Spreading dosa culture
Chss
sss ss..,. goes the sound in many a South Indian home during breakfast time.
With a sleight of hand unique to a “Southy” housewife, a white liquid is spread
on a black “tava”,
which crackles with glee as she circles it with a spoonful of oil.
Little
pores sprout in the white smooth surface before she flicks it on to a plate —
the “dosa”
is ready! For centuries, this has been the staple breakfast of millions of Swaminathans
and Vishwanathans all over the world and is classed as a universal favourite.
The
art of making a “dosa”
is acquired over a period of time. The right combination of “dal”
and rice” the paste ground to the desired smoothness and, finally, spread
out to an aesthetically appealing diameter uniformly thin — one of the first
lessons in culinary expertise, taught to a young girl. When a girl has perfected
this, she is ready for marriage. She must remember to spread the mixture
clockwise or otherwise she may be widowed — so goes the legend!
When I was
holidaying in Mussoorie, I had a perfectly made dosa in a “dhaba” run by
Sher Singh. Intrigued by his mastery, I was told that Sher Singh spent 10 years
in the galleys of Udupi restaurants in Bangalore and Mangalore and set up shop
only after he was certified by connoisseurs that his dosas were authentic!
In Mysore, in
one of the quiet by lanes, there is an eating house where you are treated to
“set” dosas — four piping hot ones
served on a green banana leaf and topped with coconut chutney. Students and
office-goers haunt this place which has retained its identity for sheer
quality.
As you motor
your way up the winding path fringed with lush greenery to the Nilgiris, you
stop by at Gundalpet and have a paper dosa
which is two ft long. The ideal way to eat this will be to tear off
alternate pieces from the left and right and meet in the centre. Only an expert
will be able to go through the whole thing before it cools!
In his
composition class, my six- year-old nephew was asked to write an essay on
“three national things” — he listed the lotus, the flag and dosa! He substantiated the last one by
saying that only when he brought “dosa”
for lunch, all his friends clamoured for a share!
Going by his
logic I made a mental note of the people around me when I went to eat at
“Woodlands” — sure enough there were Gujaratis, Maharashtrians, Bengalis,
Punjabis, Parsis, Muslims and Christians all eating the same thing — dosa The only variety in it was that
some preferred the exotic “butter masala” while some settled for the humble “sada”!
As my neighbour
— an incurable dosa eater — says, Dosa making is not a mere activity —
it’s a culture!
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