Batter Than the Best
In a year when the end of the world was announced every three months—first by those worried about the business climate, then by those worried about the climate business, and in between by the 2012 wallahs—hunting for India’s national dish might seem a silly quest. But you could argue, tongue in chutney, that the triumph of the masala dosa offers a delicious metaphor for the calendar rolling by. As Sanjeev Bhaskar would holler in Goodness Gracious Me, “Think about it, yaar.”
Like the dosa that vanishes before you can say uthappam, no issue lasted long enough to tickle the memory. (Remember the Great Austerity Scam?) The indigestion caused by L.K. Advani’s campaign showed that it is the filling, not the wrapping, that matters, which is probably why the Brahmin chefs of Nagpur decided to serve up a foodie as the BJP’s head cook. And surely, it’s Dosa Power that fired up Rahman and Ramakrishnan for their Oscar and Nobel?
But it’s the manner in which a simple dish has defied the pundits, charmed its way into the hearths of non-believers, and halted the hegemonic march of the shrieking birds, that leaves you wondering if, in the saag of the dosa, is not hidden the saga of sadda Manmohan.
The Tawa is Flat
Because of what it contains, how it is made and the way it looks, the masala dosa doesn’t lend itself to poetry. The best food writers can muster are cliches: “yummy”, “lip-smacking”, “finger-lickin’ good”. And despite the evidence offered by our poll, Tom Friedman isn’t likely to write The World is Round. A literary gap will remain, therefore, although a friend wrote recently that “a good dosa is like your first love: unsurpassable”.
But a truism heard commonly in South Indian kitchens—“Even the best dosa has holes”—comes closest to sounding like wisdom. So, as the year began, the IT brain behind an angelic ambulance service revealed holes, lots and lots of them, in his company’s balancesheet. And, as the year closed, the greatest golfer the solar system has seen seemed to have played with more holes than 18.
Why, when you see that in Quick Gun Murugan, the impossibly dressed cowboy hero’s duty was to protect the world against restaurant owner ‘Rice Plate’ Reddy who wants to create the ultimate non-veg dosa, do you realise that this veggie victory was somehow predestined?
Women on Top
An abiding mystery of ‘Udupi Voyeurism’ has been, “Why do women want to eat the masala dosa more than men?” That question, more revealing of those asking it, has been laid to rest with our poll showing that while men will be men, lurking around for easy meat, women are suckers for MD.
Just when the fixation began is unclear. In Many Ramayanas, the scholar Paula Richman talks of a Tamil folk song that captures the various dishes the pregnant wives of Dasaratha crave for. One of them wants murukku, another wants idlis, yet another wants dosas.
Back in college, a cheeky classmate had a theory. That the way a man tackled a masala dosa was how he would tackle a woman you know where. Does he start at the top or at the bottom? Does he work at the sides, pierce the middle or open the fold? He won’t be pleased to know that women’s fingers are itching more. Or will he?
Set-Top Socialism
Despite the paid reviews, the best dosas are served by anonymous holes in the wall. T.S. Satyan, the ace lensman who passed away recently, wrote of one such joint in his hometown, Mysore, from half a century ago.
“For many years, its proprietor refrained from naming his establishment. So it was known as ‘Nameless’. Its speciality was the set-dosa. The ‘set’ served on a banana leaf was a pile of four soft dosas, free from oil and topped by coconut chutney, potatoes and two small pats of butter. Some ‘Nameless’ regulars who were butter-addicts brought in larger stocks from a nearby store. They would splash the butter with ferocious fervour on the warm ‘sets’ whose softness seemed to resist the probe of their fingers. All of us washed down our ‘sets’ by drinking steaming filtered coffee.
“To those with a low appetite or a lean purse, or wanting to share the ‘sets’ and coffee, ‘Nameless’ ungrudgingly offered ‘one-by-two’ and even ‘one-by-three’ service. Your right to eat the quantity you needed or to share it with another was recognised by the owner.”
Not Tonight, Darling
Since we are talking sex, let the last word go to Tangy, Tart, Hot & Sweet author Padma Lakshmi: “Food is very tactile and sensual. It’s the only way you can get into another person’s body without actually touching them.”
