A full circle

The joy of watching your roti roll out into a perfect circle, lift off the rolling board in a single sweep and puff up into a buttered balloon as soon as it has exchanged pleasantries with the pan, is unspeakable. Today I bid adieu to years of haggling with stubbornly sticky dough that held on to the rolling pin like glue. Farewell to the roti impostors that refused to rise to the occasion despite greasing the pan. Deceptive shapes, which looked soft but cracked at the slightest touch, adding audio to the already visual embarrassment, are now history. Enter; the delicate, dusky or should I say wheatish, slim and yet perfectly curved heroine of the meal. A conquest over my longest culinary struggle.

Flashes of sepia toned days. I pull a stool to match my eye level with the stove on the kitchen platform. Mother rolls, pats, flips, packs. Roll, pat, flip, pack. It is like a one woman assembly line. It is almost mechanical. They are all identical, symmetrical like carved out of moulds. I ask my daily question. May I try? The last ball of dough always comes my way. I labour over it. There are several retakes. Eventually the ball is toughened with several rounds of rolling, flouring and rolling again. An undefined geometrical shape hits the pan. When it’s done it is hopelessly chewy and unservable. But it is my roti. And I know the trick. For the perfect cover up, lap it up hot. Wait for it to cool down and the cookie will crumble. Straight from pan to plate, plate to palate. Utter satisfaction. My own roti.

Today, that same feeling. I made it. And this time it won’t disappear before being discovered. It will proudly take its place at the table.