A Requiem for a Dosa

Hey there, welcome to this corner of my website where I pretend to be a pretentious food blogger and review things with the kitschy demeanour of an imitation Anton Ego, the critic from the 2007 Pixar film Ratatouille. Unlike Ego, whose words actually carry some weight and tangibly affect a restaurant's reputation in the Ratatouille cinematic universe, my ramblings here have no such implications; however, very much like Ego, my opinions stem from a deep-seated respect and appreciation for food, or rather in this case, a single kind of food.

For the unaware, the humble dosa — in my totally unbiased opinion — is perhaps humanity's greatest gastronomical invention. Its unassuming simplicity shrouds the richest and most complex flavours; its versatility surpasses that of the naan, and its beauty rivals that of a perfect chocolate chip cookie. [Sigh] Sure, Ameya, but you haven't told us what it is. Right, so a dosa is a thin pancake, like a crêpe, made from a fermented batter of rice and black lentils. Dosas are served hot, with two popular accompaniments: a coconut chutney, and sambar, which is a (sweetened) lentil stew with a tamarind-based broth. Yes I said sweet, and no I'm not ashamed of myself. The dosa is believed to have originated in Karnataka, a state in Southern India, around the 9th century CE. Alternate evidence points to an earlier Tamil origin, but I choose to believe the former because the modern-day dosa was certainly perfected in Karnataka, where it is called dōse [ದೋಸೆ, /d̪o:se/].

Dear reader, at this point you might be wondering why I choose to extol the virtues of this food like it is an anointed sacrament. The dosa forms an integral part of Bangalore's breakfast traditions. If you were to walk on the streets of Bangalore on a Sunday morning, you'd be enveloped by the thick aroma of fresh dosas roasting in ghee, accented by the smell of filter coffee cutting through all that richness. Dosas are intricably tied to the culture of the city, and any discussion of the food here would be remiss without mentioning our signature pancake. For as long as I remember, my Sundays began with a trip to the local darshini (a nonchalant homely outlet that serves vegetarian South Indian fare) for a masala dosa and filter coffee. Hence, the dosa occupies a very special place in my heart — it's a static, unchanging monolith; a symbol of constancy among the flurry of change in life. To me, it brings delicious simplicity to the plate, filling me up with satisfaction, going beyond mere gastronomical delights. This photoblog, if you can call it that, is a reflection of my love for Bangalore and all its offerings.

Throughout this series, I'll rate masala dosas — a variation of the dosa lined with a spicy garlic paste and served with a potato curry — at places across India (and maybe the world) from a scale of 1-5 over four different metrics: visual appeal, batter (the overall quality, taste, and texture), the masala within, and finally the accompaniments.

So won't you come a-Waltzing Matilda with me? (This phrase actually doesn't have anything to do with the theme of this blog, I just really really like the song.)