I’d be more successful if I put butter chicken on the menu, but I refuse to

This Sydney chef knows it makes better economic sense to serve the beloved curry, but she wants to stay true to her heritage – and her mum. “It’s my only tether to my identity.”

When I first opened Kolkata Social in Newtown, I was determined to stick to the food of my heritage and run a Bengali restaurant. Diners had other expectations. Just over a year later, I’ve learnt that even though it would be easier if I put butter chicken on the menu, I’m not about to start.

In Australia, the most famous Indian dish is, undoubtedly, butter chicken with naan, and we often get asked why we don’t serve either. To be honest, I didn’t try butter chicken until I moved to India’s largest city, Mumbai, at the age of 18 – it just didn’t form part of my food journey.

Don’t get me wrong, butter chicken done right is exceptional, and there’s comfort in familiarity. But India is such a massive country with huge diversity, it feels like a cop-out to represent the food of the country by serving this one dish.

I’m not saying Sydney’s Indian food scene isn’t diverse; it is. Harris Park is the centre of the expatt community. But outside of suburbs known for their Indian cuisine, some diners only want familiar dishes.

Yet even though I know all of this – that it makes better economic sense to go the safe route, especially in this economy – I’ve decided to stick with my Bengali restaurant, and that’s solely because of my mother.

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I was born and raised in Kolkata, and food is integral to being a Bengali. Respect for farmers and ingredients, eating the entire vegetable and fish, and building relationships with producers are things I learnt from my regular Sunday bajar (market) runs.

Bengali food has nuance and depth that should be celebrated. Jhal muri is a classic Bengali street snack of puffed rice with chilli pickle oil and toasted peanuts. At Kolkata Social, we serve it as tuna tartare.

We also have khichuri, a slow-cooked spiced rice and lentils, that we eat when it rains (I don’t know who started this custom, but it is a very Bengali thing). In the restaurant, we do a claypot version with pan-fried Flinders Island scallops.

Importantly, most of the dishes we serve are rooted in memory, and they’re dishes my grandmother used to make, my mum makes, and now I make.

Ma, who is my only family and a truly remarkable woman, taught me my love of cooking. She single-handedly raised me, and I am who I am today because of her. I am very proudly my mother’s daughter. (I also get my audacity from her.)

Sadly,