Parotta and I

*Parotta* *Purota* *Roti*

The taste still lingers on my tongue, a vivid memory that I can summon to life with just a blink of thought. It takes me back to my high school years, a time when simple pleasures feel so significant. Every day, I take a public bus to travel to a school about ten kilometers from my hometown. I receive a daily allowance, enough to cover my bus fare and a few snacks. But rather than indulging in snacks every day, I choose to save that small treat for something special. And that special indulgence is Parotta. It has various names across the state—parotta, purotta or rottti. No matter what we call it, the taste is always the same and special. 

Eating Parotta for breakfast in the morning is a common tradition in my town and in many places across Tamil Nadu. I would vote in favor if Parotta were nominated as the state's official food. It holds such widespread popularity until Biriyani eventually claims that status.

I pick one or two days a week to treat myself to a delicious Parotta breakfast. I typically go to a shop that is very close to the bus stop, so I can catch the bus on time. Even before I go inside the shop, I can smell the welcoming aroma. One corner of the shop is dedicated to making Parottas. I usually sit on one of the narrow wooden benches near the Parotta-making station so I can enjoy watching the process. It is always a visual treat.

The master stays busy preparing them. The way he makes the Parotta itself is a treat for the eyes. Flashy and white, small, round-shaped dough balls are arranged on the side. He takes the dough balls one by one and kneads them into a thin, long piece. Then, he rolls it, taps on top to flatten, and continues flattening with his palm. He then picks it up in his hands, waves, and spins it in the air to make it thinner and flatter, just like pizza making. Afterward, he rolls it again into small, puffy circles. This method makes the dough thinner and more layered. He wraps these pieces in oil-dipped cotton towels to keep the dough moist. Once he prepares a batch—say, ten to twelve of them—he places them, one by one, on the wide, hot cast iron pan to cook. Then he sprinkles oil over them by waving the spatula. After a couple of minutes, one can literally see the white dough turning crispy and golden brown. After flipping them a couple of times, he removes them from the pan. Here’s where the final touch comes: he beats them again with his palms to make the Parottas fluffy. I always wonder how he is able to do this with his bare hands. They are super hot and steaming. They are now ready to be served.

The server now lays a small banana leaf and places a glass of water on the side. Although the leaf is clean, I still wash it by sprinkling some water on the leaf and wiping it with my hand. Then the server brings the stacked Parottas on a chrome silver plate and asks how many Parottas I would like to have. I usually get two because that’s what my budget allows. That is indeed enough to fill me for breakfast. Before serving, the server tears the Parotta into small pieces. That’s how it is served. I spread them all over my leaf and leave a space in the center. Then he pours the salna that goes with it into the center pit I created. Salna is a special sauce—not thick but not too watery either—it has a perfect texture made with good masala mixed into it. I mix the salna with the Parotta pieces and leave it to soak for a minute. Then I take a small bite. By then, the server looks at me. I understand why he is looking. It means he is checking if I need a little more salna. Of course, I nod my head to consent, so he comes and offers me another spoon of salna. I mix it again and enjoy the bites. There are literally no words to describe the combination and its taste. It is one of the most delicious feasts anyone, especially a high schooler, can have in the morning. The warm Parotta and salna slip down my throat as smoothly as holy nectar. After the meal, I take the bus to school, but the aroma, taste, and even the burp stay with me for the whole day like a fresh blossom.

Missing those days... I’m sure everyone from Tamil Nadu must have had a similar mouth-watering experience. Share your experience as well.