All Too Much: The Absurdity of the Tandoori Momo, by Sharanya Deepak

There is nothing about a tandoori momo that is not unnecessary. It is a dish that takes the momo, a perfectly good steamed dumpling, rolls it in a marinade of bright orange tandoori masala, and pokes it inside a flaming tandoor. When the tandoori momo emerges from its kiln, it is charred, and bright red — a kind of dense, carb-heavy chicken tikka with a crunchy casing. The baked momo is then topped with fresh cream, chaat masala and served with mint chutney; or sometimes add-ons of hung yoghurt (Afghani tandoori momo), achar (tandoori achari momos) or mayonnaise (so far, unnamed). When eaten hot from the tandoor, the momo’s spicy outer layer cracks and spills its meat filling into an orange pool of cream. Much of its appeal lies in this showmanship, that includes spice, liquid, fire, and heat. It is a dish that unsettles Delhi's aspirational food culture ─  one of eating mild-tempered Western foods ─ with its id of flaming grills and "masalaydaar" dishes flooded with spice.

To someone that hasn’t encountered it before, or if you are not from Delhi, this can seem entirely ridiculous. “Why?” many have simply asked. One friend compares the vibe of eating a tandoori momo to the senseless adrenaline high you might get from racing someone on the main road, or downing cheap whisky. Another friend, having returned to Delhi after two years abroad, dared to dwell on the question one afternoon on her trip back home. As we waited for our plates of tandoori momos on a cold February evening, she observed the new brand of packaged sauce-bottles at the shop, and coddled her question before she posed it, anxious about the consequences. “When you think about it, why would anyone eat this? Isn’t it...too much?”