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Autopilot Ordering: The Case Against the Onion Bhaji (Sorry, Bhaji Fans)

Little Miss India
Autopilot Ordering: The Case Against the Onion Bhaji (Sorry, Bhaji Fans)

Photo: PallaviKhale, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The Starter You Never Actually Chose

Think about the last time you ordered a curry. Did you deliberate over the onion bhaji? Did you weigh it against alternatives, agonise, consult the family WhatsApp? No. It simply materialised on your order like a pre-ticked box. The bhaji is the financial default of the takeaway world — the 'yes' you said without being asked the question.

And here at Little Miss India, we love an onion bhaji. Genuinely. Crisp shreds of onion bound in spiced gram flour, fried until golden — it's a beautiful thing. But somewhere along the line, it stopped being a choice and became a reflex, and that's where we have to draw the line.

A Brief History of the Bhaji Takeover

The onion bhaji's rise to British dominance is a story of practicality. Onion is cheap, keeps for weeks, and gram flour batter is forgiving to even the flusteredest of Friday night kitchens. When the curry houses of the 1970s and 80s needed a starter that could be prepped in bulk, fried to order and survive a ten-minute wait under a heat lamp, the bhaji was the obvious champion.

Compare that to the humble lamb samosa — pastry that demands to be eaten fresh, filling that takes proper time to build. Or paneer tikka, which requires marinating foresight. The bhaji won the menu, not necessarily the flavour contest. It won on logistics. And Britain, being a nation of sensible queue-ers and default-clickers, followed suit.

The Blind Taste-Test Framework (Do This At Home)

Ready to settle it properly? Next takeaway night, run the Little Miss India Bhaji Challenge. It's simple, scientific-ish, and requires nothing but napkins and honesty.

  1. Order three starters: your usual bhaji, plus two challengers from the underrated list below.
  2. Decant everything into identical bowls. Label them A, B and C. Yes, this feels silly. Do it anyway.
  3. Taste blind, one at a time, with a sip of water (or lassi, we're not monsters) between each.
  4. Score each on three criteria: crunch (out of 10), flavour punch (out of 10), and 'would I order this again sober and alone?' (out of 10).
  5. Reveal. Tally. Prepare for humbling results.

We ran this in our own tiny kitchen and the bhaji came second to a lamb samosa among four out of five tasters. The fifth taster was our nan, and she votes bhaji on principle.

The Underrated Sides Shortlist

If the taste test has rattled you, here's where to redirect your starter budget:

Verdict: Guilty of Autopilot, Not of Badness

The onion bhaji isn't the villain here — our ordering habits are. Order it because you love it, not because it's first on the list. Your Friday night deserves deliberation, not default. Now excuse us, we're off to defend our nan's honour in the rematch.

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