No, it is not a food blog, and neither am I trying to give the cooking channels a run for their money nor declaring myself a home chef or a foodie, or a food critic. I’m also not trying to generalize the diverse food range we have. Strangely, I precisely remember the taste of the food that I ate years ago, and my memories connected with that. I strongly remember my debut experiences of several foods — the fizzy soft drink, the sourness of the tomato ketchup, the sweetness of the jackfruit dipped in honey, the unique masale-dosai at a hidden hotel that my father took me before boarding a bus, the comfort of a hot menasina-saaru-anna (cooked rice, ate with the preparation of Toor dal, black pepper, turmeric, and garlic stewed to a relatively runny sambar) when down with fever and many more haven’t withered a bit. I can also claim I have a wide palate but my appetite has shrunk over the years.
Being a South Indian, I’m labeled to eat idli, dosai, and anna-sambar, 3 times a day and I’m only allowed to have vade (vada) for snacks while the assumption about my desserts and other snacks is usually bland. My menu is expected to be minimum and just variations of cooked rice. I should partly blame the restaurateur, who, in the name of invention spoil the humble dosai with a dash of anything and everything to showcase a 99 variety or add pudina (mint) in the unrivaled bisi-bele-bath or roast the holige (or obbattu) into a bland pappad looking disc (Pardon my eye dialect here, I only try to reflect the way I pronounce things). I unapologetically declare, yes, rice dishes are my comfort food and I can eat that for breakfast too. And the idli, dosai, and vade are not the only thing I eat.
Now, to pick a fight, should I point at the potatoes, the universal vegetable for the northern part of India? I cannot declare war on those who label me, for the reason that I relish a good spread of spicy north Indian dishes and I enjoy decoding the tasty Indo-Chinese menu on my every visit to restaurants for casual dining.
I will never be able to elaborately explain our kitchen and the food we have. Yet, here I make an effort, to introduce some authentic food and express my experiences around them.
Dosai
(The right pronunciation — dōse or just dose in Karnataka. Written as ದೋಸೆ in Kannada).
The southern Indian states would go to war over the controversy of the name or at least shameless fistfight to judge whether it is Dose or Dosha or Dosai. I would continue to use Dosai as it phonetically sounds closer to how I pronounce it. Dosai is a complete snack, it fulfills one’s craving and is a complete meal too. Frankly, I never loved them when they were packed in the school lunchbox. It was neither hot nor the accompaniments tasted great. I hated it when the slightly charred layers stuck to my fingers. My mother had a trick, she made miniatures of them, slightly wider than a coin, and I was deceived. I discovered late that hot dosai straight out of the dosai-kallu (pan/tawa) with kai-chutney (coconut chutney) and saagu (vegetable curry) or palya (potato stuffing) is a great combination. While the restaurants introduced me to different versions of it, the version at home has seized my taste buds. Paradoxically, I have an ever-growing list of hotels that I must visit for the best dosai.
My dosai standards are high and it gets on my nerves when something is not right about it. I won’t vote for it if it deviates even a bit from my standards. I don’t disapprove of any versions of it but I just cannot find it interesting to my palate. The crisp flaky masale-dosai, the plump evenly dotted set-dosai, the lacey rave-dosai, the irreligious onion-dosai, the earthy and nutty flavored raagi-dosai and assortments of millets delicately ground to thin dosai batter — they all have their character and I just prefer the authentic taste of each of them.
The batter is poured and smeared on the hot pan in concentric circles of thins and thicks, a good lashing of oil/butter/ghee, a dash of spicy-hot red chutney smeared (if one prefers), stuffed with a scoop of aloogedde-palya (stir-fried cooked potato, usually with onions and some spice), allowed to toast to perfection and served hot, is my version of a perfect masale-dosai.
The set-dosai, an introverted cousin of the masale-dosai, on the other hand, is a laid-back version, mellow in its texture and taste. Typically served in sets of 3 at a restaurant from which it gets its name. It has its own audience waiting in long queues.
We, at home, have learned the art of making the perfect dosai and if something is not right, we get edgy and the day is spoiled. I have also almost understood the composition of a perfect batter. Of course, the perfect dosai is subjective.
It was not easy to decide between the roast and the dosai at a restaurant in Tamil Nadu, the ancient texts (Tamil Sangam Literature) in this land hint at the first dosai. Probably later the batter flowed westwards to Karnataka. It is not very long since I was introduced to the close relatives of dosai on the west coast of India and I have always been a great fan of those varieties too. I also relish the modern fashion icon — The 99 Variety Dosai, but I’m partial towards it and betray it from the name dosai.
For years, I had been nostalgic about the unique masale-dosai at the hidden hotel in Mysuru that I ate in primary school. When I had dosai at Mylari Hotel in Mysuru about a decade ago, my gustatory memory was refreshed, and I’m glad to have rediscovered it. What’s your dosai story?
