Famine, Migration and The History of Bengal’s Zero-Waste Culinary Culture

Growing up, I recall watching the sunlight bouncing off the scalloped edges of the aluminium plate reserved for panta bhaat. The magic of fermentation and the secret ingredient of time would transform day-old rice, resurrected with water, into the perfect summer dish. I could identify panta bhaat by the scent its preparation left in the kitchen: a sour-sweet funk, signalling the breakdown of starch into a cooling, probiotic-rich preparation, served best with burnt red chillies and a generous glug of mustard oil. Breathing new life into yesterday’s leftovers or an almost-rotten vegetable was commonplace for the average Bengali long before the adoption of zero-waste became mainstream, especially through popular media.

Dr Amrita Bhattacharya, food anthropologist, chef and co-founder of the home-kitchen project Handpicked by Amrita in Shantiniketan, West Bengal, echoes this idea. She says, ‘Today, we celebrate these dishes for their complex flavours, but we must remember they were born from a time when [cooking with] waste wasn’t just a lifestyle choice. [Throwing away waste] was a risk our ancestors couldn’t afford.’ In Amrita’s home, much like in the homes of many Bengalis, peels, stalks and produce past their prime often find a second life before being written off as waste. She has vivid memories of curdled milk being boiled with sugar to create sandesh, a Bengali sweet. ‘That was the philosophy — nothing was ever truly discarded, only transformed,’ she reflects.