So picture this: I’m in Kolkata with the team, we’re out for dinner, spirits are high, everyone’s starving, and we’ve just placed an order for Kolkata biryani at this super iconic joint”Arsalan”. The kind of place where even the waiter’s confidence smells like ghee and generational pride.
The biryani arrives. It’s beautiful. Rice so fluffy it could be on a cloud. Meat that’s basically poetry. And nestled right in the middle—like it owns the place—is the potato. The famous Kolkata biryani aloo.
That’s when it happened.
One of the guys—Rahul, a proud Dilliwala—peeks into his plate and goes,
“Yeh kya hai? Aloo?! Biryani mein?!”
I swear the room temperature dropped.
You know that moment when someone says something and time just… slows? Spoons hovered mid-air. Someone paused mid-raita pour. A waiter in the corner visibly flinched.
And then Rajinder (Nicknamed: Rahul), in true Delhi confidence, dropped the bomb:
“This is not real biryani.”
Silence.
The Bengali guy next to him—who had just finished lovingly smashing his aloo into the rice like he was unlocking a flavor achievement—stared at him. That look wasn’t anger. It was disappointment. The kind that says “You’ve dishonored my ancestors.”
Suddenly, it was less team dinner and more National Geographic: Biryani Edition.
One guy started lecturing us on how Wajid Ali Shah brought the biryani to Bengal, and how the potato was a royal adjustment due to budget cuts. Budget biryani, but make it iconic.
Another dude whipped out his phone and started Googling: “Is potato traditional in Kolkata biryani?” Like this was a live Supreme Court hearing.
Meanwhile, some poor fellow muttered, “I don’t even like biryani,” and everyone turned on him. That guy just wanted noodles, and suddenly he was the villain.
And me? I just quietly enjoyed my biryani. With the aloo. And let me tell you—that potato? Perfectly spiced. Soft. Flawless. Like it knew people were questioning its existence and decided to prove itself bite by bite.
We left that table a little less united, a little more educated.
But that aloo?
That aloo held its ground.
Just like Kolkata intended.
🛑 Disclaimer: No Potatoes Were Harmed in the Making of This Article 🛑
This piece is written purely for fun, food, and the love of dramatic storytelling. If you’re a die-hard Hyderabadi who believes potatoes in biryani are a crime against rice, or a Bengali who thinks the aloo is the crown jewel of the dish—breathe, it’s all good.
We’re not here to start a food war. We’re here to laugh, bond, and gently roast (pun intended) our collective Desi food quirks.
Also, Rajinder, if you’re reading this—you still owe me a plate of biryani without starting a debate about regional authenticity. Just bring the raita and peace offering gulab jamuns, okay?
