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The Non-Serious Guide To Bengali Food
Tongue-in-cheek, whimsical and full of surprises, The Non-Serious Guide to Bengali Food by the author and creator of the immensely popular Facebook page, The Bong Sense, is your answer to everything you didn't know about Bengali cuisine.
With doodles and bite-sized trivia, this book dissects the food-loving people and their quirks when it comes to cooking and consumption. From the Sunday mutton
ritual to the correct way of eating a fish (always peti first). The Non-Serious Guide also delves into the historical and geographical background of popular Bengali cuisine
With doodles and bite-sized trivia, this book dissects the food-loving people and their quirks when it comes to cooking and consumption. From the Sunday mutton
ritual to the correct way of eating a fish (always peti first). The Non-Serious Guide also delves into the historical and geographical background of popular Bengali cuisine
- GenresFood
157 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2021
3 people are currently reading
58 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews
October 3, 2023
The Non-Serious Guide to Bengali Food by the ‘mildly funny after three drinks’ Arpan Roy is a delightful exposition of the food, foibles and family dynamics of the inhabitants of ‘the right armpit’ of India
January 10, 2022
A surprise pick..and one that clicked...
There that's my one poor rhyme for the day
Witty, irreverent, and very very realistic at the same time..it just makes me want to step out and get an egg roll right away...no sauce..extra lemon and onions..
There that's my one poor rhyme for the day
Witty, irreverent, and very very realistic at the same time..it just makes me want to step out and get an egg roll right away...no sauce..extra lemon and onions..
December 28, 2021
Really fun and witty compilation of cartoons and insights of Bengali culture and cuisine. The author's cultural commentary indicates a deep understanding and love for his native cuisine. The book invokes a lot of nostalgia for those who've grown up eating an incredibly tasty diet of egg rolls, maach mangsho, biryani and chop. Five stars 🤩
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November 22, 2024Overstretches the stereotypes. Caricatures the culture and it's food tradition which is occassionally funny but mostly a turn off.
January 1, 2026
4.5 stars!
February 13, 2022
Where do I start from? Like being a Bengali myself, this book was relatable to me on a whole new level.
Some of the best things about this book are the witty, satirical writing style and the cute illustrations doodled on most of the pages. The entire book completely justified the title because I would in no way suggest you take this book too seriously.
Even though relatable, some things in the book didn’t resonate with me because I, for the love of anything, couldn’t eat either fish or mutton. But if there was someone I was reminded of during the entire read, it would be my dad.
This is an easy and breezy read that you could finish in a single sitting and is bound to find yourself smiling as you turn the last pages. Also, be prepared to feel hungry throughout the read so I would suggest you keep some snacks handy.
So, if you are looking out for exploring Bengali cuisine concerning its historical and geographical background, then don’t forget to check out this book. However, let me tell you one thing, this book in no way applies to every Bengali person out there as this book is more of a result of the author’s personal experiences. Rest aside, delve into this book, and have a fun ride.
Some of the best things about this book are the witty, satirical writing style and the cute illustrations doodled on most of the pages. The entire book completely justified the title because I would in no way suggest you take this book too seriously.
Even though relatable, some things in the book didn’t resonate with me because I, for the love of anything, couldn’t eat either fish or mutton. But if there was someone I was reminded of during the entire read, it would be my dad.
This is an easy and breezy read that you could finish in a single sitting and is bound to find yourself smiling as you turn the last pages. Also, be prepared to feel hungry throughout the read so I would suggest you keep some snacks handy.
So, if you are looking out for exploring Bengali cuisine concerning its historical and geographical background, then don’t forget to check out this book. However, let me tell you one thing, this book in no way applies to every Bengali person out there as this book is more of a result of the author’s personal experiences. Rest aside, delve into this book, and have a fun ride.
April 22, 2022
A simple, joyful and humourous book about Bengalis and their love for food!
September 1, 2025
#Binge Reviewing my previous Reads #History of Food and Cuisine
The Non-Serious Guide to Bengali Food by Arpan Roy is one of those rare books that manages to be both lighthearted and deeply rooted in the cultural gravity of food.
Written with an irreverent wit and playful anecdotes, the book takes readers on a roller-coaster ride through Bengal’s kitchens, where mishti and machh (sweets and fish) reign supreme, but not without quirks, contradictions, and hilariously human stories that elevate the cuisine from mere sustenance to a lived experience.
Arpan Roy’s approach is exactly what the title promises: non-serious. He doesn’t bog you down with pedantic history or encyclopedic detailing, but instead nudges you to see Bengali food through the lens of nostalgia, satire, and affectionate exaggeration.
He treats food not as a museum artefact but as an emotional register—every dish has its story, every flavour a memory, every debate about ilish (hilsa) versus chingri (prawns) a potential family drama. In that sense, the book reads like sitting at a Bengali adda (casual, spirited conversation) where food is always the centrepiece, whether you’re reminiscing about college canteen chops or your grandmother’s laborious posto-bata.
What makes the book sing is its tone. There’s laughter at Bengali eccentricities—our obsession with rice that borders on the spiritual, our sweet tooth that has given the world sandesh and rosogolla, and our culinary rituals that turn even everyday meals into ceremonies.
Yet, behind the jokes lies a deep respect for tradition. The author highlights how food in Bengal is inseparable from its literature, festivals, and politics. From Bibhutibhushan’s depictions of simple, rustic meals to Satyajit Ray’s cinematic frames of fish frying in mustard oil, Roy situates food as both aesthetic and survival, luxurious and humble.
The book also takes sly digs at modern “Bengali food” as marketed in restaurants across India and abroad. The author exposes how many so-called authentic dishes are bastardised versions of what Bengalis would actually eat at home. The performative butter-drenched kosha mangsho or the overly sweet mishti doi sold in chains become comic interludes in his narrative, reminding us that the heart of Bengali cuisine lies in the balance of flavours, not in excess.
What I found particularly engaging was Roy’s section on food memories. The descriptions of train journeys with food-laden tiffin carriers, Durga Puja bhog that transforms khichuri into nectar, and the universal Bengali ritual of buying “phuchka” (pani puri) from street vendors resonate with anyone who has grown up in Bengal or lived long enough to catch its culinary pulse. These stories may be exaggerated for comic effect, but they carry an authenticity that pure history books often lack.
The humour doesn’t dilute the seriousness of food’s role in identity. On the contrary, it sharpens it. Roy shows how food is never neutral in Bengal—it’s an argument, a marker of community, even a point of pride. The hilsa wars between East and West Bengal, the vegetarian versus non-vegetarian divides in certain families, and the eternal hunt for the perfect mishti shop all testify to how culinary choices shape cultural politics.
Arpan Roy’s writing makes you hungry—not just for food, but for conversations around food. It’s the kind of book you want to read on a leisurely afternoon with a plate of muri (puffed rice) and telebhaja (fried fritters) by your side. And perhaps that’s its greatest achievement: it doesn’t just describe Bengali cuisine; it embodies its spirit. Much like Bengali food itself, the book is layered, comforting, and surprisingly sharp at moments you least expect.
In the landscape of food writing, where the pendulum swings between sterile academic histories and glossy coffee-table cookbooks, The Non-Serious Guide to Bengali Food finds its niche. It is irreverent without being dismissive, celebratory without being hagiographic, and nostalgic without being maudlin.
For Bengalis, it’s a mirror that makes you laugh at yourself. For non-Bengalis, it’s an initiation into a world where food is less about recipes and more about relationships, rituals, and riotous joy.
A delightful, witty, and utterly satisfying read—much like the perfect plate of luchi and alur dom.
The Non-Serious Guide to Bengali Food by Arpan Roy is one of those rare books that manages to be both lighthearted and deeply rooted in the cultural gravity of food.
Written with an irreverent wit and playful anecdotes, the book takes readers on a roller-coaster ride through Bengal’s kitchens, where mishti and machh (sweets and fish) reign supreme, but not without quirks, contradictions, and hilariously human stories that elevate the cuisine from mere sustenance to a lived experience.
Arpan Roy’s approach is exactly what the title promises: non-serious. He doesn’t bog you down with pedantic history or encyclopedic detailing, but instead nudges you to see Bengali food through the lens of nostalgia, satire, and affectionate exaggeration.
He treats food not as a museum artefact but as an emotional register—every dish has its story, every flavour a memory, every debate about ilish (hilsa) versus chingri (prawns) a potential family drama. In that sense, the book reads like sitting at a Bengali adda (casual, spirited conversation) where food is always the centrepiece, whether you’re reminiscing about college canteen chops or your grandmother’s laborious posto-bata.
What makes the book sing is its tone. There’s laughter at Bengali eccentricities—our obsession with rice that borders on the spiritual, our sweet tooth that has given the world sandesh and rosogolla, and our culinary rituals that turn even everyday meals into ceremonies.
Yet, behind the jokes lies a deep respect for tradition. The author highlights how food in Bengal is inseparable from its literature, festivals, and politics. From Bibhutibhushan’s depictions of simple, rustic meals to Satyajit Ray’s cinematic frames of fish frying in mustard oil, Roy situates food as both aesthetic and survival, luxurious and humble.
The book also takes sly digs at modern “Bengali food” as marketed in restaurants across India and abroad. The author exposes how many so-called authentic dishes are bastardised versions of what Bengalis would actually eat at home. The performative butter-drenched kosha mangsho or the overly sweet mishti doi sold in chains become comic interludes in his narrative, reminding us that the heart of Bengali cuisine lies in the balance of flavours, not in excess.
What I found particularly engaging was Roy’s section on food memories. The descriptions of train journeys with food-laden tiffin carriers, Durga Puja bhog that transforms khichuri into nectar, and the universal Bengali ritual of buying “phuchka” (pani puri) from street vendors resonate with anyone who has grown up in Bengal or lived long enough to catch its culinary pulse. These stories may be exaggerated for comic effect, but they carry an authenticity that pure history books often lack.
The humour doesn’t dilute the seriousness of food’s role in identity. On the contrary, it sharpens it. Roy shows how food is never neutral in Bengal—it’s an argument, a marker of community, even a point of pride. The hilsa wars between East and West Bengal, the vegetarian versus non-vegetarian divides in certain families, and the eternal hunt for the perfect mishti shop all testify to how culinary choices shape cultural politics.
Arpan Roy’s writing makes you hungry—not just for food, but for conversations around food. It’s the kind of book you want to read on a leisurely afternoon with a plate of muri (puffed rice) and telebhaja (fried fritters) by your side. And perhaps that’s its greatest achievement: it doesn’t just describe Bengali cuisine; it embodies its spirit. Much like Bengali food itself, the book is layered, comforting, and surprisingly sharp at moments you least expect.
In the landscape of food writing, where the pendulum swings between sterile academic histories and glossy coffee-table cookbooks, The Non-Serious Guide to Bengali Food finds its niche. It is irreverent without being dismissive, celebratory without being hagiographic, and nostalgic without being maudlin.
For Bengalis, it’s a mirror that makes you laugh at yourself. For non-Bengalis, it’s an initiation into a world where food is less about recipes and more about relationships, rituals, and riotous joy.
A delightful, witty, and utterly satisfying read—much like the perfect plate of luchi and alur dom.
January 16, 2023
One evening, I was at a book fair, and I saw a plethora of copies staring right back at me hoping to catch my attention, but none of them did until I saw her. Buried beneath the stacks of ordinary, there she was laying just waiting to be praised and discovered. The moment I held the copy, I couldn't take my eyes off that cover. I looked at her like a Bengali looks at ilish. Caressing the edges of the copy, it just felt right. Buying her was a very instinctive decision but I knew it was love at first sight and I wasn't wrong.
The book delivers what it promises. It's not an encyclopedia on Bengali cuisine but a non-serious attempt at recontextualizing a culture that centres so proudly over food. There is the occasional bullying of bland vegetarian catastrophes (Bro I hate to break it to you but even the malnourished bone of a dead chicken tastes infinitely better than your stupid soybean), self-referential dig at a Bengali's laziness ("lyadh" is non-translatable at this point) and genuine appreciation for everything Bengali. ("Bangaliaana" at its finest)
The first few chapters will make you not just chuckle but generate "fall off your seat laughter" (a rarity among books these days). Although Roy's every observation and self burns aren't always relatable (I mean who uses humor as a defence mechanism? Haha not me of course) but the writing is so breezy and interspersed with such stunning doodles that you like me would probably end up completing most of it in a single sitting.
At the end of it all, the book will leave you with a beautifully universal message that there is hardly anything better than the combination of greasy (fulko) lucchi with succulent spicy kosha mangsho coupled with chilly winter, that caring about health is for losers and that beta-vegetarians should just give up on their lives (I am paraphrasing but who cares)
The book delivers what it promises. It's not an encyclopedia on Bengali cuisine but a non-serious attempt at recontextualizing a culture that centres so proudly over food. There is the occasional bullying of bland vegetarian catastrophes (Bro I hate to break it to you but even the malnourished bone of a dead chicken tastes infinitely better than your stupid soybean), self-referential dig at a Bengali's laziness ("lyadh" is non-translatable at this point) and genuine appreciation for everything Bengali. ("Bangaliaana" at its finest)
The first few chapters will make you not just chuckle but generate "fall off your seat laughter" (a rarity among books these days). Although Roy's every observation and self burns aren't always relatable (I mean who uses humor as a defence mechanism? Haha not me of course) but the writing is so breezy and interspersed with such stunning doodles that you like me would probably end up completing most of it in a single sitting.
At the end of it all, the book will leave you with a beautifully universal message that there is hardly anything better than the combination of greasy (fulko) lucchi with succulent spicy kosha mangsho coupled with chilly winter, that caring about health is for losers and that beta-vegetarians should just give up on their lives (I am paraphrasing but who cares)
October 28, 2023
What a wonderful post-puja read. The perfect book to take me out of the slumber of existence after Dashami.
A wonderful take on the varied palate that we as Bengalis share.
The illustrations (not a surprise) are simply amazing, and the witty humor that underlies the book makes it such a fun read.
A simple no-brainer recommendation to all the Bengalis out there and even beyond.
A wonderful take on the varied palate that we as Bengalis share.
The illustrations (not a surprise) are simply amazing, and the witty humor that underlies the book makes it such a fun read.
A simple no-brainer recommendation to all the Bengalis out there and even beyond.
December 23, 2025
As far as I can see, one gets a good overview of Bengali food in this book. What is truly obnoxious, however, is the incredibly stale humor, which revolves around only two topics: 1950s housewife waiting behind the door with a rolling pin to hit her husband, and how unhealthy the food is (diabetes, clogged arteries).
December 24, 2021
Unputdownable and wickedly funny! Everyone needs to read this book, especially non-Bengalis. Thank you Arpan Roy for giving me a humorous peek into the daily lives, eating habits, and quirks of a community I am obsessed with.
January 8, 2022
The book did make me chuckle, and did tug my nostalgia strings…but the structure could have been much better. I don’t know if it was intentional in line with the quirky tone, but hampered the reading experience for me.
January 12, 2022
A short humorous book filed with cheeky doodles exploring the nuances of Bengali food. As a non-Bong I could still relate to a lot in the book. My only grouse is its a bit of elitist with a lot relating exclusively to a middle class Calcutta living Bong but that's about it! Short fun read.
April 10, 2022
The book serves us a tasty dish of the nitty-gritty of Bengal cuisine with small, bite-sized trivia on the side. Fun to read, with occasional chuckles. Recommended for anyone who would like to know more about the Bengali food and culture.
April 27, 2022
A quintessential non-vegetarian guide to bangalee food for bangalee millennials! Cute illustrations, humorous writing, relatable stories… totally loved it. Highly recommended for my fellow bangalees who are possessive about their “fau” phuchka and robibarer luchi-kosha mangsho. Kudos, Arpan Roy!
January 14, 2026
I'm Bengali, so maybe I'm biased. But this book captured many cultural tidbits around food habits integral to my culture so well, and did it with such wit ans humor reminiscent of Wodehouse novels, that I can help but regard it well. 5/5.
May 19, 2025
ended very abruptly though...
May 26, 2025
Nostalgia for bongs exiled from cholesterol and carbs
August 21, 2025
I am not much of a non fiction. guys but it was fun to read
Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews