…we ended up with two bags of paratha, one box of Indian mangoes ($30/box this year, yeesh), and this drink made with basil seeds, which I don’t recommend, but maybe it’s an acquired taste/texture? The experience was what I imagined drinking tadpoles would be like. [Shudder.]
This 35-minute subway ride also took me back to a dorm in the South Side of Chicago, many moons ago. My lovely roommate, who was part of the South Asian Student Association in college, once brought home one of those giant rectangular aluminum tin trays filled with sugar syrup-soaked fried dough balls, or gulab jamuns, after an event. I grew fond of them quite quickly, and dutifully helped her finish off the tray over a couple of weeks. Or was it days?
I didn’t have my camera at the store, but we had a good laugh peeking into the freezer case at frozen paratha with the Pillsbury Dough Boy on the packaging (a Flickr photo here). Into what corners of the world hasn’t the dough boy oozed? And it looked white and paunchy as ever, not transformed into a South Asian alter ego, though that would do little to undo any colonial history. And who the heck buys Pillsbury paratha?? Can it be tastier than the ones made locally by a hard-working baker with native street cred? Please report if you have tasted it.