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The Star
14 hours ago
- Health
- The Star
Are samosas unhealthy?
INDIANS eat a mind-boggling array of street food. They nosh on pakoras, or vegetable fritters; jalebis, which are deep-fried coils of fermented batter dunked in sugar syrup; and papdi chaat, a tart and spicy mélange of crunchy fried dough, yogurt and spices – to name just a few. The snacks, often washed down with chai, are ubiquitous, filling and relatively cheap. But the king of street food – and one of India's most famous culinary exports – is the samosa. The deep-fried, plump and triangular piece of flaky dough has crisp edges, encasing a heavily spiced potato stuffing. Usually served with tangy and sweet condiments, they cost as little as 15 cents at food carts or stalls throughout India. Naughty delights? A man enjoying a samosa at a street stall in New Delhi. A government advisory noting the high fat and sugar levels in many popular snacks was seen by some as an attack on India's beloved street food. So, when a recent government advisory put samosas – along with other deep-fried Indian snacks and Western foods such as burgers and french fries –on a list of things that should be eaten in moderation because of their high oil and sugar content, there was an unsurprising outcry in the country. Social media erupted with memes, and Indian media chimed in to say the country's most iconic bites were under attack. A love of the samosa is 'ingrained in us,' said Rana Safvi, a cultural historian, who said it served as both street food and comfort food. If the government had targeted only burgers or pizza, people wouldn't have cared, she said. 'Samosa is something that is too close to them.' Some news outlets fuelled the backlash by likening the directive to health warnings on cigarettes. The actual advisory was considerably milder than that. India's health ministry on June 21 sent out a notice to all government ministries requesting that they put up posters in public spaces, such as office cafeterias and meeting rooms, showing the oil and sugar levels in certain foods. In the sample posters, the much-loved samosa was first on the high-fat list. (Jalebis were lower down on the high-sugar poster.) The daily recommended intake of fats is 27 to 30 grams, and one samosa can contain between 17g and 28g, according to the posters (types of fat are not specified). People lining up for their beloved snacks at a popular shop in New Delhi. Last month, the government moved to clarify its intentions, saying it had not directed vendors to put warning labels on their products, and that it wasn't selectively targeting Indian snacks. It called the advisory a 'behavioural nudge to make people aware of hidden fats and excess sugar' in many types of food. The move was in keeping with Prime Minister Narendra Modi's campaign to encourage active lifestyles, called Fit India. Earlier this year, Modi used his radio programme to call on people to reduce the amount of oil they consume. Nearly one in five adults in India's urban areas are overweight or obese, the 2021 National Family Health Survey found. The percentage of children under five years of age who are overweight is also increasing, it found. India, a country of about 1.4 billion people, is expected to have 450 million overweight or obese people by 2050, second only to China, according to a study by The Lancet, a medical journal. The government has identified obesity, which can push up rates of cardiovascular problems, Type 2 diabetes and other diseases, as a major public health challenge. Street foods such as jalebis, samosas and chole bhature – chickpea curry with deep-fried bread – are deep-fried in saturated or partially hydrogenated oils, and often refried in the same oil, which significantly increases trans fatty acid content, said Dr Anoop Misra, an endocrinologist. If government health programmes are executed and regulated well, it could 'lead to a significant reduction in obesity, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease,' he said. Street food lovers are not ignorant of the perils. On a recent afternoon, Sanjay Kumar, 29, stood by Old Famous Jalebi Wala, a shop that has been in business since 1884, in Delhi's bustling Chandni Chowk bazaar. He was eating a jalebi topped with rabri, a condensed milk dish. The jalebis from Old Famous Jalebi Wala are of 'top quality', says Sanjay Kumar. Kumar said he was overweight but allowed himself the occasional treat. Although jalebis are available everywhere, the freshly made ones at the stall – which is about the length of a bus – are of 'top quality,' he said. 'I know that jalebis increase the weight, but what do I do?' Kumar said. 'Jalebis are so tasty.' A worker preparing jalebi, a popular sweet snack, at a street stall. Such snacks are necessary because lower-income workers cannot afford to buy food in expensive restaurants, said Rishabh Nath, who runs a food stall founded by his father adjacent to Delhi's high-end Khan Market. It opens at 5am daily and quickly becomes crowded with workers filling up for the day ahead. Dheeraj Sharma, who works for a driving school, said he had been eating samosas from a stall four times a week for the past decade. He is aware of the dangers of too much fried food, but he said samosas were his snack of choice because they're 'tasty, easy to eat and cheap to buy.' Samosas are Dheeraj Sharma's snack of choice because they are tasty and cheap. Sharma, 30, said it was a good idea for governments to urge shops to display more information about the foods they sell. But, he added, 'this is the fun of life, so why not enjoy?' — ©2025 The New York Times Company This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
NZ Herald
3 days ago
- Health
- NZ Herald
The king of Indian street food made an official advisory of snacks to be eaten in moderation
Usually served with tangy and sweet condiments, they cost as little as 15 cents at food carts or stalls throughout the country. So, when a recent government advisory put samosas — along with other deep-fried Indian snacks and Western foods such as burgers and fries — on a list of things that should be eaten in moderation because of their high oil and sugar content, there was an unsurprising outcry. Social media erupted with memes, and Indian media chimed in to say the country's most iconic bites were under attack. A love of the samosa is 'ingrained in us', said Rana Safvi, a cultural historian, who said it served as both street food and comfort food. If the Government had targeted only burgers or pizza, people wouldn't have cared, she said. 'Samosa is something that is too close to them.' Some news outlets fuelled the backlash by likening the directive to health warnings on cigarettes. The actual advisory was considerably milder than that. India's Health Ministry on June 21 sent out a notice to all government ministries requesting that they put up posters in public spaces, such as office cafeterias and meeting rooms, showing the oil and sugar levels in certain foods. In the sample posters, the much-loved samosa was first on the high-fat list. (Jalebis were lower down on the high-sugar poster.) The daily recommended intake of fats is 27 to 30 grams, and one samosa can contain between 17 and 28 grams, according to the posters (types of fat are not specified). Last month, the Government moved to clarify its intentions, saying it had not directed vendors to put warning labels on their products, and that it wasn't selectively targeting Indian snacks. It called the advisory a 'behavioural nudge to make people aware of hidden fats and excess sugar' in many types of food. Samosas are Dheeraj Sharma's snack of choice in New Delhi, India. Photo / Anindito Mukherjee, The New York Times The move was in keeping with Prime Minister Narendra Modi's campaign to encourage active lifestyles, called Fit India. Earlier this year, Modi used his radio programme to call on people to reduce the amount of oil they consume. Nearly one in five adults in India's urban areas are overweight or obese, the 2021 National Family Health Survey found. The percentage of children aged under-5who are overweight is also increasing, it found. India, a country of about 1.4 billion people, is expected to have 450 million overweight or obese people by 2050, second only to China, according to a study by the Lancet medical journal. The Government has identified obesity, which can push up rates of cardiovascular problems, Type 2 diabetes, and other diseases, as a major public health challenge. Street foods such as jalebis, samosas and chole bhature — chickpea curry with deep-fried bread — are deep-fried in saturated or partially hydrogenated oils, and often refried in the same oil, which significantly increases trans fatty acid content, said Dr Anoop Misra, an endocrinologist. If government health programmes are executed and regulated well, it could 'lead to a significant reduction in obesity, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease', he said. Street food lovers are not ignorant of the perils. On a recent afternoon, Sanjay Kumar, 29, stood by Old Famous Jalebi Wala, a shop that has been in business since 1884, in Delhi's bustling Chandni Chowk bazaar. He was eating a jalebi topped with rabri, a condensed milk dish. Kumar said he was overweight but allowed himself the occasional treat. Although jalebis are available everywhere, the freshly made ones at the stall — which is about the length of a bus — are of 'top quality', he said. 'I know that jalebis increase the weight, but what do I do?' Kumar said. 'Jalebis are so tasty.' Such snacks are necessary because lower-income workers cannot afford to buy food in expensive restaurants, said Rishabh Nath, who runs a food stall founded by his father adjacent to Delhi's high-end Khan Market. It opens at 5am daily and quickly becomes crowded with workers filling up for the day ahead. Dheeraj Sharma, who works for a driving school, said he had been eating samosas from a stall four times a week for the past decade. He is aware of the dangers of too much fried food, but he said samosas were his snack of choice because they're 'tasty, easy to eat and cheap to buy'. Sharma, 30, said it was a good idea for governments to urge shops to display more information about the foods they sell. But, he added, 'this is the fun of life, so why not enjoy?' This article originally appeared in The New York Times. Written by: Anupreeta Das and Hari Kumar Photographs by: Anindito Mukherjee ©2025 THE NEW YORK TIMES
Boston Globe
5 days ago
- Health
- Boston Globe
Are samosas unhealthy? Some Indians find official advice hard to swallow.
So, when a recent government advisory put samosas — along with other deep-fried Indian snacks and Western foods such as burgers and french fries — on a list of things that should be eaten in moderation because of their high oil and sugar content, there was an unsurprising outcry. Social media erupted with memes, and Indian media chimed in to say the country's most iconic bites were under attack. A love of the samosa is 'ingrained in us,' said Rana Safvi, a cultural historian, who said it served as both street food and comfort food. If the government had targeted only burgers or pizza, people wouldn't have cared, she said. 'Samosa is something that is too close to them.' Advertisement Some news outlets fueled the backlash by likening the directive to health warnings on cigarettes. The actual advisory was considerably milder than that. India's health ministry on June 21 sent out a notice to all government ministries requesting that they put up posters in public spaces, such as office cafeterias and meeting rooms, showing the oil and sugar levels in certain foods. In the sample posters, the much-loved samosa was first on the high-fat list. (Jalebis were lower down on the high-sugar poster.) Advertisement The daily recommended intake of fats is 27 to 30 grams, and one samosa can contain between 17 and 28 grams, according to the posters (types of fat are not specified). Last month, the government moved to clarify its intentions, saying it had not directed vendors to put warning labels on their products, and that it wasn't selectively targeting Indian snacks. It called the advisory a 'behavioral nudge to make people aware of hidden fats and excess sugar' in many types of food. The move was in keeping with Prime Minister Narendra Modi's campaign to encourage active lifestyles, called Fit India. Earlier this year, Modi used his radio program to call on people to reduce the amount of oil they consume. Nearly 1 in 5 adults in India's urban areas are overweight or obese, the 2021 National Family Health Survey found. The percentage of children under 5 years of age who are overweight is also increasing, it found. India, a country of about 1.4 billion people, is expected to have 450 million overweight or obese people by 2050, second only to China, according to a study by The Lancet, a medical journal. The government has identified obesity, which can push up rates of cardiovascular problems, Type 2 diabetes and other diseases, as a major public health challenge. Advertisement Street foods such as jalebis, samosas, and chole bhature — chickpea curry with deep-fried bread — are deep-fried in saturated or partially hydrogenated oils, and often refried in the same oil, which significantly increases trans fatty acid content, said Dr. Anoop Misra, an endocrinologist. If government health programs are executed and regulated well, it could 'lead to a significant reduction in obesity, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease,' he said. Street food lovers are not ignorant of the perils. On a recent afternoon, Sanjay Kumar, 29, stood by Old Famous Jalebi Wala, a shop that has been in business since 1884, in Delhi's bustling Chandni Chowk bazaar. He was eating a jalebi topped with rabri, a condensed milk dish. Kumar said he was overweight but allowed himself the occasional treat. Although jalebis are available everywhere, the freshly made ones at the stall — which is about the length of a bus — are of 'top quality,' he said. 'I know that jalebis increase the weight, but what do I do?' Kumar said. 'Jalebis are so tasty.' Such snacks are necessary because lower-income workers cannot afford to buy food in expensive restaurants, said Rishabh Nath, who runs a food stall founded by his father adjacent to Delhi's high-end Khan Market. It opens at 5 a.m. daily and quickly becomes crowded with workers filling up for the day ahead. Dheeraj Sharma, who works for a driving school, said he had been eating samosas from a stall four times a week for the past decade. He is aware of the dangers of too much fried food, but he said samosas were his snack of choice because they're 'tasty, easy to eat, and cheap to buy.' Advertisement Sharma, 30, said it was a good idea for governments to urge shops to display more information about the foods they sell. But, he added, 'this is the fun of life, so why not enjoy?' This article originally appeared in
Observer
5 days ago
- Health
- Observer
Are Samosas unhealthy? Some Indians find official advice hard to swallow
NEW DELHI — Indians eat a mind-boggling array of street food. They nosh on pakoras, or vegetable fritters; jalebis, which are deep-fried coils of fermented batter dunked in sugar syrup; and papdi chaat, a tart and spicy mélange of crunchy fried dough, yogurt and spices — to name just a few. The snacks, often washed down with chai, are ubiquitous, filling and relatively cheap. But the king of street food — and one of India's most famous culinary exports — is the samosa. The deep-fried, plump and triangular piece of flaky dough has crisp edges, encasing a heavily spiced potato stuffing. Usually served with tangy and sweet condiments, they cost as little as 15 cents at food carts or stalls throughout the country. So, when a recent government advisory put samosas — along with other deep-fried Indian snacks and Western foods such as burgers and French fries — on a list of things that should be eaten in moderation because of their high oil and sugar content, there was an unsurprising outcry. Social media erupted with memes, and Indian media chimed in to say the country's most iconic bites were under attack. A love of the samosa is 'ingrained in us,' said Rana Safvi, a cultural historian, who said it served as both street food and comfort food. If the government had targeted only burgers or pizza, people wouldn't have cared, she said. 'Samosa is too close to them.' Some news outlets fueled the backlash by likening the directive to health warnings on cigarettes. The actual advisory was considerably milder than that. India's health ministry on June 21 sent out a notice to all government ministries requesting that they put up posters in public spaces, such as office cafeterias and meeting rooms, showing the oil and sugar levels in certain foods. In the sample posters, the much-loved samosa was first on the high-fat list. (Jalebis were lower down on the high-sugar poster.) The daily recommended intake of fats is 27 to 30 grams, and one samosa can contain between 17 and 28 grams, according to the posters (types of fat are not specified). Last month, the government moved to clarify its intentions, saying it had not directed vendors to put warning labels on their products, and that it wasn't selectively targeting Indian snacks. It is called the advisory, a 'behavioral nudge to make people aware of hidden fats and excess sugar' in many types of food. The move was in keeping with Prime Minister Narendra Modi's campaign to encourage active lifestyles, called Fit India. Earlier this year, Modi used his radio program to call on people to reduce the amount of oil they consume. Nearly 1 in 5 adults in India's urban areas are overweight or obese, the 2021 National Family Health Survey found. The percentage of children under 5 years of age who are overweight is also increasing, it found. India, a country of about 1.4 billion people, is expected to have 450 million overweight or obese people by 2050, second only to China, according to a study by The Lancet, a medical journal. The government has identified obesity, which can push up rates of cardiovascular problems, Type 2 diabetes, and other diseases, as a major public health challenge. Street foods such as jalebis, samosas, and chole bhature — chickpea curry with deep-fried bread — are deep-fried in saturated or partially hydrogenated oils, and often refried in the same oil, which significantly increases trans fatty acid content, said Dr. Anoop Misra, an endocrinologist. If government health programs are executed and regulated well, they could 'lead to a significant reduction in obesity, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease,' he said. Street food lovers are not ignorant of the perils. On a recent afternoon, Sanjay Kumar, 29, stood by Old Famous Jalebi Wala, a shop that has been in business since 1884, in Delhi's bustling Chandni Chowk bazaar. He was eating a jalebi topped with rabri, a condensed milk dish. Kumar said he was overweight but allowed himself the occasional treat. Although jalebis are available everywhere, the freshly made ones at the stall — which is about the length of a bus — are of 'top quality,' he said. 'I know that jalebis increase the weight, but what do I do?' Kumar said. 'Jalebis are so tasty.' Such snacks are necessary because lower-income workers cannot afford to buy food in expensive restaurants, said Rishabh Nath, who runs a food stall founded by his father adjacent to Delhi's high-end Khan Market. It opens at 5 a.m. daily and quickly becomes crowded with workers filling up for the day ahead. Dheeraj Sharma, who works for a driving school, said he had been eating samosas from a stall four times a week for the past decade. He is aware of the dangers of too much fried food, but he said samosas were his snack of choice because they're 'tasty, easy to eat, and cheap to buy.' Sharma, 30, said it was a good idea for governments to urge shops to display more information about the foods they sell. But, he added, 'this is the fun of life, so why not enjoy?' This article originally appeared in
Time of India
13-06-2025
- General
- Time of India
What the boys ate: The gastronomy of growing up in Delhi
There are two types of food stories in Delhi. The first is about Mughlai gravies, royal khansamahs, and secret spice mixes. The kind you see on the Epic channel narrated by Prof. Pushpesh Pant, or experience on a heritage walk with Ms. Rana Safvi. The second is about what the middle-class boys ate and where. This kind has no place in curated food walks or five-minute reels. It has little to do with heritage and even less with presentation. But it is real. It is grounded. And woven, indelibly, into the muscle memory of an entire generation of Delhi boys. This food was not glamorous, and almost always eaten standing up. This was not food for indulgence, but food for function. What the boys ate was simple: rajma chawal from a stall near Shankar Market, bread pakoras from Kamla Nagar, coffee at the Indian Coffee House, and on special occasions, the hot chocolate fudge at Nirula's. No dish cost more than Rs 100 and no transaction took longer than two minutes. Yet the memory of the taste that lasted decades. Back in school, the tiffin was a socioeconomic document disguised as Tupperware plastic box. One boy had a cold, hard aloo ka parantha. Another had a vegetable sandwich in a Ziploc pouch. The rich kid had foil-wrapped cheese toast. And then there was the boy with aloo-poori, the food that everyone secretly loved and publicly hated. Because food, like masculinity, was hierarchical. While some meals conferred status, others invited ridicule. There was also the samosa. Not samosa in general but the school canteen samosa. It was misshapen, rarely hot, and left an oil stain on the school uniform that spread faster than the news of the cancelled maths class. Its brownish, blistered skin crackled when we bit into it, revealing a mash of aloo and green chilli, the occasional raisin, and a rogue ajwain. But, no one complained. The samosa did not taste particularly fancy, but still felt like an achievement, typifying a quiet rebellion against the conformity of the home-cooked tiffin. Beyond the school, the food outside coaching centres formed its culinary micro-climate, whether it was FIITJEE in Kalu Sarai or VMC in Pitampura. Amidst back-breaking routines of juggling the delicacies of Irodov and RD Sharma, there was the veg cutlet sandwich passed off as an artisanal aloo-tikki burger, and the kulfi, which was served on sticks that bent if you did not consume it fast enough. The vendors who stood outside with their wooden carts knew their market well – boys with cavernous hunger, shallow pockets, and iron constitutions. Sanitation was a rumour. But no one cared. These were not merely meals, but pit stops. It was food that made you feel like you were surviving something important. Every neighbourhood in Delhi had its unofficial cricket ground – a public park with an uneven wicket and at least one interruption by a jogging uncle. After the match, the boys, some in whites and others in yesterday's T-shirts, would congregate around the juice stall. Not to drink protein shakes or carrot-beet combinations. But the half-sweetened mosambi juice in plastic cups that always tasted faintly of iron. As an accompaniment, there was bhel puri – the crunchy, chaotic mix of murmura, peanuts, chopped onions, green chilli, and a dash of nimbu squeezed from a rusted squeezer. It came wrapped in newspaper cones, always carrying the faint smell of old ink and Delhi's crime stories. One bite and our mouths lit up with joy rarely found in gourmet eateries. In college, food was laughter, rivalry, heartbreak, and the embarrassment of a female crush walking by just as you slurped down the redolent upma at Triveni Kala Sangam. Ordering food for her was chivalry and sharing a brownie from Wenger's meant something special. Middle-class Delhi boys, awkward in communication, relied on food as their Meghdootam. They did not write her a poem, but bought her golgappas from Bengali Market, without her having to ask. The boys of Delhi did not grow up on fancy paneer tikkas or the (depressingly) ubiquitous soya chaap. They grew up on chowmein. You would be hard-pressed not to find it at every street corner. And mind you, this was no hakka or schezwan. It was the old-school Indian variety: soy-heavy (poured from a repurposed Bisleri bottle), oversalted (to a default), served in flimsy plates, and stirred in blackened woks. You asked for it to be extra spicy and with more of that red, fiery ketchup, because red signalled the richness of food. The hissing steam, the clang of the ladle, tossing of the noodles, and the sprinkle of chopped coriander on top – all of it added to the experience. And, trust me, it was some experience. Eating was not merely an afterthought but an event. The boys would pool money and even run errands for the vendor, just to get a discount. Delhi itself seemed to hum with food. The air smelled of frying oil, roasting chana, the sizzle of tadka in a kadhai, the smell of melting butter, the floral whiff of agarbatti from street temples, pressure cookers hissing in the background, kulfi wallahs ringing their bells, and the distant puk-puk of banta bottle tops being popped open. Today, many of these food habits and those food spots are gone. The juice stalls have been replaced by Blue Tokai. The chowmein corners have given way to momo stands and the Rs 10 samosa is now Rs 130 with peri-peri sauce. The boys now eat not at Chaina Ram Halwai or Sitaram Diwan Chand, but at joints with Instagrammable lighting or (worse) alone in their office cubicles. That is fine; change is the only constant. But in some corner of the city, some schoolboy still stands, licking chutney off his thumb, and stuffing a samosa into his blazer pocket to eat later in secret. That, I hope, never changes. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
