Will it be too harsh if I titillate your palette in such rationed times? Well, forgive me, without a drop of amber to relish, without a strict diet to follow, all I can think of is the joy of planning what to cook, prepping for it and eventually eating. It is indeed deeply meditative.
Not one to have tried Dalgona or sourdough or even any three-ingredient wonder cake, I discovered talents erstwhile unknown to me. So long satisfied only with my knife skills and patience, I will share with you my journey with wheat flour.
While Assam and Bengal should have cemented my commitment towards rice, it was actually an uncharacteristic affinity towards the smell of freshly made roti (that always came from elsewhere, and not my home) which drew me towards it. Over time, of the many things I developed I also grew lactose intolerant -- later routed to the relationship between the gut and the mood. Yet, the smell was one which stirred in me an undisputed hunger. I had also tried to learn the skill from my mother, I won't lie, but realising the number of steps involved and the amount of perfection required to master a perfect circle, I gave up. Yes, without trying. I mean, you got rotis everywhere, anyway!
When we had a house-help to cook for us in Delhi, I had the choicest of soft, small and deliciously made rotis. The size was often called out by my esteemed colleagues too, yet, I cared a fig. And then, lockdown happened. Lovely readers, I wouldn't be exaggerating if I declared that I found the zen-like equivalent of playing Candy Crush in kneading a dough. Caressing it with the right amount of water, or oil, to build a baby dough is as satisfying as the endless Instagram videos on clay/play dough. What I intend to say is, suddenly, the long process seems to have been absolved by the sheer enchantment of rolling out shapes (began from states of India, to triangles, went to somewhat a circle, and has now reached a circle). To those who have often told me what is the difference between a watch worth 1k and one which is upwards of 20k, because they both show time, well, so does your roti! Don't complain of its shape, it will taste the same. But who am I to kid? I swear there is a difference in taste.
Dear ones, over these last weeks, I have become a fan of the modest wheat flour mixed with the versatile semolina, seasoned and fried well. Without a doubt, it dishes out the fluffiest, crispiest smiles.
:)
Not one to have tried Dalgona or sourdough or even any three-ingredient wonder cake, I discovered talents erstwhile unknown to me. So long satisfied only with my knife skills and patience, I will share with you my journey with wheat flour.
While Assam and Bengal should have cemented my commitment towards rice, it was actually an uncharacteristic affinity towards the smell of freshly made roti (that always came from elsewhere, and not my home) which drew me towards it. Over time, of the many things I developed I also grew lactose intolerant -- later routed to the relationship between the gut and the mood. Yet, the smell was one which stirred in me an undisputed hunger. I had also tried to learn the skill from my mother, I won't lie, but realising the number of steps involved and the amount of perfection required to master a perfect circle, I gave up. Yes, without trying. I mean, you got rotis everywhere, anyway!
When we had a house-help to cook for us in Delhi, I had the choicest of soft, small and deliciously made rotis. The size was often called out by my esteemed colleagues too, yet, I cared a fig. And then, lockdown happened. Lovely readers, I wouldn't be exaggerating if I declared that I found the zen-like equivalent of playing Candy Crush in kneading a dough. Caressing it with the right amount of water, or oil, to build a baby dough is as satisfying as the endless Instagram videos on clay/play dough. What I intend to say is, suddenly, the long process seems to have been absolved by the sheer enchantment of rolling out shapes (began from states of India, to triangles, went to somewhat a circle, and has now reached a circle). To those who have often told me what is the difference between a watch worth 1k and one which is upwards of 20k, because they both show time, well, so does your roti! Don't complain of its shape, it will taste the same. But who am I to kid? I swear there is a difference in taste.
Dear ones, over these last weeks, I have become a fan of the modest wheat flour mixed with the versatile semolina, seasoned and fried well. Without a doubt, it dishes out the fluffiest, crispiest smiles.
:)
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Dil mange more
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