But the real story is in the homes of Indian students who studied in Ukraine or Russia. During the 1990s and 2000s, thousands of Indian medical students spent six years in harsh Soviet winters. They survived on Salo, buckwheat, and borscht.
To the uninitiated, Salo is simply cured pork fat. To a Ukrainian or Russian, it is a national treasure, eaten raw with black bread and vodka. But in India? Salo exists in a fascinating, silent, and often hidden culinary dimension. salo in indian
Indian cuisine is an expert at adoption. The tomato (from the New World), the chili (also New World), and the potato are now "Indian." Salo won't become a national dish. But it has found its niche. But the real story is in the homes
I spoke to a cardiologist in Kerala who keeps a jar of home-cured Salo in a specialised wine cooler set to 4°C. "My wife hates the smell," he laughed. "But every Saturday night, I pull it out. A slice of black bread, a clove of raw garlic, a sliver of that salty fat. It takes me back to Kyiv in the snow." To the uninitiated, Salo is simply cured pork fat
Raw pork fat in a tropical climate? That is the first hurdle. In Russia or Ukraine, Salo is stored in a cold cellar or a balcony during -20°C winters. The fat hardens into a waxy, translucent slab.
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In the grand, aromatic theatre of Indian cuisine, we speak of ghee with reverence. We celebrate the unctuous, slow-rendered fat of dairy as liquid gold. But what happens when we introduce another form of preserved fat—one that is savoury, smoky, garlicky, and unapologetically pork-based?