Dosa gone wild

 

Dosa gone wild

         … Identity Crisis of the Modern Dosa

 

The humble masala dosa has suffered the exact same identity crisis as  filter coffee. What started as a simple, honest morning staple has morphed into a high-tech, multi-layered ingredient  and culinary experiment.

 

There was a time in Mysore when ordering a Masala dose was one of the simplest transactions in human history. You walked into a tiffin Room, sat down, and said:               …  “Swamy ondu masale ”

That was it. No counter-proposals. No cross-examinations.

A few minutes later, out it came,placed  on a fresh banana leaf sitting on a stainless steel plate: a golden-brown, crisp-at-the-edges, soft-in-the-middle crepe folded neatly over a warm, comforting mountain of yellow potato-onion masala, accompanied by a dollop of white coconut chutney and a splash of piping hot sambar. You tore a piece, scooped the potato, dipped it in Sambhar , and knew this is Nirvana. No app. No QR code. No customization matrix.

 

Then came the modern gourmet food chain and the street-food fusion labs.

So I thought, let me just have a simple, honest dosa. I walked into one of the  trendy glass-fronted "…….”swaram” cafés with an air of quiet confidence...

“Sir, what would you like? We have the menu right here.”

 

"Masala Dosa, please".

“Right. Which base? Traditional fermented rice-urad dal? Rava? Millets—ragi, jowar, or bajra? Oats? Or maybe our signature Quinoa-Moong dal blend?”

 

Yappa ! I only said dosa! I wanted the thing that pairs with chutney.

“Okay, moving to the style. Paper dosa? Set dosa? Family roast? Mini set Or the 4-foot-long Banner Dosa?”

I stuttered “ normal size if you please your Honour ”.

“Great. Now for the filling inside. Classic Mysore aloo masala? Or do you want to explore? We have Schezwan potato, Paneer Tikka, Chettinad Mushroom, Corn and Spinach, or our signature Italian Pasta Dosa?”

Paneer and pasta inside a dosa?! AYYO Shivanae beda beda ! (ಅಯ್ಯೋ ಶಿವನೇI ಬೇಡ ಬೇಡವೇ ಬೇಡ) came for breakfast, not an identity crisis.

But they are not finished.

“Now for the spreads and drizzles! Red garlic chutney? Red chili Chutney powder  (gunpowder)? Olive oil? Fresh White butter? Mayonnaise, peanut butter, Or extra-loaded Amul Ghee?”

     “No butter swimming pool, please your Honour,"  !

 

“And toppings” ? Grated processed cheese, liquid cheese, paneer cubes, chopped capsicum, schezwan sauce, or……kesari baath” ?KESARI BAATH  ? On a Dosa ?! Eeks NO !

 

At this point, I am wondering whether I am ordering breakfast or drafting a blueprint for a multi-level  flyover.

And then there is always someone standing ahead of you in line who has memorized the entire quantum physics syllabus of modern Indian street food:

“Brother, make it a Jini Dosa, half-crispy, extra schezwan, loaded with Amul cheese, paneer bhurji inside, butter garlic podi on the outside, and cut into 16 tiny pizza slices!”

 

I am standing behind thinking: “Abbha! Idhu dose orderenaa- illa   Automobile  factory assembly line Process-aa ?” (ದೋಸೆ ಆರ್ಡರ್ರೇನಾ ಇಲ್ಲ ಆಟೋಮೊಬೈಲ್  ಫ್ಯಾಕ್ಟ್ರ ಅಸೆಂಬ್ಲಿ ಲೈನ್ ಪ್ರೋಸೆಸ್ಸಾ)

 

Unlike, in the old days “ Swamy,  masale ” .is finished.

 

And then comes the bill. ₹280… ₹350… ₹450…& even ₹.1000/- for one embellished with gold rake….For a dosa?! For that kind of cash, back in OUR days, we could feed a family of eight, buy twelve coffees, and still have enough loose change to tip the Waiter handsomely..

And after paying a king's ransom, they hand you a massive black slate or a fancy wooden platter. You look down. The dosa is stretched thinner than a developer’s patience, pinned under a skyscraper of shredded cheese, a drizzle of neon-orange mayo, and a solitary sprig of microgreens that looks like a lost blade of lawn grass.

You try to pick a piece up with your hand, and your fingers plunge straight into a swamp of melted cheese or Schezwan sauce. By the time you get a bite to your mouth, your sleeve is dyed in red chutney and your dignity is hanging by a thread. At that point, it is no longer South Indian tiffin. It is a tectonic plate collision between Milan, Beijing, and K.R Circle.

 

Give me my old Mysore Dasprakash  tiffin room "mas saaale" any day: The clatter of stainless steel plates. The aroma of mustard seeds and curry leaves popping in hot oil. A steaming hot crispy masala dosa served straight off a seasoned cast-iron tawa.

No  35-step checklist. No “Would you like to upgrade your protein?”

 

Just: “Swami swalpa roastaagi haakisi”  (ಸ್ವಾಮಿ ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ರೋಸ್ಟಾಗಿ  (ಕ್ರಿಸ್ಪ್ಯ್ಪ್) ಹಾಕ್ಸಿ “

And the answer would always be a  “Sari Saar “ ( “ಸರಿ ಸಾರ್ ”) That’s all.

Maybe this is what we old-timers know. We don’t have twenty-four fusion toppings or chocolate-cheese-corn experiments. But somehow... we still know what a Mysore masala dosa is supposed to taste like.