I first learned of roti in the halal restaurants of Kota Bharu. There they were served hot from the oven with rich South Asian gravy. Growing up in the States, my understanding of South Asian breads was limited to naan, often garlic naan. While naan are pillowy and delicious, roti, in comparison, seemed a more practical and utilitarian component to a curry, sort of like the workhorse white breads of Italy. Anyway, I thought the roti were delicious and continued to order them in cheap outdoor Indian restaurants around Malaysia, where, in 2003 at any rate, one could eat a delicious, handmade, filling meal for a very fair price.
As part of our ongoing non-voluntary participation in the experiment called Global Economic Collapse, Ms Vidal and I have used up nearly every single ingestible item in the house. Minus condiments, pickles, capers and the like, as of this morning our larder contained: half a pound of corn meal, 2 pounds of whole wheat flour, 3 pounds of white flour, and one pound of sugar. Plus a quart of yellow split-pea dhal leftover from a few days back idling in a pot in the fridge.
I nearly broke down and ordered a pepperoni pizza. After a week of subsistence living (both of us were terribly ill for a week), a pepperoni pizza seemed talismanic of the kind of regenerative bourgeois craving-slaying food every cell in my body was calling out for. Just thinking about the phone call sent me into a reverie. Those simple words, "I'd like a large pepperoni pizza" were themselves nearly a meal after the privations of the previous week. But in the end we opted to drag out our penury one more day and I was inspired to make roti for the first time.
I am happy to report that they are delicious, though humble, and very easy to make.
Roti, like tortillas, are one of the simple unleavened breads of the world, hearkening back to culinary cultures unfamiliar with the magic of yeast. Roti, also, are traditionally made with a blend of flours -- whole wheat and chickpea being the most common -- rather than the leavened naan, which is typically made with white flour. This represents more than style. The more substantial, unleavened roti are part and parcel of the meal they accompany, rather than naan, which is almost a frivolity, something to be served in spite of, not because.
Quite simply, mix flour with water at a 2.5 : 1 ratio. Form into little balls. Roll them out on a generously floured surface. Give them a quick, two-sided roasting in a hot pan. Then finish them over an open flame. For cooks unused to handling food over fire, this is great practice, and the sight of fresh, hand-rolled whole-wheat roti bubbling and blistering in your hands should convert the most cautious of food handlers.
Recipes for traditional, blended-flour roti abound on the internet. I simply used whole wheat flour. There is a shallow, slightly bevelled pan used in India for making roti, but my cast iron worked fine. It is not only the right size, but, as always, the only truly reliable nonstick surface in my kitchen. Simply toast the roti on both sides then transfer it to an open burner. I used a small roasting rack as a grill, but I think anything would work. It only takes a moment for the gas burner to bubble and blister the exposed roti. Turn it in your finger tips, give it a flip, and deposit it in a vessel nearby. Several online sources recommend slathering them with ghee as they come off the fire, and I can think of no reason, in all the universe, why you shouldn't do so, provided you have a jar of ghee standing by.
Part of the fun of making roti is getting into the rhythm of plucking off a ball of dough, rolling it out, putting it into the skillet, plucking the next ball of dough, rolling it out, transferring dough from skillet to flame, dough to skillet, dough from flame to pan, plucking the next ball of dough, rolling it out, etc. It is one of the ancient human rhythms that has marked time in kitchens from the epochs before written language.
Ideally, serve roti with a goat korma or some other delightful Mughal dish, but if you too find yourself a participant in the experiment called Global Economic Collapse, take heart in the thought that with half a pound of split yellow peas, two ounces of tomato paste, some old garlic cloves, a few chilies, some salt, a tablespoon of garam masala, three cups of flour and tap water you can make a reasonably authentic dhal accompanied by fresh hot roti. A delicious and filling meal.
