry in her mouth as she spoke. I interrupted her to ask, incredulous, “How can you stand the taste?”
She laughed. “I can handle it”.
Pokhara
