Wed_Apr__3_12:01:20_PDT_2019
A few weeks ago, as we were relaxing at home in the evening, the doorbell rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin
It was only some friends dropping in but the reason for my startled jumpy response was a simple one: no one *ever* comes to the door here. This is in stark contrast to homes in India, where my general experience is that there is not a moment's silence from dawn to dusk as a procession of tradespeople arrives at the door in a never-ending stream. I think my Grandmother's home in Bombay is an extreme case, where, at some point, my grandmother and aunt got tired of the jangling doorbell and now just prop the door open all day. From the dudh-walla (milkman) and the paperwalla (newspaper guy) heralding the start of a new day, to the phool-walli (flower-lady) who comes bearing fragrant flowers and garlands for the evening puja, life hums along to a steady beat in that home. Some folks want to conserve energy and avoid making the trek to the 4th floor walk-up apartment, so they will just holler from the street below. Then someone rushes to the balcony and leans over and discusses the transaction. For instance, the fisherwoman, Leelu, will arrive around mid-morning with a basket of fish balanced on her head and a sparking diamond ring flashing in her nose, stand on the street outside and yell out my aunt's name. My aunt will yell back and ask her what fish she has today, and after much yelling back and forth, Leelu might either climb up or my aunt will send one of her kids down to seal the deal. My mother tells me that my Grandmother (a confirmed carnivore) even had a muttonwalla come to the door for several years! Aai always has a look of horror when she says this, partly from memories of fresh meat being hacked to pieces at the front door, and partly from sheer consternation at meat being sold from door to door out of an open basket in a hot and tropical city. Notwithstanding food safety rules and regulations, I don 't think anyone ever got sick from eating the stuff. One person who can be counted on to show up every day is the pav-walla, bring along slabs of bread called laadi pav, which have a cripsy crackling crust and an airy and ridiculously soft interior. Halved pav with soft salty Amul butter slathered inside. Living halfway across the globe from Bombay, now that's the stuff that money can't buy.
I won't lie to you: I don't think I could survive the relentless cacophony of that sort of life, and like my peace and quiet, thank you very much. But to have fresh bread, fruits, vegetables, flowers arriving at the doorstep- that would be quite a treat, wouldn't it? More than anything, it is the relationship that grows between you and the person bringing you the food; my aunt is very particular about treating these folks as extended family. They in turn always bring her the best of everything.
OK, you think I have rambled on enough for one post? Here is my attempt to make some of that laadi pav at home. This post on Jugalbandi is a must-read essay about this incredible bread that Bombayites know and love. I tried to make my imitation pav using the Tender Potato Bread recipe from the Daring Bakers. I had used that bread recipe to make khara buns, thanks to Shilpa, and was struck by the pav-esque quality of the bread. Hence this attempt.
I would not call this an easy recipe. This dough is difficult to handle- it is extremely sticky. But the whole process was really enjoyable for me, with lots of therapeutic kneading involved. Although it is called potato bread, there really is only 1 large potato for 18 hearty rolls, so it is not potatoey by any means, but the presence of the potato yields beautiful results in terms of texture. I also used this dough to make pizza crust and I am afraid it did not work so well; the dough is a little too soft and sticky for that (maybe it needed a bit more flour). I would *strongly* suggest reading Tanna's detailed post for many helpful notes about this recipe. The potato bread posts from the Daring Bakers will likewise provide insights from hundreds of home bakers who have tried this recipe. We can learn from their experiences! I have adapted the recipe so that nearly half the flour is now whole wheat, and have halved the recipe. I loved the fact that the recipe made exactly 2 slabs of pav using pans that I have on hand.
It was only some friends dropping in but the reason for my startled jumpy response was a simple one: no one *ever* comes to the door here. This is in stark contrast to homes in India, where my general experience is that there is not a moment's silence from dawn to dusk as a procession of tradespeople arrives at the door in a never-ending stream. I think my Grandmother's home in Bombay is an extreme case, where, at some point, my grandmother and aunt got tired of the jangling doorbell and now just prop the door open all day. From the dudh-walla (milkman) and the paperwalla (newspaper guy) heralding the start of a new day, to the phool-walli (flower-lady) who comes bearing fragrant flowers and garlands for the evening puja, life hums along to a steady beat in that home. Some folks want to conserve energy and avoid making the trek to the 4th floor walk-up apartment, so they will just holler from the street below. Then someone rushes to the balcony and leans over and discusses the transaction. For instance, the fisherwoman, Leelu, will arrive around mid-morning with a basket of fish balanced on her head and a sparking diamond ring flashing in her nose, stand on the street outside and yell out my aunt's name. My aunt will yell back and ask her what fish she has today, and after much yelling back and forth, Leelu might either climb up or my aunt will send one of her kids down to seal the deal. My mother tells me that my Grandmother (a confirmed carnivore) even had a muttonwalla come to the door for several years! Aai always has a look of horror when she says this, partly from memories of fresh meat being hacked to pieces at the front door, and partly from sheer consternation at meat being sold from door to door out of an open basket in a hot and tropical city. Notwithstanding food safety rules and regulations, I don 't think anyone ever got sick from eating the stuff. One person who can be counted on to show up every day is the pav-walla, bring along slabs of bread called laadi pav, which have a cripsy crackling crust and an airy and ridiculously soft interior. Halved pav with soft salty Amul butter slathered inside. Living halfway across the globe from Bombay, now that's the stuff that money can't buy.
I won't lie to you: I don't think I could survive the relentless cacophony of that sort of life, and like my peace and quiet, thank you very much. But to have fresh bread, fruits, vegetables, flowers arriving at the doorstep- that would be quite a treat, wouldn't it? More than anything, it is the relationship that grows between you and the person bringing you the food; my aunt is very particular about treating these folks as extended family. They in turn always bring her the best of everything.
OK, you think I have rambled on enough for one post? Here is my attempt to make some of that laadi pav at home. This post on Jugalbandi is a must-read essay about this incredible bread that Bombayites know and love. I tried to make my imitation pav using the Tender Potato Bread recipe from the Daring Bakers. I had used that bread recipe to make khara buns, thanks to Shilpa, and was struck by the pav-esque quality of the bread. Hence this attempt.
I would not call this an easy recipe. This dough is difficult to handle- it is extremely sticky. But the whole process was really enjoyable for me, with lots of therapeutic kneading involved. Although it is called potato bread, there really is only 1 large potato for 18 hearty rolls, so it is not potatoey by any means, but the presence of the potato yields beautiful results in terms of texture. I also used this dough to make pizza crust and I am afraid it did not work so well; the dough is a little too soft and sticky for that (maybe it needed a bit more flour). I would *strongly* suggest reading Tanna's detailed post for many helpful notes about this recipe. The potato bread posts from the Daring Bakers will likewise provide insights from hundreds of home bakers who have tried this recipe. We can learn from their experiences! I have adapted the recipe so that nearly half the flour is now whole wheat, and have halved the recipe. I loved the fact that the recipe made exactly 2 slabs of pav using pans that I have on hand.
Potato Bread Laadi Pav
Comments
Post a Comment