ok so here’s the thing.

you ever wake up from a fever dream at 2:47 am with hunger pangs?

I am talking a deep, almost spiritual craving for the most crispy, delish comfort food money can buy.

recent trips to West and the Bay of Bengal introduced me to a new delish food that is delish.

think puffy, golden, deep-fried circle of god-tier dough. Yeah. that’s luchi, baby.

she’s the moment. she’s crispy on the edges and a literal cloud in the middle.

she goes with aloo’r dom, she goes with cholar daal, she goes with your tears after a breakup.

like i don’t care if the world is ending, if capitalism collapses, if the sun does a burnout and peaces out—

give. me. a. luchi.

no thoughts, just luchi.

brain cells? gone.

college degree? irrelevant.

student debt? still there but slightly less painful if i have luchi in my mouth.

luchi is the soft launch of divine intervention.

you think croissants are flaky? nah. luchi has been carrying softness and drama since before the french even figured out butter.

also the way your maa flips them in hot oil like she’s summoning ancient spirits???

this is not food. this is ancestral magic.

in conclusion:

no one is doing it like luchi.

not pancakes. not parathas.

not even that one croissant from the overpriced cafe with a French name no one can pronounce.

luchi supremacy. forever.