Food is Political: Who Eats, Who Doesn’t, and Who Owns the Land?

The elite in India are obsessed with shows like MasterChef Australia, says Asma Khan, explaining the decline in traditional home cooking. As a large, surfboard-sized naan arrives at our table, she points out the techniques used to stop it from bubbling like the ones typically found in tandoori eateries. “No one in India eats naan at home,” Khan remarks. “You need a tandoor. Your house would catch fire. People’s idea of what we eat is so warped.”

Known internationally for her Indian restaurant Darjeeling Express in Soho—frequented by Hollywood celebrities—Khan actually prefers Afghan food. This is why we meet at Watan in Tooting, a vast, fragrant eating house on the high street. Afghan cuisine, according to Khan, is free from the overpowering use of chili and tomatoes. She aims to re-educate taste buds about the vast spectrum of Asian food. Khan is also a UN World Food Programme advocate and was chosen as one of Time magazine’s 100 most influential people in 2024 for her contributions to food and social progress.

“Food is deeply political,” Khan asserts. “Why are our famous chefs afraid to link the two? Food involves questions of who eats and who doesn’t, where the water comes from, and who owns the land. I come from Bengal, where the famine of the 1940s was a deliberate act by the British government to divert rice to the forces and starve my people. Chefs need to speak out about these issues.”

A strong vein of femininity runs through Khan’s work. She appreciates the Bangladeshi restaurants that made Brits love chicken tikka but is against the tradition of extremely spicy curry and beer. She comments on the sophisticated male chefs from culinary schools in India who end up in five-star hotels with their shiny kitchens and high-tech gadgets. To her, Indian tasting menus tend to look more French, with separate gravy and edible flowers. “Why are you so insecure?” she questions. “I am brown! My food is brown!”

The staff at Darjeeling Express are predominantly Indian women, many of whom were “unwanted” second daughters like herself. They came from ordinary jobs and were trained in supper clubs Khan ran from her Kensington flat 15 years ago. “They don’t follow menus. They cook intuitively because Asian mothers are really bad at explaining things,” she says.

Conflicts in her all-female kitchen tend to be resolved quietly and in pairs, she notes. “There’s no public hanging. Male chefs have turned cooking into a combat sport. They shout at staff, which just shows poor training.”

Khan suggests that the intense, military-like culture of hospitality—marked by 14-hour shifts—is perpetuated by men trying to maintain a male domain in the kitchen. “Part of the problem in recruitment is the belief that catering is extremely tough work. It’s not brain surgery. Often, they’re just peeling potatoes. Why can’t women come in for one shift and then look after their kids? The industry needs to improve working conditions to attract employees. Brexit led to a significant loss of staff, and now people don’t want to return.”

As she shows me how the sauce in our karahi chicken recedes like the tide, Khan explains that is when you know the spice balance is just right. At home, she cooks barefoot while listening to Sufi music, immersing herself in the sensory experiences of her childhood, like the sound of mustard seeds sizzling.

Cooking wasn’t instinctive for Khan either. Born to a wealthy, socialist Muslim family in Kolkata, she has a PhD in constitutional law. She learned to cook after feeling lonely and lost in the UK, prompting her to visit her mother. She chats with a young female server from Pakistan who misses home. “Don’t go back,” Khan advises her. “Stay a few more months. If you make it, other women in your family will see that you succeeded.”

Khan’s marriage to economist Mushtaq Khan was arranged. Reflecting on their union, she says he was everything she wanted in a partner: highly intelligent, very liberal, deeply political, and interested in justice. She believes that the west’s wealth came from monopolizing spices but still hopes for more passionate advocates for food policies in parliament.

As our meal concludes, Khan circles back to the abusive culture in “barracks-style” kitchens. She believes such behavior would lead to resignations in any other profession. She criticizes women who “throw away the ladder” after succeeding in a male-dominated field. “For those women, there is a special place in hell, where there is a tandoor.”

Suddenly, Khan remembers she has an appointment with Google about sustainability. Realizing she’s late, she rushes off, flustered and full of apologies. It is touching that a woman with such broad visions can still be sidetracked by her passion for food, leaving numerous executives waiting across town.