There were spicy shrimp, which I did not love at all. There was mutton, and fried ricotta, which I loved. I would be lying if I said I remembered everything I ate, but I ate a lot. We thought that was wonderful, and we tucked into our meal. (Photo: Family handout)īy the time we sat down, we were amazed to find that there was almost $30,000 committed to Indian relief. Preet Bharara, left, and Tom Nichols in June 2021. Perhaps we might consider using social media to send out my culinary comeuppance, and even generate some small amount of money – maybe a few thousand dollars – to help with COVID relief? I thought this was a wonderful idea and we both sent out the message to the same internet that two years earlier had been scorching me and sending me wishes for my early demise. He also suggested that we remember that people in India were still in the grip of the pandemic. Preet, as a good host, had checked ahead of time for things like allergies or other issues.
I was not going to get away with my usual only-child behavior of a quick taste here and there. There was laughter and a lot of smiles and knowing looks. “This is the guy,” Preet said to the owner and some friends, meaning “the guy who slagged the cuisine of our ancestors whose mind we just might change.” I smiled gamely and said I was willing to make amends. And that’s how I found myself at a lovely restaurant named “Sona” in lower Manhattan. I was going to visit New York to see some friends, and we set a date. And sure enough, after talking about our vaccinations and our relief at the return of normality, Preet reminded me that I was due for a fine Indian dinner. The thing about making a promise like that, especially when you give it to former prosecutor like Preet, is that he will remember it and the day will come when you have to make good on it. I promised I would put myself in his hands at any restaurant of his choosing. But this was beyond politics: Preet offered to take me for Indian food when the pandemic lifted. Preet and I had never met, although we often read and commented on each other’s views, as we were both dedicated opponents of former president Donald Trump. One of those acquaintances was former United States attorney Preet Bharara. But several of my friends, and more than a few acquaintances I knew only through social media, insisted that I should give Indian food another try one day. (You can read the whole amazing story here.) Eventually, the furor died down, as such things always do. Of course, I thought I was tweaking my American friends who sweated and gasped their way through dishes of thermonuclear spiciness, but my clumsy attempt at wit soon ignited an international firestorm. “Indian food,” I said, “is terrible and we pretend it isn’t.” A dinner invitation It all started in 2019, when in response to an open invitation from a user on Twitter to post our most controversial food takes, I decided to bypass all the hatred for mayonnaise and other foods, and to fire off a zinger about the cuisine of an entire subcontinent. But before this happy ending, it was a story about a man – again, I mean “me” – who managed to insult over a billion people. It is also a story about the healing power of food. And by “us” I mean, mostly, “me,” but this is also a story about the spontaneous generosity of thousands of people.
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