Once a week, usually on Saturday or Sunday, I visit the maachh-er bajar or fish market in my neighbourhood to buy fish. Like all self-respecting Bengali men, I take this task very seriously. I make several rounds of the market to see what's on offer that particular day before bee-lining my way to the shop with the freshest Catla, or major South Asian Carp, a staple fish in Bengal's culinary tradition. The act of finding and buying a fresh, whole Catla is an art in itself that requires impeccable timing and bargaining skills, as it is the only way to get the offal — the unctuous, nutrient rich internal organs and intestines of the fish. Considered "non-desirable" and "unsavoury" by many, these bits and pieces are, in my opinion, some of the most underrated parts of the fish.

In Bengal and across India, many communities — especially Dalits, Bahujans, and Adivasis — cook and eat offal in a myriad of ways. Food is highly-politicised in India, and the food cultures surrounding offal — or off cuts of meat like brain, blood, tongue, tail, trotters, liver, kidneys, stomach, and intestines of fish and animals slaughtered for food — exist at the intersection of purity culture and casteism inseparably connected to the consumption of fish and meat. Even within the seemingly progressive pocket of Kolkata where I grew up, my love for 'maachh-er tel' or fish intestines cooked with chopped potatoes, egg plants, onions, chillies, and red and green amaranthus leaves in its own rendered fat and fish oil was frowned upon by many of my otherwise liberal and progressive friends until very recently, when the practice of no-waste, nose-to-tail eating became more widely accepted all over the world.

In India, however, the history of cooking and consuming these off cuts goes back centuries, if not thousands of years. Although the act of cooking and eating offal became more accepted with the introduction of Islamic and Parsi cuisines which have a rich heritage of offal delicacies like keema kaleji (minced meat and liver stir fry) and bhaji ma bheja (goat/lamb brains stir-fried with greens), the origins of India's offal cooking goes back to the diverse Dalit, Bahujan, and Adivasi cuisines spread across the country.

For many of these marginalised communities who consume offal, it was not a choice they made willingly, but one that was imposed on them. Meat was not something these communities could afford often or easily, so they collected and consumed the skin, blood, kidneys, liver, and intestines — the parts usually discarded by oppressor-caste communities — whenever an animal was slaughtered. Often, these parts were dried and preserved for long-term storage and future consumption in times of food insecurity, or seasoned with only the essentials like salt, red chilli flakes, and oil, and cooked simply by frying, boiling, or roasting for immediate consumption.

Rakti, or coagulated blood fry, is one of the better known examples of the food cultures and culinary traditions that emerged and evolved around the cooking and consumption of offal. Widely popular among Dalit communities in Maharashtra and Uttar Pradesh, Rakti is prepared by first allowing pig, goat, or lamb blood to coagulate and congeal to a cottage-cheese-like consistency by washing it thoroughly and boiling it in water. The congealed and boiled blood is then cut into cubes and fried in oil with onions, green chillies, red chilli powder, and salt. Optionally, spices and aromatics like fresh mint and coriander leaves, garlic cloves, ginger, turmeric powder, and garam masala are also added — although none of these additional condiments are strictly necessary, as they were not historically easily available or accessible to the Dalit communities.

Even turmeric, a condiment we take for granted in non-Dalit households, was so precious to Dalit communities even a few decades ago that when marriage brokers brought news of a potential match, the bride's family would ask, "Do they eat 'haldiya daal' (boiled lentils seasoned with turmeric) all year round?" as the answer often indicated the financial status of the groom's family.

Similarly, pig skin or pork crackling is another off cut that is usually discarded by oppressor-caste communities and championed by Dalits. While disliked by most Hindu caste groups and communities because of the perception of pigs as "impure" or "dirty" animals, and 'haram' or religiously forbidden and unfit for consumption according to Islam for much the same reasons, pork is a staple meat in Dalit culinary traditions across the country. Reserved for special occasions like childbirths and marriages, no part of a slaughtered pig goes to waste in Dalit households.

While the meat is boiled, fried, and roasted or used to cook spicy, savoury curries and gravies, the blood is used to prepare blood fry or Rakti. Even the skin is not wasted. Crackling — or crispy, crunchy pork skin after the meat is roasted to burn off the hair — is given to kids as a treat; and in winter, pork skin is used to make pickle that lasts the entire season. The skin is first boiled for an hour or until the fat separates and the skin shrinks and curls, then stored in jars. The pickle is heated to render and liquify the fat again, when needed, and consumed with roti or chapati (traditional Indian flatbreads). The water too is not thrown away, but boiled until it thickens to a gelatinous broth known as 'kaat', then stored in bottles for later use throughout the winter months.

Unlike in the rest of the world, the Dalit affinity for offal does not come from an abundance of choice, which allows and enables people to make the choice to consume more mindfully and without wasting any edible part of a slaughtered animal, but rather from the absence of choice — as determined by the caste-politics surrounding India's food cultures.

Historically, Dalits were only allowed to have what had been already rejected by their oppressors — the husk of wheat, millets, and other food grains; broken rice, lentils, legumes, and other pulses; and offal, or the off cuts of fish and meats. It is out of this systemic casteist oppression that Dalit delicacies like blood fry, pork crackling, and beef intestines curry emerged and evolved over the years.

For too long, offal has been stigmatised as "undesirable" and "unsavoury" and frowned upon by many as food for the underclasses. As we enter the age of growing crop failures and global conversations about hunger, malnutrition, food wastage, and the adverse effects of the meat industry on our climate, these inexpensive, nutrition-rich, and perfectly edible — and absolutely delicious — cuts of fish and meat may very well be the answer to our food and nutritional insecurities.

India's Dalit culinary traditions, born out of necessity and rich in offal dishes, show us how.

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