In my family, the dinner table is a place where two worlds meet. On one side, there’s my mom’s plate — fragrant with spiced lentils, sautéed okra, and fresh roti. On the other, there’s mine or my dad’s, where chicken curry or tandoori drumsticks often take center stage. We didn’t grow up vegetarian in India, but after moving to the U.S., my mom began leaning heavily toward vegetarianism. My dad and I didn’t follow entirely, but her shift reshaped how I think about food, culture, and identity.
In South Asian culture, vegetarianism isn’t just a diet — it’s a philosophy shaped by centuries of tradition. For many, it’s tied to Hinduism’s ahimsa (non-violence), Jainism’s reverence for life, or Buddhism’s compassion. While my family didn’t strictly follow these principles, my mom’s move toward vegetarianism in America felt like a way for her to reconnect with those roots — even if the rest of us still kept chicken on our plates.
Growing up here, I became fluent in a kind of food diplomacy: choosing vegetarian dishes when eating with my mom, but enjoying non-veg meals with my dad. At first, it felt like living in two separate food worlds. But over time, I realized it was more of a spectrum — one that reflected the way immigrant families adapt, blending old traditions with new realities.
At Stevens, I’ve noticed how many South Asian students navigate similar dynamics. Especially at Pierce or the UCC dining hall, you might see a friend load their plate with chickpea curry and rice, while another grabs the grilled chicken next to it — both equally part of our shared culture. And yet, finding truly vegetarian-friendly options can still be a challenge. You end up asking dining staff about hidden chicken stock or scanning ingredient lists like you’re decoding a secret message. These gaps in everyday dining are why cultural clubs matter so much — they step in where institutions fall short, creating spaces where food feels understood, not questioned.
During Diwali, Eid, or Holi, campus rooms transform into warm, spice-filled spaces. Samosas sizzle, chai steams in styrofoam cups, and the line between vegetarian and non-vegetarian blurs because the focus shifts to flavor, tradition, and community. These gatherings remind us that food is more than what’s on the plate — it’s about the stories and values it carries.
For me, being part of both worlds has made me appreciate how food choices — whether vegetarian, non-vegetarian, or somewhere in between — can serve as powerful cultural anchors.
My mom’s vegetarian meals connect her to her upbringing in India, while my dad’s chicken curry reminds me that adaptation is also part of the immigrant story. And beyond my own table, this balance plays out across many immigrant households and even in broader dining trends — whether it’s Meatless Mondays, the rise of plant-based brands, or the way universities adapt their menus to international students’ needs.
With Beyond the Plate, I want to explore how these intersections play out in campus life — from the ethics and history behind food traditions to the ways Stevens students fuse flavors in dorm kitchens. My hope is to create a space where South Asian students feel seen, and where anyone, regardless of their background, can find connection in a shared meal or a shared story.
Whether your plate holds dal or drumsticks, paneer or pulled pork, food is always telling a story. On this campus, those stories deserve to be heard.
