Sada roti: The good, the bad and the Chinee

AH the power of a good sada roti! I learnt about three weeks ago, the art of making this most basic of East Indian food staples which could be eaten with just about anything under the sun. Since then, I have made about eight sada rotis, much to the joy of Mrs Chee Hing, who was at one time the sada roti chef par excellence of our home. Now before I continue, let me take the opportunity to thank mother dearest who (many moons ago) while I was a mere eight-year-old dumpling, yanked me away as I sat in front the tele watching Fraggle Rock and declared authoritatively: “yuh see you, if there is one thing I must teach you in life, is to cook.”

“No son of mine is going to grow up and be dependent on any woman for food. And while I’m at it, let me teach you one time to clean the house, iron and wash clothes,” my earthly maker told me. One can only imagine the volume of tears I shed as I was led, nay, dragged away from Fraggle Rock. Years later, with the knowledge of making any Creole and Chinese dish safely tucked under my belt, I came across the simple sada roti. My wife, good woman that she is, decided one day to impart the secrets of sada to me. And would you believe, she made her authoritative declaration while I sat in front the tele (deja vu time) watching CSI. (My, how television has changed since those halcyon days of Fraggle Rock, A-Team and Starfleet). “Yuh see you, yuh too damn lazy. Get up and I will show you how to make sada roti,” Mrs Chee Hing said in her unique way of inviting me to learn something new.

Again, one can only imagine (just like when I was eight) the volume of tears I shed while being led away, nay, dragged from the chair towards the kitchen, while the CSI detectives, oblivious to my absence, searched for evidence at a murder scene in sin city. I watched as Mrs Chee Hing kneaded the flour, added some baking powder and rolled them into a ball with her hands before letting them sit for a while. This was easy enough and I actually enjoyed doing it. Rolling the dough with the ‘bilna’ (commonly called the rolling pin or husband tamer), was no stress either. Now came the hard part. Mrs Chee Hing placed one of the flattened dough on the heated “tawah” (flat metal) placed on top one of the stove’s burners.

She then flipped the dough over and after sometime, moved the “tawah” a little ways from the burner, leaving the flames exposed and then placed the dough over the naked flames. Almost immediately the roti swelled as she continued turning the round dough deftly. Pretty soon, the entire roti was swollen. Then it was done. No sweat, easy as ABC. Then came my turn. I placed the dough on the “tawah” and immediately got burnt on the thumb. When I turned to Mrs  wifey for help and perhaps a sympathetic hug seeing I was burnt in the line of duty, she instead gave me a serious cut-eye. I manfully carried on. Three minutes, two more burnt fingers and a litany of cussing later, the first sada roti made by yours truly was completed and I had the pleasure of taking the first bite.

Ah sheer bliss. That roti was the best roti I had ever made in my life. In the weeks to come there has been a reversal of roles somewhat in the Clan of the Chee Hings. My better half now sits and watches the tele (or reads) while I make the sada rotis. From my mother, I learnt the importance of saving as well as how much water to mix with the Honig starch to stiffen the clothes. From my wife, I learnt the important life lesson that no matter how old a person is, or how much he or she feels they know, there is always much more that can be learnt. One only has to be prepared for the burnt fingers and the heat. I am grateful to both of these important women in my life.

Having said that, one must know how to differentiate between knowledge and too much knowledge. For as the ancient Chinese saying goes: “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.” So when my better half, smile on her face, told me she was going to teach me how to bake a cake, this while I was watching Neo and Trinity battle the robots while in the Matrix, I decided then and there I had to put my feet down and draw the line. I decided that it was time to let her know who was the real boss in the house and also that I was not going to try and bake any damn cake. Needless to say, the first cake I ever baked in my life was not fit for human consumption and my wife got the message that some things were better left unlearnt. Bon Appetit.