From Pakistan to New York: Flavors That Followed Me (And Wouldn’t Let Go)

When I moved from Pakistan to New York at 16, I thought I was heading straight for the flashing lights of the big city.
Plot twist: I landed in Schenectady.

You know, the place nobody can spell on the first try but everybody’s dad seems to have worked at General Electric.
Mine did too. It’s practically a rite of passage. Schenectady: come for the power turbines, stay because your dad’s pension says so.

Me, somewhere between 2009 and 2011, cooking food that’s still with me today.

The Spices Don’t Care About Your Zip Code

Even though I was on the other side of the world, the flavors followed me like clingy luggage.
Cumin, turmeric, garam masala — they didn’t care that I now lived two blocks from a Stewart’s Shop. They were here for the long haul.

And while I was adjusting to snow boots, I was also adjusting to the fact that the closest thing I could find to spice was a packet of crushed red pepper from the local pizza joint. Honestly, it hurt.

My First Job: Sandwich Artist (But Fancier)

My first real job wasn’t flipping samosas.
It was working as a field consultant and trainer for Subway restaurants.

Yes, Subway — where the spice level maxes out at banana peppers.
Imagine me, a kid who grew up on chili and street food, passionately explaining how to properly portion deli turkey while thinking, “You people have no idea what a real sandwich can do.”

I was out here making sure footlongs were actually footlongs, but secretly wishing I could slip in some green chutney and maybe a little kebab. Missed opportunity.

When the Flavors Become Family

What I realized, though, is that no matter where you move—or how many sandwiches you stack—the flavors from home stick with you.
I started inviting people over, cooking Pakistani food, and using spices like I was building a legacy.

Food became my bridge. It introduced me when I didn’t know how to.

Turns out, in Schenectady—or anywhere—you can make people feel at home with a good meal and maybe a rogue dash of chili powder in their Subway mayo.

The Flavors Never Left

You don’t outgrow your food.
You don’t leave it behind at the airport.
The flavors followed me from Karachi to Schenectady, from my dad’s GE lunch breaks to Subway footlongs, from homesick dinners to the dishes I make now.

They’ve been with me every step of the way, reminding me that no matter where you go—you always bring your spice with you.