It started with a trip to the Indian grocery store. I had gone in for coriander and left with a basket full of emotional sabotage: Parle-G, Frooti, Maggi, Melody, and a long-forgotten packet of Mango Mood. Somewhere between the freezer section and the masala aisle, nostalgia had taken over. I wasn’t shopping anymore—I was time-traveling.
As a kid growing up in 1980s Mumbai, these weren’t just snacks. They were currency. Parle-G biscuits dunked in cutting chai were sacred. Frooti came with bragging rights if you had it before school ended. And Maggi? Maggi was the ultimate cheat code for hunger, laziness, and fake cooking confidence. I was sure—absolutely sure—that they all tasted like joy.
So I decided to find out if that was still true. I staged a personal taste test in my Austin kitchen. One man. Six snacks. Unlimited nostalgia. Very limited self-respect.
Round 1: Parle-G
I opened the iconic yellow-and-red pack and immediately smiled. The biscuits were smaller than I remembered, but still had that comforting cement-dust texture. I took a bite. It crumbled instantly. Sweet, dry, and mildly wheaty—like the inside of a library book from 1992.
Was it amazing? No. But it was familiar. And that counted. Eating Parle-G as an adult is like rewatching an old TV serial—you notice the flaws, but you’re too emotionally invested to care. Also, it still tastes best dipped in overly sweet tea served in steel tumblers. Which I, of course, did.
Round 2: Frooti
As a kid, Frooti was the ultimate luxury. You didn’t just drink it. You squeezed it. From a triangular box that felt more like a science experiment than a beverage container. The version I got here came in a tetrapak, but I poured it into a glass like an adult pretending not to be regressing.
First sip: whoa. That mango was *loud*. Not Alphonso-mango-at-a-summer-market loud—more like mango-candy-on-a-sugar-high loud. It was sharp, syrupy, and incredibly artificial. And yet, the second sip hit differently. Less about flavor, more about memory. Playing cricket in the building compound. Running to the shop at the corner. That weird chewy straw you always lost. Suddenly, the sugar made sense.
Round 3: Maggi
Ah, Maggi. The snack that thought it was a meal. The national dish of hostels and breakups. I made it the classic way: two cups water, one cake of noodles, masala packet in at the boil. I even used a battered aluminum pan for accuracy.
The smell—oh, the smell—was perfect. But the taste? A bit bland. Not bad, just… thinner than I remembered. As a kid, I swore it had the depth of a five-star curry. Now, it tasted like turmeric and MSG had a polite conversation and then parted ways. I added a knob of butter and a green chili. It helped. But what really helped was sitting on the floor and eating it straight from the pan while watching a 90s ad compilation on YouTube. That brought the flavor back.
The Tongue Lies, But Kindly
I won’t pretend all of it was a culinary revelation. Melody now tastes like chocolate’s shadow. Mango Mood was more mood than mango. And don’t even get me started on the disappointment that was Phantom Sweet Cigarettes—just chalk with attitude.
But none of it felt like a waste. Because what I was really chasing wasn’t taste. It was texture. Of time. Of place. Of a version of me who didn’t yet know that food could be a carrier of memory, that you could miss a biscuit like you miss a person.
The Power of Mediocre Snacks
We spend so much time perfecting our palates as adults—seeking out the creamiest cheeses, the most artisanal pickles, the ideal roast profile of a single-origin coffee. But sometimes, it’s the mediocre snack that leaves the deepest mark. Not because it’s good, but because it was yours. It was what you reached for when exams ended, or friends came over, or you were just bored on a hot afternoon and wanted to taste something cheap and reliable.
That’s what childhood snacks are. Not gourmet. Not complex. Just consistent. When the world felt too big, they were small enough to understand. And that’s why, even if they taste slightly worse now, they somehow feel even better.
Will I Restock?
Absolutely. The Parle-G stays. So does the Maggi. Frooti maybe once a summer. The rest? They’ve served their purpose. They reminded me that sometimes, food isn’t about flavor at all. It’s about time travel. And occasionally, it’s okay if the ticket is wrapped in waxy plastic and dusted with sugar.
Born in Mumbai, now stir-frying feelings in Texas. Writes about food, memory, and the messy magic in between — mostly to stay hungry, sometimes just to stay sane.
Born in Mumbai, now stir-frying feelings in Texas. Writes about food, memory, and the messy magic in between — mostly to stay hungry, sometimes just to stay sane.
