The Great Indian Cheese & Mayo Pandemic

Just like this image, cheese and mayo are eating up our dishes...😡

I didn’t plan to write this.

But I can’t help myself anymore.

What exactly has happened to our street food culture?

Somewhere along the way, we decided that taste means drowning everything in oil, layering it with processed cheese, squeezing industrial mayonnaise over it, and calling it “fusion.” And if you really want to make it “premium,” just add more butter.

That’s the formula now.

I enjoy good cheese. I understand gourmet cheese. In the right dish, in the right quantity, it can elevate the experience beautifully. But processed cheese on everything? Cheese on dosa. Cheese on dhokla. Cheese on chaat. Cheese inside paratha. Cheese on pav bhaji. Cheese inside samosa. Cheese on noodles.

Enough.

And then there are the food vloggers the self-proclaimed ambassadors of “food culture.” Instead of promoting authentic recipes, regional diversity, or hygiene standards, the hunt is for the most absurd combination possible. The louder the sizzle, the thicker the cheese pull, the more viral the reel.

Nobody asks: Is this good food? Is this healthy? Is this even respectful to the original dish?

They ask: Will this go viral?

Where Did Our Diversity Go?

India isn’t a country with one cuisine. It’s a civilization of seasonal, regional, climate-sensitive food systems.

We have different dishes for monsoon, for summer, for winter.

Different grains for different soil types.

Different spices for different body needs.

Yet today, we are living in what I call a paneer pandemic.

Go to a highway restaurant in Karnataka instead of authentic local fare, you’ll find paneer butter masala.

Go to Goa traditional Konkani food takes a backseat to the same paneer-heavy menu.

Visit street markets in Mumbai, Gujarat, or Delhi and watch mountains of processed cheese being shaved onto everything.

Regional identity is dissolving under a blanket of synthetic dairy.

We once had culinary geography.

Now we have uniformity.

The Dosa Disaster

A dosa is one of the most elegant foods ever created. Fermented batter. Light. Crisp. Balanced. Nutritious.

Today?

Cheese burst dosa.

Mayo dosa.

Triple butter pizza dosa.

Chocolate dosa.

And Gujarati dhokla, a beautifully steamed, probiotic-rich snack now comes layered with uncooked processed cheese. And people clap.

Why?

Because it looks indulgent. Because it looks Instagrammable. Because excess has become aspiration.

Hygiene? Simplicity? Nutrition?

Why can’t we demand something radical?

Simple, plain, hygienic street food.

Balanced oil usage.

Respect for ingredients.

Regional authenticity.

We talk about rising lifestyle diseases. We talk about diabetes, heart problems, obesity. We talk about declining physical activity.

And yet we celebrate food that is high-fat, high-carb, low-nutrient with zero second thought.

Food was once nourishment.

Then it became celebration.

Now it has become spectacle.

I’m Still a Foodie

Let me be clear.

I love food. I love exploring cuisines. I enjoy experimentation. I appreciate innovation.

But innovation is not dumping cheese and mayonnaise on everything.

That’s not creativity.

That’s laziness.

Fusion should mean understanding two culinary systems deeply and combining them thoughtfully not industrial dairy as a universal solution.

And yes, if we’re eating together and you order something that looks like a cheese explosion designed for a viral reel, don’t expect me to share.

I’d rather eat something simple, clean, and honest.

The Real Question

Are we losing our food culture?

Or are we just too distracted by trends to protect it?

India has one of the richest culinary ecosystems in the world. It deserves better than processed cheese nationalism.

We don’t need more butter.

We need more balance.

And maybe just maybe a little less virality and a little more wisdom on our plates.

If you also feel the same and prefer some traditional dishes, share name of few traditional forgotten recipes which are still cooked in your kitchen.

Forged in Fire, Not in Drama

 Representative image

In the endless ocean of Indian reality TV, it's easy to feel drowned. Once upon a time, we had singing and dancing contests that celebrated talent. Then came the shift: drama, fights, scripted melodrama, and contestants more focused on abusing each other or chasing viral moments than showcasing actual skill. Promos alone were enough to make me switch off, endless shouting, fake tears, cheap PR stunts.

Thankfully, I disengaged early. A glance at the promos was enough. When a show starts advertising conflict instead of competence, I know it’s not meant for me.

That's when I turned to international channels, particularly the History Channel. Shows like Pawn Stars, Kings of Restoration, and Counting Cars were fun distractions, honest glimpses into passion-driven work. But nothing hooked me like Forged in Fire. Here was a competition built purely on craftsmanship, with a subtle connection to my own field of study and work: engineering, materials, precision, and the physics of tools. Blades aren't just weapons; they're engineering marvels under extreme stress.

The format is refreshingly simple: Four blacksmiths enter, three leave, one wins. Contestants forge blades (knives, axes, swords) under time pressure, then the judges: master bladesmiths test them ruthlessly: sharpness, durability, edge retention, balance. The blades either hold up or fail spectacularly. Drama? Minimal. No manufactured fights, no personal attacks, no forced tears. The tension comes from the forge itself, the heat, the hammer strikes, the risk of ruining hours of work in seconds. It's high on skill demonstration and low on manufactured conflict. For once, the spotlight stays on expertise.

What truly elevates the show for me is the final challenge: recreating a historical weapon. As a history buff, this is pure dopamine. Seeing contestants tackle Viking axes, Roman gladii, Japanese katanas, or more thrilling for me, the Indian blades like the Kataar, Vajramushti, Khanda, Khukri and many more gives me goosebumps. The judges explain the historical context, the metallurgy, the cultural significance. It reminds us that these weren't just tools of war; they were symbols of craftsmanship, defense, and identity.

On one hand, pride seeing our martial heritage acknowledged on a global platform. On the other, sadness. Watching modern contestants revive techniques our ancestors mastered centuries ago makes me sad. India has an incredible legacy of blade smithing, Wootz steel (the original Damascus), the flexible talwars that bent without breaking, the intricate Katars. These weapons helped defend kingdoms and cultures. But we've largely forgotten them. Today, they're museum pieces or props in films, not living skills. We have outsourced our own history to footnotes while foreign shows remind us of what our ancestors mastered with bare hands, fire, and instinct. Forged in Fire quietly honors that heritage in a way Indian media rarely does.

Indian TV has copied countless international formats; singing, dancing, survival, cooking but somehow, skill-focused shows like this remain absent from our mainstream. Instead, we're flooded with more nonsense: shouting matches, staged rivalries, and "reality" that's anything but real. Why not adapt something like Forged in Fire? A desi version could feature traditional weapons (talwar vs. khanda challenges), local blacksmiths from villages and rural India gets to show their skills in blade smithing, giving much needed push that skills are supreme not drama. It could revive dying crafts while entertaining without degrading anyone.

As for when India might get mature, logical, skill-focused content like this on mainstream TV? Honestly, not soon. Our channels prioritize TRPs through sensationalism, and audiences (sadly) reward it. We've seen thoughtful shows like Panchayat or skill-ish formats on international channels here. In coming 5–10 years, as younger viewers demand substance and OTT budgets grow, we might see Indian adaptations of craft-based competitions.

When that shift happens, formats like Forged in Fire won’t feel “niche” anymore, they’ll feel overdue. Until then, some of us will keep searching quietly, away from the noise for stories forged not in drama, but in skill.

What about you? Have you watched Forged in Fire? Which historical blade challenge was your favorite?

Do remember, 'When skill disappears from our screens, it eventually disappears from our society.'

Drop your thoughts below!