If there is one thing I know for sure: All things can be folded into a pancake. And what is inside should be kept a mystery just like a woman, and you will get my drift from the photos below. Last week, the roti from Cool Runnings was my lady lunch, a folded over doughy thing with chicken and other stuffin’s, and what is in the gravy? I have no idea, I don’t want to make it at home. If you tell me what the sauce is, I may not want to eat it. And when I am making my own everyday sandwich out of whole wheat bread, Ziggy deli slices, and Hellman’s mayonnaise, I am thinking about you, Chicken Roti (or you Polish Mushroom Blintz, or you Greek Lamb Gyro, and even you, American Aunt Jemima with your fake maple syrup and faint taste of bacon grease). The Dosa is the Indian version of this culinary staple. It’s a pancake suffed with spicey goo. Yes, goo. Indian foode is my most favourite of all and therefore I truly do not want to know. My purposeful ignorance is all about reverence and I want to remain in awe and wonder. A couple of friends and I go to Udupi Palace in Little India when our hankerings are synchronized. We order the paper masala dosa, check this out:
As you can see from the photo above, to get inside the paper dosa, you have to dig deep…you have to eat a lot of crunchy pancake material and dip it into the coconut sauce before you get to the slap chunk. It’s work, man, no joke. The thing is almost the size of the body of my Miele vacuum and yet, despite its volume, I could definitely eat more than one. In fact, there is a dosa eating contest every year for Sick Kids Hospital, click here for the details. I am thinking of entering it, I am woman, here me roar and watch me chew!