Roti Prata, must be one of the most sinful yet delicious pancakes that ever lived on earth.
There is something unexplainably pleasing and cathartic about digging your fingers into the soft, warm threads of bread, cooked to golden brown, and dunking it into a dish of warm accompanying curry.
I did not use to eat roti prata with my fingers. As a child, it was a practice in my family to use forks and spoons when digging into our breakfast. It was our challenge not to get any curry on your fingers or the table. But since meeting some colleagues at work who shared the same love for prata, I have learnt to enjoy my prata the real way – using your fingers to tear the bread apart and sinking it into curry, before stuffing the bread into your mouth, and letting the body of your tongue squeeze the curry juices out of the layers of bread, all over your mouth.
I think the act of eating prata has evolved for me since a particular colleague and friend bought us prata for breakfast – on those nasty early mornings when we had to work extra hours. We would camp in the staff lounge, open our breakfast love packages, and eat it together with everyone else. We had to look dignified of course, but it was no biggy having curry on your fingers or on your lips. It was a time of bonding, over prata, curry, and work.
It is fascinating how the idea of food can change so dramatically by how we relate to it.