My refrigerator is practically a cheese emporium. This amusing discovery was brought to light during a casual evening when my friend, rummaging through my fridge for leftovers, exclaimed, “Wow, you guys have a lot of cheese!” It took me a moment to realize she was referring to the plethora of cheese rather than any unusual odor wafting from it.
A quick survey confirmed her observation; our fridge was indeed overflowing with an impressive selection of cheeses. Correction: our fridge was overflowing with cheese, thanks to my husband, the cheese aficionado. Cheddar, mozzarella, provolone, asiago, and parmigiano-reggiano—all are favorites of his.
In case you haven’t guessed, my husband hails from Italy, while I come from an East Indian background. He has brown hair and olive skin, while I’m more of a year-round cappuccino shade. When we tied the knot and began living together nine years ago, I had no inkling that our distinct cultural heritages would soon become evident in our daily lives.
It started subtly, first with our fridge and later when we decided to cultivate a garden that summer. My husband, a passionate gardener, had a clear vision of what to plant: zucchini, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, parsley, and basil. What he didn’t mention was that he had diversified our tomato crop to include not one, but at least seven varieties. By August, our garden resembled a tomato jungle, prompting my friend to comment, “Wow, you guys have a ton of tomatoes!” My quippy reply? “I married an Italian—what did you expect?”
This became my go-to response for any observation about our home. The abundance of homemade wine, fresh tomato sauce, prosciutto, and pasta in our pantry? Yep, you guessed it: “I married an Italian—what do you expect?”
Truth be told, I welcomed these Italian influences. For starters, I’ve developed a deep affection for red wine, which I appreciate even more since marrying my husband. Having a stock of homemade wine is not only more economical but also much more natural than store-bought alternatives.
And that overflowing tomato garden? It turned out to be a boon for my newfound passion for cooking. I began integrating those tomatoes into my Indian curry dishes, which I had previously overlooked.
Ironically, my husband’s proud embrace of his culinary heritage inspired me to reconnect with my own. For years, I had distanced myself from my Indian roots, trying to blend in more with my Canadian peers. During elementary school, being Indian wasn’t seen as something exotic; rather, it meant that my clothes and backpack often carried a distinct aroma of spices. I was embarrassed that my peers could identify me by scent alone and often kept my coat and backpack far away from the kitchen, where my mother was cooking those delightful but pungent Indian meals. Though I adored Indian cuisine, I didn’t want to smell like it.
Now, however, those days are long gone. I actively seek out the very spices I once avoided. I’ve even repurposed a cabinet in our retro kitchen into an “Indian spice cabinet.” The delightful aromas of cloves, cardamom, cumin, coriander, turmeric, and fenugreek waft through our home, especially since one of the cabinet doors is a bit broken and often left ajar.
With my expanding spice collection has come an increase in Indian cooking. Rice has become as staple in our kitchen as pasta once was. One day, while enjoying a plateful of rice and curry, my husband remarked, “We eat a lot more curry now.” He seemed quite pleased about it.
In truth, everyone appreciated the fragrant Indian dishes wafting through our home. The vibrant chicken curry simmering on the stove, chapathis sizzling in the pan, and a cooling raita on the side captivated even our non-Indian guests. My Italian in-laws often ask, “Can you make chicken curry when we visit?” (Though if my mother is also in attendance, they prefer her chicken curry over mine—she’s a culinary wizard, and I’ve come to terms with that.)
The scents of my culture now fill our home, and I no longer feel embarrassed. Some argue that marrying outside your culture leads to losing your identity, but I’ve found the opposite to be true. My Italian marriage has encouraged me to view my Indian roots through a fresh lens, allowing me to appreciate and embrace them more fully—especially through the joy of cooking. In fact, I’m already planning to plant chilies, coriander, and dill next summer, ensuring that both our Italian and Indian heritages are well represented in our garden.
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Summary:
Marrying an Italian man has enabled me to reconnect with my Indian heritage in unexpected ways. From our cheese-laden fridge to our thriving vegetable garden, I’ve embraced both cultures through cooking and family traditions. As I explore the rich aromas of Indian spices, I find joy in integrating my roots into our lives.
Keyphrase: Embracing Indian Roots Through Marriage
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