Life’s Too Short - for Tasteless Berries & Cardboard Bread. Seriously.

There are two things I don’t compromise on: fresh fruit and good bread. Life’s just too short to chew through sour strawberries or choke down a bun that tastes like soggy paper.

Brun Pav, slathered with cherry apricot jam & butter, recipes for both are in my cookbook, "Seven Pots of Tea: an Ayurvedic approach to sips & nosh (2020)

I grew up in a culture where untouched food was never wasted. If we didn’t eat it, maybe the crows, sparrows, or a stray animal would. It was part frugality, part kindness. But here’s the thing—I’ve always chosen to eat food I actually liked, not just what was available. And when I returned home from a long trip recently, I did what I always do: restock my kitchen with fresh fruit.

My go-to stores? One’s a German-owned budget-friendly grocery chain (you know the one, Aldi’s cousin), and the other is a bougie American supermarket with consistently flavorful produce and quality meats. That day, I picked up a box of berries, a bag of citrus, and a mini watermelon. The weather was hot, and I needed juicy, refreshing fruit to beat the heat.

But the berries? All looks, no flavor.

The citrus? So bitter it made my insides wince.

The watermelon? Tasted like watery packaging foam.

Every day, I’d leave the uneaten fruit in the yard for squirrels, chipmunks, and the occasional opossum. But even the critters turned up their noses. Days passed, and nothing touched it. That’s when it hit me—no one, not even backyard wildlife, deserves bad fruit.

Fast forward to this week, after another stretch of travel. I bought Pao buns from a small, locally owned bakery—because I believe in supporting small businesses. But these smelled like overcooked egg-wash and tasted like cardboard. I tried salvaging them: toasted, as a sandwich, dunked in rajma. But they rolled around my mouth like a soggy cotton ball. Trash-bound, they went.

And here’s the truth: no one needs to eat food that tastes like a chemistry experiment or feels like regret. Not you. Not me.

On road trips, I’m always the driver. I love the rhythm of highways, the cities whizzing by, the endless billboards promising us everything from fried chicken buckets to fast-cash loans. But those oversized signs make me wonder—have we been trained to settle for less? For bland, greasy food that fills our bellies but not our souls?

I want my fruit to taste like it should: strawberries that are sweet, grapes that burst with juice, apples with crunch, and watermelons that sing summer. Why did we stop demanding better?

I want my bread to have structure. Crusty, airy, eggless. A solid loaf with good crumb—not a dense lump of unbaked dough. I’ve got a solid French bread recipe, don’t get me wrong.

But why is it so hard to find flavorful good bread at a store or even a bakery?

Somewhere along the way, we got polite. We stopped asking for better. We accepted free hotel breakfasts that taste like packing material, freezer-burned ice cream, yogurt laced with chemical notes, and lukewarm meals we only eat because we were taught to be “grateful.” Should gratitude come at the cost of flavor or dignity?

I’m not asking for grocery store recs or sourdough starter tips.

But if you’ve got a loaf you’ve baked, or berries you’ve grown, bring them over.

Let’s sit down at the table and taste something real.

Let’s raise our standards—and not just our forks.