I never realized how much cheese could fit into a fridge until a friend pointed it out during a casual evening. As she rummaged through the shelves, she quipped, “Wow, you guys are really into cheese!” At first, I thought she meant something else entirely, but a quick peek confirmed her observation. Our fridge was overflowing with a variety of cheeses—cheddar, mozzarella, provolone, asiago, and parmigiano-reggiano—thanks to my husband, the ultimate cheese enthusiast.
To clarify, my husband is Italian, while I am of East Indian descent. He has dark hair and olive skin, while my complexion is more of a rich cappuccino shade. When we tied the knot and started our life together nearly a decade ago, I didn’t quite grasp how our cultural differences would shape our everyday lives.
It all began with our fridge and blossomed into our garden plans that first summer. My husband, a gardening aficionado, had a vision for our plot. He selected zucchini, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, parsley, and basil. What I didn’t realize until later was that he had planted not just one, but at least seven varieties of tomatoes. By August, our garden was a sea of tomato plants, prompting another friend to exclaim, “You guys sure have a lot of tomatoes!” To which I could confidently respond, “I’m married to an Italian, what else did you expect?”
This response became my go-to whenever anyone noticed the bountiful Italian influences in our home. The homemade wine, the endless supplies of tomato sauce, prosciutto, and pasta? All part of the Italian charm. Admittedly, I was happy about this culinary abundance. I’ve grown to love red wine even more since marrying him, and having homemade wine on hand saved us a lot compared to store-bought options.
As for the tomato surplus, it wasn’t just for pasta sauce; I found myself experimenting with curry dishes, rekindling my passion for Indian cooking. It was ironic—seeing my husband take pride in his Italian roots inspired me to embrace my own heritage, which I had previously downplayed to fit in with my Canadian peers.
Growing up, being Indian in elementary school wasn’t exactly considered “cool.” It often meant being the kid whose clothes carried the scent of spices, leading me to hide my backpack and coat away from the kitchen where my mother cooked. Although I loved the food, I was embarrassed by the aromas that seemed to announce my heritage before I even entered a room.
Fast forward to today, and my perspective has transformed. I now actively seek out the spices I once avoided, creating a dedicated “Indian” spice cabinet in our outdated kitchen. The rich fragrances of cloves, cardamom, cumin, and turmeric now fill the air, especially since one of the cabinet doors is broken, leaving it slightly ajar.
With my spice collection growing, I’ve embraced the art of Indian cooking, making rice a staple alongside pasta. One day, while enjoying a meal of rice and curry, my husband remarked, “We sure do eat a lot of curry now.” He didn’t seem to mind, nor did anyone else who visited us. The enticing scents of chicken curry, fresh chapathis, and cooling raita delighted our non-Indian guests. My Italian in-laws even asked for chicken curry during their visits (though they still preferred my mother’s cooking over mine).
Some might argue that marrying outside of your culture leads to a loss of identity, but for me, it’s been quite the opposite. My Italian marriage has allowed me to see my Indian roots in a new light, leading me to appreciate my heritage, especially through its delightful cuisine. I’ve even decided to plant Indian herbs like chillies, dhania (coriander), and shepu (dill) in our garden next summer to honor both sides of our family.
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In summary, my journey of marrying an Italian man has led me to rediscover and embrace my Indian heritage in ways I never anticipated. The blending of our cultures has enriched our lives and broadened my culinary horizons, allowing me to celebrate both my Indian roots and my husband’s Italian traditions.