Fusion or Confusion? Inside India’s Spiciest Food Debate: Authenticity vs Experimentation

I have a deeply emotional memory attached to Dal. Not any dal, the thick, yellow dal that my mother makes on a random Monday night dinner. The one that simmers for what feels like seven business days, with tadka added at just the exact second it releases that fragrant “homey” smell. Now imagine someone on the internet telling me: “Replace the comforting yellow dal with Indo-Italian-fusion Dal Chawal Arancini for a modern twist!”

Excuse me, my friend, what is the twist? Where is the twist? The only thing twisting after hearing that suggestion was my insides.

And that’s where the great Fusion vs Authenticity debate comes storming in. And trust me, it’s not just a scroll-past-on-Instagram kind of thing. It’s cultural. It’s emotional. And, damn well, it’s personal. You could say that it's one of the reasons the comment sections are now war zones hotter than a North Indian summer wedding buffet.

So What Even Is Authenticity?
We like to pretend authenticity is a fixed thing- like it is written in stone, approved by ancestors, laminated, and stored in a safe box! But truthfully? What’s “authentic” is just what you grew up with. And that, my friend, is different for each one of us.

The way your grandmother roasted spices. The steel dabba your family has used since before you were born. The steps to be followed to the T for the perfect Biryani at home, you miss one step, and you’ll forever be guilty. We’ve all been there, and that’s made me conclude that authenticity is memory. It’s emotion disguised as a recipe.

Which is why when someone touches your food culture, it's basically like they're messing with your nostalgia!

Okay, Then What’s Fusion?
Honestly? Fusion has always existed. India’s entire culinary landscape is a map in motion; flavours crossing oceans, spices crossing borders, and memories crossing generations.

Biryani? Not originally Indian. Vindaloo? Portuguese passport holder. Momos? Hello Tibet. Kulcha? We borrowed that too. Samosa? Persian Traders’ Snack! But these fusions evolved slowly, with respect, with community, with a shared palate. They were “inspired by,” not “reinvented in 30 seconds for Instagram Reels engagement.”

Today, fusion sometimes means either slapping two foods together because “LOL it will go viral” or worse, adding cheese to everything. I am casually shooting lasers at the person who suggested we have Gulab Jamun Pizza for Saturday lunch!

The Fusion That Works vs The Fusion That Makes Us Question Humanity
We’ve all seen both. Actually, we have seen it all! Check out some recipes of the fusion that works, one that wants me to kill myself.

Fusion That Makes Sense:

1. Gulab Jamun Macarons 

2. Vada Pav Waffles 

3. Thecha Mac and Cheese 

These dishes respect flavour logic. They add something. They blend techniques in a way that makes your brain go, “Hmm, honestly, fair enough.”

Fusion That Feels Like a Dare:

1. Pasta Khichidi

2. Spicy Mango Limca Pani Puri

3. Saag Burrata

These are not dishes. These are pranks disguised as cuisine. I swear! Trust me! (But the daredevil in you is free to try them out, at your own risk.) And now we can tell that-

Good fusion = Inspired by tradition.

Bad fusion = I invented a NEW Indian dish. (No, bro, you did not.)

So, Why Are We All Fighting About This Now?
To answer simply, because food has stopped being just food. Food is now identity, aesthetic, personality trait, content bucket, means of storytelling, and everything else except food.

Food carries memory. Every dish tells a story, a memory, a piece of someone’s identity. Which means when a dish changes, it can feel like a memory is being rewritten. Not all reinvention is disrespectful; some of it is actually beautiful. However, when a recipe is altered without recognizing its roots, something gets lost.

Again, What’s the Point of All This?
The authenticity debate is not about gatekeeping. It’s about remembering that food is not just flavour, it’s history and memories.

While yes, we can enjoy the occasional Butter Chicken Burger, Pav Bhaji Bruschettas, or even Banana and Jam Sushi, it should come from curiosity to experiment, not culinary chaos. Food should evolve. It should surprise us. It should spark joy.

The future of food is both our grandmothers’ recipes and experimental curiosity. After all, tradition does deserve respect. So, next time, before you fuse something, ask yourself: Would my grandmother nod, or would she raise an eyebrow?

So, Where To Draw The Line?
When does fusion feel like a celebration, and when does it feel like a crime against humanity?

Here’s the test I personally use:
If your new version highlights the original, it’s a celebration!
If your new version replaces the original, it’s not being done right.

What side are you on?
Team Respectful Remix, or Team Culinary Chaos?