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Chhaunk: On Food, Economics And Society
Chhaunk, oil infused with different spices, lies at the heart of Indian cooking. It is just a few teaspoons, but it finishes a dish and gives it its particular piquancy. The pieces in this delightful book can be seen as a literary chhaunk – a sprinkling of ideas and arguments around the social sciences, which imparts its own distinct flavour.
Part memoir, part cookbook, Chhaunk playfully uses food to talk about economics, society and India, and makes unexpected connections, say, between savings and shami kebab or between women’s liberation and the Bengali vegetable dish of ghanto.
Abhijit Banerjee, economist and Nobel laureate, loves to cook and feed people, and misses India all the time. This delicious collection of essays – light in style and big on ideas – is his attempt to string the many parts of his eclectic existence together.
Part memoir, part cookbook, Chhaunk playfully uses food to talk about economics, society and India, and makes unexpected connections, say, between savings and shami kebab or between women’s liberation and the Bengali vegetable dish of ghanto.
Abhijit Banerjee, economist and Nobel laureate, loves to cook and feed people, and misses India all the time. This delicious collection of essays – light in style and big on ideas – is his attempt to string the many parts of his eclectic existence together.
352 pages, Hardcover
Published January 16, 2025
25 people are currently reading
407 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
January 4, 2025
I got through half the columns before putting it down.
The writing style is cool. It's foodie slice-of-life with some social commentary and development economics thrown in. Definitely got some recipes to try out and papers to follow up on.
But at the end of the day, it's a bunch of newspaper columns stretched out to fill a book. A breezy read but not much weight to anything
The writing style is cool. It's foodie slice-of-life with some social commentary and development economics thrown in. Definitely got some recipes to try out and papers to follow up on.
But at the end of the day, it's a bunch of newspaper columns stretched out to fill a book. A breezy read but not much weight to anything
October 29, 2025
This is the sort of book/ column that can only get commissioned after you've won the Nobel prize. It's about nothing in particular, rarely insightful and probably unhelpful to most who are looking to learn about either economics or cooking
January 13, 2025
This was a 5 star read for me but objectively, it would be more 4 stars as it touches on a lot of topics that you will have to explore further yourself. It taught me a lot of new things though.
This ranges from Ronald Reagen and Margaret Thatcher's economic policies on corporate tax and social welfare to the fact that shakshuka originates from North Africa and not Israel or Palestine.
If I don't want to sound like I have half-baked knowledge, I'll have to read up more. That is the catch. The author kindly adds a references section at the end. It helps.
My biggest takeaway: I have no idea what the heck a cilantro is.
This ranges from Ronald Reagen and Margaret Thatcher's economic policies on corporate tax and social welfare to the fact that shakshuka originates from North Africa and not Israel or Palestine.
If I don't want to sound like I have half-baked knowledge, I'll have to read up more. That is the catch. The author kindly adds a references section at the end. It helps.
My biggest takeaway: I have no idea what the heck a cilantro is.
December 12, 2024
Book: Chhaunk
Author: Abhijit Banerjee
Publisher: Juggernaut Publishing
Published: 2024
Genre: Non-Fiction-Essays
ISBN: 9789353452421
Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Abhijit Banerjee’s Chhaunk is a remarkable literary work that transcends genres, blending memoir, cookbook, and social commentary into a seamless and flavorful narrative. At its core, the book is a tribute to the tempering of oil with spices—a quintessential Indian cooking technique that transforms dishes with its subtle yet potent infusion of flavors. Much like the culinary chhaunk itself, Banerjee’s essays are a medley of reflections, personal anecdotes, and scholarly insights, creating a vibrant tapestry of themes that resonate deeply with contemporary readers. Adding another dimension to the book is the exquisite artwork by Cheyenne Olivier. The illustrations are not mere adornments; they are integral to the storytelling, enhancing the themes and emotions Banerjee so eloquently conveys.
Food as a Lens to Explore Life:
From the very first essay, it becomes clear that food is not just a subject for Banerjee but a lens through which he examines the world. Each dish he discusses carries with it the weight of memory, culture, and societal structures. The Bengali vegetable dish ghonto serves as a metaphor for women’s liberation, its intricate preparation symbolizing the complexity of gender roles and the need for societal transformation. Olivier’s accompanying illustration—a vibrant depiction of the dish being prepared in a traditional kitchen—adds depth to the narrative, subtly highlighting the dualities of labor and love, tradition and change.
Personal Reflections on Aging and Solitude:
The book delves into deeply personal territory, such as Banerjee’s reflections on aging and loneliness in the essay “Burden of Age.” Here, food becomes a comfort and a bridge to one’s past. Banerjee shares intimate anecdotes about cooking for himself during times of solitude and finding solace in the act of creating something nourishing. Olivier’s minimalist yet evocative artwork captures this sentiment, portraying a solitary figure in a warmly lit kitchen, evoking both the isolation and the warmth of self-reliance.
Class and Cultural Capital on the Dinner Table:
One of the most compelling aspects of Chhaunk is its exploration of class and cultural capital through the seemingly mundane act of dining. Banerjee masterfully unpacks the unspoken rules that govern our dinner tables—rules that often reflect larger societal inequalities. Cheyenne Olivier’s illustrations play a pivotal role here, juxtaposing images of opulent dinner settings with humble street food vendors, creating a visual narrative that underscores Banerjee’s commentary on privilege and accessibility.
Globalization and Culinary Homogenization:
Globalization, another recurring theme, is explored through the lens of culinary homogenization. Banerjee mourns the erosion of local flavors and traditions, which are increasingly overshadowed by globalized tastes. His poignant reflections are brought to life by Olivier’s depictions of bustling markets and traditional kitchens, teeming with the vibrancy of regional ingredients and practices. These illustrations not only celebrate the diversity of Indian cuisine but also serve as a reminder of what is at stake in a rapidly globalizing world.
Economics on a Plate:
Perhaps one of the most innovative essays in the collection draws parallels between the preparation of shami kebab and the art of savings and resource allocation. Banerjee’s ability to weave together culinary practices and economic principles is nothing short of genius. Olivier’s artwork complements this essay beautifully, with intricate sketches of the kebab-making process that mirror the precision and balance required in financial planning.
A Nostalgic Ode to India:
While the book is intellectually rich, it is also deeply personal and filled with warmth. Banerjee’s nostalgia for India and his love for cooking come through in every essay, making the book as much a memoir as it is a commentary on society. Olivier’s illustrations capture this duality with sensitivity, portraying scenes of family gatherings, bustling kitchens, and solitary moments of reflection with equal finesse.
The Artistic Brilliance of Cheyenne Olivier:
The collaboration between Banerjee and Olivier elevates Chhaunk to a work of art. The illustrations do more than complement the text; they amplify its themes and emotions, creating a holistic reading experience that is as visually stunning as it is thought-provoking. Olivier’s style—a blend of realism and abstraction—perfectly mirrors Banerjee’s ability to navigate the personal and the universal, the mundane and the profound.
A Feast for the Senses:
Ultimately, Chhaunk is a book that defies categorization. It is at once a celebration of food, a critique of societal norms, and a deeply personal reflection on life’s many flavors. Banerjee’s prose is light yet profound, and Olivier’s illustrations add a layer of immediacy and emotion that lingers long after the last page is turned. This is a book that invites readers to savor not only its insights but also the beauty of its presentation.
For those who love food, culture, and the art of storytelling, Chhaunk is an essential read. It is a feast for the senses, a meditation on the intersections of taste and thought, and a testament to the power of collaboration between word and image. Abhijit Banerjee and Cheyenne Olivier have created something truly special—a book that, like a perfect chhaunk,transforms and uplifts everything it touches.
Author: Abhijit Banerjee
Publisher: Juggernaut Publishing
Published: 2024
Genre: Non-Fiction-Essays
ISBN: 9789353452421
Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Abhijit Banerjee’s Chhaunk is a remarkable literary work that transcends genres, blending memoir, cookbook, and social commentary into a seamless and flavorful narrative. At its core, the book is a tribute to the tempering of oil with spices—a quintessential Indian cooking technique that transforms dishes with its subtle yet potent infusion of flavors. Much like the culinary chhaunk itself, Banerjee’s essays are a medley of reflections, personal anecdotes, and scholarly insights, creating a vibrant tapestry of themes that resonate deeply with contemporary readers. Adding another dimension to the book is the exquisite artwork by Cheyenne Olivier. The illustrations are not mere adornments; they are integral to the storytelling, enhancing the themes and emotions Banerjee so eloquently conveys.
Food as a Lens to Explore Life:
From the very first essay, it becomes clear that food is not just a subject for Banerjee but a lens through which he examines the world. Each dish he discusses carries with it the weight of memory, culture, and societal structures. The Bengali vegetable dish ghonto serves as a metaphor for women’s liberation, its intricate preparation symbolizing the complexity of gender roles and the need for societal transformation. Olivier’s accompanying illustration—a vibrant depiction of the dish being prepared in a traditional kitchen—adds depth to the narrative, subtly highlighting the dualities of labor and love, tradition and change.
Personal Reflections on Aging and Solitude:
The book delves into deeply personal territory, such as Banerjee’s reflections on aging and loneliness in the essay “Burden of Age.” Here, food becomes a comfort and a bridge to one’s past. Banerjee shares intimate anecdotes about cooking for himself during times of solitude and finding solace in the act of creating something nourishing. Olivier’s minimalist yet evocative artwork captures this sentiment, portraying a solitary figure in a warmly lit kitchen, evoking both the isolation and the warmth of self-reliance.
Class and Cultural Capital on the Dinner Table:
One of the most compelling aspects of Chhaunk is its exploration of class and cultural capital through the seemingly mundane act of dining. Banerjee masterfully unpacks the unspoken rules that govern our dinner tables—rules that often reflect larger societal inequalities. Cheyenne Olivier’s illustrations play a pivotal role here, juxtaposing images of opulent dinner settings with humble street food vendors, creating a visual narrative that underscores Banerjee’s commentary on privilege and accessibility.
Globalization and Culinary Homogenization:
Globalization, another recurring theme, is explored through the lens of culinary homogenization. Banerjee mourns the erosion of local flavors and traditions, which are increasingly overshadowed by globalized tastes. His poignant reflections are brought to life by Olivier’s depictions of bustling markets and traditional kitchens, teeming with the vibrancy of regional ingredients and practices. These illustrations not only celebrate the diversity of Indian cuisine but also serve as a reminder of what is at stake in a rapidly globalizing world.
Economics on a Plate:
Perhaps one of the most innovative essays in the collection draws parallels between the preparation of shami kebab and the art of savings and resource allocation. Banerjee’s ability to weave together culinary practices and economic principles is nothing short of genius. Olivier’s artwork complements this essay beautifully, with intricate sketches of the kebab-making process that mirror the precision and balance required in financial planning.
A Nostalgic Ode to India:
While the book is intellectually rich, it is also deeply personal and filled with warmth. Banerjee’s nostalgia for India and his love for cooking come through in every essay, making the book as much a memoir as it is a commentary on society. Olivier’s illustrations capture this duality with sensitivity, portraying scenes of family gatherings, bustling kitchens, and solitary moments of reflection with equal finesse.
The Artistic Brilliance of Cheyenne Olivier:
The collaboration between Banerjee and Olivier elevates Chhaunk to a work of art. The illustrations do more than complement the text; they amplify its themes and emotions, creating a holistic reading experience that is as visually stunning as it is thought-provoking. Olivier’s style—a blend of realism and abstraction—perfectly mirrors Banerjee’s ability to navigate the personal and the universal, the mundane and the profound.
A Feast for the Senses:
Ultimately, Chhaunk is a book that defies categorization. It is at once a celebration of food, a critique of societal norms, and a deeply personal reflection on life’s many flavors. Banerjee’s prose is light yet profound, and Olivier’s illustrations add a layer of immediacy and emotion that lingers long after the last page is turned. This is a book that invites readers to savor not only its insights but also the beauty of its presentation.
For those who love food, culture, and the art of storytelling, Chhaunk is an essential read. It is a feast for the senses, a meditation on the intersections of taste and thought, and a testament to the power of collaboration between word and image. Abhijit Banerjee and Cheyenne Olivier have created something truly special—a book that, like a perfect chhaunk,transforms and uplifts everything it touches.
July 9, 2025
Okkies guys!! Roast Incoming: Abhijit Banerjee’s Chhaunk—Tempering Taste with Textbook Trauma:
A culinary essay collection meets economic social theory—served lukewarm with garnishings of nostalgia and mild spice.
Okay friends, aprons on. Time to take this Nobel laureate’s kitchen experiment off the stove and inspect what’s actually simmering under all that ghee.
Chhaunk is a book that promises to be many things: a recipe-laced essay collection, a cultural critique, a tender walk down memory lane, a meditation on social policy—all marinated in masoor dal and memories of ghonto.
But what it ends up being is... well... a ‘burnt’ bhuna mish-mash of over-seasoned insight and undercooked impact.
First, let’s talk format. On paper, it’s a dream combo—economic theory + warm memoir + food writing?
Sign me up, I said. I expected a Bong Bourdain meets Amartya Sen kinda situation. What I got instead was Banerjee trying to be Michael Pollan, but ending up more like a professor who wandered into a cookbook and refused to leave.
The essays are divided into three chunks—
a) economics & psychology,
b) economics & culture,
c) economics & social policy — which sounds organized, but in reality?
It’s like serving phuchka with a side of macroeconomics: charming in theory, but messy in the mouth.
You’ll be halfway through a warm, lyrical passage on mustard oil when boom—suddenly it’s about UBI implementation strategies.
Bit jarring, don’t you think?
And the recipes! Listen, if you're going to make me think about caste hierarchies through the lens of bhapa ilish, at least let the ilish be outstanding.
But the recipes are more ‘aesthetic placeholders’ than transformative narrative tools. They feel sprinkled in, not stirred in. Like the chhaunk itself, they crackle, they fizzle, but they rarely permeate.
Then there’s the tone. Banerjee is warm, yes. He’s witty, yes.
But also? He’s kind of that uncle at the party who’s telling great stories but won’t stop explaining things you already know.
His anecdotes about childhood, about the sociology of food, about cultural memory—they’re lovely! But they often derail into mini-economics lectures, as if he's afraid you’ll stop respecting him if he doesn’t throw in some academic protein. Every soft bite is followed by a hard crunch of policy.
Take his chapter on trust and informal networks, for example. The hundi system gets its moment, and you can sense Banerjee really wants to elevate the idea of informal economies.
But instead of letting the cultural narrative breathe, he insists on sandwiching it with comparative data, like someone who brings pie to a picnic and insists on presenting a PowerPoint about its calorie efficiency.
Cheyenne Olivier’s illustrations, though? Chef’s kiss. Honestly, they save the book from becoming a full-on TED Talk printed on butter paper.
Whimsical, detailed, often doing what the prose fails to—inviting you in with charm and clarity. If this were a theatre production, she’s the background set designer who outshines the main actor.
Now, let’s address the elephant in the kitchen: the Nobel effect. Banerjee’s Nobel halo looms large over the book.
It’s like eating kichuri made by a Michelin-star chef—you want to believe every spoonful is divine, but deep down, you know your Ma makes it better.
Chhaunk wears its prestige awkwardly. It wants to be intimate and accessible, but its prose keeps peeking over its own shoulder, checking if the academic world is still impressed.
In comparison to Poor Economics and Good Economics for Hard Times, Chhaunk swaps out rigor for rasa. And that’s okay—until it forgets that rasa needs rhythm. Where the earlier books punched with clarity and policy insight, Chhaunk meanders. It’s less a conversation and more a monologue by someone stirring dal while casually explaining the history of neoliberalism.
And yes, let’s be fair. There are beautifully written moments. The essay on gender and foodwork hits hard—especially in the 2025 context, when female labor force participation remains stubbornly low despite all our gig-economy bluster.
His reflections on how women’s unpaid domestic labor intersects with economic invisibility? Spot on. But like the coriander garnish that floats prettily but never quite hits your tongue, the insight stays surface-level.
To sum up? Chhaunk is ambitious, tender, but also occasionally underwhelming. It wants to be everything: cookbook, cultural memoir, policy journal, pop economics, and a visual treat. And in trying to be all of these, it forgets to truly be any one thing.
It’s like a thali with too many items and no standout sabzi. You’ll nibble at the baingan bharta, sip the rasam, but you’ll leave thinking: “Wait, what did I just eat?”
So, would I recommend it?
Sure—as a conversation starter. As a book club novelty. As something to gift your Bengali uncle who quotes Piketty between mouthfuls of muri. But as a lasting contribution to economic storytelling? Let’s just say, the chhaunk crackled, but the dal remained bland.
Final Rating:
Prose: 3.5/5 (chatty, but occasionally condescending)
Insight: 3/5 (surface-level economics with dashes of brilliance)
Recipes: 2/5 (uninspired, barely integrated)
Illustrations: 5/5 (the real MVP)
Pretentiousness per page: Medium to High
Roast factor: Perfectly browned. Needs salt.
Give it a pass.
It is sanctified bullshit.
A culinary essay collection meets economic social theory—served lukewarm with garnishings of nostalgia and mild spice.
Okay friends, aprons on. Time to take this Nobel laureate’s kitchen experiment off the stove and inspect what’s actually simmering under all that ghee.
Chhaunk is a book that promises to be many things: a recipe-laced essay collection, a cultural critique, a tender walk down memory lane, a meditation on social policy—all marinated in masoor dal and memories of ghonto.
But what it ends up being is... well... a ‘burnt’ bhuna mish-mash of over-seasoned insight and undercooked impact.
First, let’s talk format. On paper, it’s a dream combo—economic theory + warm memoir + food writing?
Sign me up, I said. I expected a Bong Bourdain meets Amartya Sen kinda situation. What I got instead was Banerjee trying to be Michael Pollan, but ending up more like a professor who wandered into a cookbook and refused to leave.
The essays are divided into three chunks—
a) economics & psychology,
b) economics & culture,
c) economics & social policy — which sounds organized, but in reality?
It’s like serving phuchka with a side of macroeconomics: charming in theory, but messy in the mouth.
You’ll be halfway through a warm, lyrical passage on mustard oil when boom—suddenly it’s about UBI implementation strategies.
Bit jarring, don’t you think?
And the recipes! Listen, if you're going to make me think about caste hierarchies through the lens of bhapa ilish, at least let the ilish be outstanding.
But the recipes are more ‘aesthetic placeholders’ than transformative narrative tools. They feel sprinkled in, not stirred in. Like the chhaunk itself, they crackle, they fizzle, but they rarely permeate.
Then there’s the tone. Banerjee is warm, yes. He’s witty, yes.
But also? He’s kind of that uncle at the party who’s telling great stories but won’t stop explaining things you already know.
His anecdotes about childhood, about the sociology of food, about cultural memory—they’re lovely! But they often derail into mini-economics lectures, as if he's afraid you’ll stop respecting him if he doesn’t throw in some academic protein. Every soft bite is followed by a hard crunch of policy.
Take his chapter on trust and informal networks, for example. The hundi system gets its moment, and you can sense Banerjee really wants to elevate the idea of informal economies.
But instead of letting the cultural narrative breathe, he insists on sandwiching it with comparative data, like someone who brings pie to a picnic and insists on presenting a PowerPoint about its calorie efficiency.
Cheyenne Olivier’s illustrations, though? Chef’s kiss. Honestly, they save the book from becoming a full-on TED Talk printed on butter paper.
Whimsical, detailed, often doing what the prose fails to—inviting you in with charm and clarity. If this were a theatre production, she’s the background set designer who outshines the main actor.
Now, let’s address the elephant in the kitchen: the Nobel effect. Banerjee’s Nobel halo looms large over the book.
It’s like eating kichuri made by a Michelin-star chef—you want to believe every spoonful is divine, but deep down, you know your Ma makes it better.
Chhaunk wears its prestige awkwardly. It wants to be intimate and accessible, but its prose keeps peeking over its own shoulder, checking if the academic world is still impressed.
In comparison to Poor Economics and Good Economics for Hard Times, Chhaunk swaps out rigor for rasa. And that’s okay—until it forgets that rasa needs rhythm. Where the earlier books punched with clarity and policy insight, Chhaunk meanders. It’s less a conversation and more a monologue by someone stirring dal while casually explaining the history of neoliberalism.
And yes, let’s be fair. There are beautifully written moments. The essay on gender and foodwork hits hard—especially in the 2025 context, when female labor force participation remains stubbornly low despite all our gig-economy bluster.
His reflections on how women’s unpaid domestic labor intersects with economic invisibility? Spot on. But like the coriander garnish that floats prettily but never quite hits your tongue, the insight stays surface-level.
To sum up? Chhaunk is ambitious, tender, but also occasionally underwhelming. It wants to be everything: cookbook, cultural memoir, policy journal, pop economics, and a visual treat. And in trying to be all of these, it forgets to truly be any one thing.
It’s like a thali with too many items and no standout sabzi. You’ll nibble at the baingan bharta, sip the rasam, but you’ll leave thinking: “Wait, what did I just eat?”
So, would I recommend it?
Sure—as a conversation starter. As a book club novelty. As something to gift your Bengali uncle who quotes Piketty between mouthfuls of muri. But as a lasting contribution to economic storytelling? Let’s just say, the chhaunk crackled, but the dal remained bland.
Final Rating:
Prose: 3.5/5 (chatty, but occasionally condescending)
Insight: 3/5 (surface-level economics with dashes of brilliance)
Recipes: 2/5 (uninspired, barely integrated)
Illustrations: 5/5 (the real MVP)
Pretentiousness per page: Medium to High
Roast factor: Perfectly browned. Needs salt.
Give it a pass.
It is sanctified bullshit.
May 31, 2025
Part memoir, part cookbook, organized in three parts - "Chhaunk" by Abhijit Banerjee presents a soothing recipe which touches the soul , fulfils promise of explaining Economics in simple words.
This book broadly talks about three themes :
Economics and Psychology: Covers women and work, the subtle power of dining table discussions and the influence on cultural capital. He also has a chapter on energy efficient cooking. Who knew every Bengali's comfort food "bhate bhat" is an example of energy efficient cooking !! It now makes perfect sense why Khichdi has always been the favourite dish during heavy rains in West Bengal.
Economics and Culture: The author here discusses how festivals act as social glue, binding communities through shared culinary traditions. I found myself smiling at his mention of Christmas cakes and how Indians celebrate all food-rich festivals—something I’ve seen surprise many people.
Economics and Social Policy : This was one of the most interesting part where he explains the structural injustices of criminal justice system(Unfair Imprisonment) and India's protein problem. The chapter "Thoughtful Givting" specially resonated with me.
And then, a true bonus is bunch of recipes , few familiar , others new. I can already tell that my upcoming weekends are going to be quite busy trying some of these recipes. I already tried "Sheera" yesterday and it turned out to be quite delicious !!
This book broadly talks about three themes :
Economics and Psychology: Covers women and work, the subtle power of dining table discussions and the influence on cultural capital. He also has a chapter on energy efficient cooking. Who knew every Bengali's comfort food "bhate bhat" is an example of energy efficient cooking !! It now makes perfect sense why Khichdi has always been the favourite dish during heavy rains in West Bengal.
Economics and Culture: The author here discusses how festivals act as social glue, binding communities through shared culinary traditions. I found myself smiling at his mention of Christmas cakes and how Indians celebrate all food-rich festivals—something I’ve seen surprise many people.
Economics and Social Policy : This was one of the most interesting part where he explains the structural injustices of criminal justice system(Unfair Imprisonment) and India's protein problem. The chapter "Thoughtful Givting" specially resonated with me.
And then, a true bonus is bunch of recipes , few familiar , others new. I can already tell that my upcoming weekends are going to be quite busy trying some of these recipes. I already tried "Sheera" yesterday and it turned out to be quite delicious !!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 13, 2025
The book is structured in an engaging format, with essays on economy and culture interspersed among recipes, as we revisit our memories based on food, the hearth, and conversations around the dinner table and family meals. It is a light read and almost feels like a hearty conversation around a dinner table or a post-dinner chat in a living room. I would recommend this title for those who want to explore the concept of interconnectedness, from the micro to the macro level.
One must also note that the excellent illustrations by Cheyenne Olivier are visual stories that are equally engaging.
The title of the book, Chhaunk, is derived from the single magical infusion of fire, spices, and oil that is added to gravies and nearly everything.
One must also note that the excellent illustrations by Cheyenne Olivier are visual stories that are equally engaging.
The title of the book, Chhaunk, is derived from the single magical infusion of fire, spices, and oil that is added to gravies and nearly everything.
March 5, 2025
Absolute chaos!! Economics, unorthodox cuisine and chit-chats all jumbled up in one plate. Imagine having a mango soufflé with tikka masala, topped with fresh cranberries and Vietnamese Pho all together!! The contents were all over the place!! Disappointed…
N.B.: My personal opinion. Don’t take it personally 😉
N.B.: My personal opinion. Don’t take it personally 😉
February 4, 2025
Masterfully written by a master economist. Whether the recipes are a Chhaunk on the chapter about economics and Society or vice versa is very difficult to say. Overall a very good read about impact of food on society, the culture connect and a memoir about the foods he tasted from across the Globe
April 11, 2025
Fantastic read that makes you want to go into the kitchen immediately and get yourself a bowl of your comfort food! Written in a way that takes you on a journey across the world especially India and transports you into that time.
May 4, 2025
An otherwise OKayish book colored by JNUese! As an example on page 5 implying Indian women enjoying less rights than Saudi women. Such factoids from a Nobel Laureate marks this otherwise very readable book.
December 26, 2024
A good quick read. Especially because left all the recipes.
The articles reprinted here were a good snapshots of recent events with a chhaunk of foodie delights.
All in all a good light read.
The articles reprinted here were a good snapshots of recent events with a chhaunk of foodie delights.
All in all a good light read.
April 6, 2025
My review is here: https://ramyapandyan.com/food-gender-...
April 8, 2025
Extremely fun to read, and witty with a lot of great insights.
October 3, 2025
I would have preferred a format that allowed me to delve deeper into each topic; but as is, it is an interesting way to structure a book, and possibly a very good gift as well.
December 23, 2025
love everything by Abhijit banerjee. in this one, he mixes his two loves - food and economics and it's delectable.
he makes economics seem easy
he makes economics seem easy
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews