When cooking is an adult’s joy
Many years went by with our cravings assuaged by weekly forays to a local eatery
Who doesn’t enjoy eating a crisp, golden dosa with spicy potato, coconut chutney, and a brimming bowl of sambar? Although it is more of a South Indian delight, whichever corner of the county we hail from, we are always ready to indulge ourselves with a dosa and all its accompaniments.
Dosas were not a part of the fare that came out of Mother’s kitchen and we did not get to taste them until our first visit to an Udupi restaurant. There, from the first bite, we were hooked — and on the spot, as a twelve-year-old, I declared that I would marry a South Indian and eat dosas every day of my life.
My siblings cheered with their mouths full, but Mother reminded me gently, “You know you’ll be the one in the kitchen making those dosas, don’t you?”
“No way!” I scoffed.
Initially, it annoyed me no end that I had to plan in advance just to get the batter right, what with soak and grind and ferment ... and sometimes find that fermentation does not take place
How could I be conscripted into producing dosas when every true-blooded South Indian — male, female, infant — surely came pre-programmed with the capacity to churn them out? My role, without a doubt, would be confined to dipping and crunching and slurping!
A decade-and-a-half went by and my childhood declarations were forgotten — until I met this hunk who laid claim to the town of Udupi on his father’s side.
Occassional craving for dosas
By then, our family had grown accustomed to satisfying our occasional craving for dosas by visiting a local restaurant, and I did not think about any kind of food while in his presence — until the wedding vows were said and I crash landed into my own kitchen!
And suddenly, there appeared a strong preference on his part for South Indian fare, especially dosas of various types.
Fortunately, in the short time I’d spent in his family home, I had shadowed my mother-in-law and noted down every leaf and grain she tossed into the authentic South Indian meals she churned out!
She hailed from the distant Northeast of India (where the cuisine is very different from that of South India), and had spent a lifetime getting those dosas and chutneys just right without anyone to teach her.
Compared to her struggle, I had it easy, didn’t I?
Perfect dosa
But, as anyone who has done the deed will tell you: you cannot make the perfect dosa until you have messed up a few … In some cases, quite a few.
Initially, it annoyed me no end that I had to plan in advance just to get the batter right, what with soak and grind and ferment ... and sometimes find that fermentation does not take place (like in a North Indian winter).
As I tried to get the better of the batter that would not rise, I flung around pans and ladles — and idioms with the word “batter” — until the din from the kitchen was unbearable! No one from my hungry family outside dared peep in or offer help for fear of assault and battery by one of those heavy-bottomed pans, so it was a hopeless situation.
What they learnt from their unfulfilled experience, I cannot say, but the lesson I left with was simple: the only way I could get the better of dosa batter was to stay away from it!
Many peaceable years went by with our cravings assuaged by weekly forays to a local eatery for ready-to-eat dosas — until the coronavirus and the lockdown struck and we had only ourselves to rely on for a change in cuisine.
Dreading the flying kitchen implements that could result from another close encounter with dosa batter in my kitchen, we opted hesitantly for the ready-made stuff, all fermented and perfectly ground, designed to make the swirling and the spreading as easy as pie … if you discount the splatter and splutter that less-than-expert hands seem to generate.
Apparently, for some of us, getting the better of the batter is a really long haul!
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.