breakfast

It's ten to 12 here in Thanjavur, so it must be almost 1:30 am at home (why we are 10 1/2 hours ahead I have no idea.  What was wrong with plain old 10?).  I just ate breakfast-unemployment certainly has its charms!--and now's a good a time as any to expound upon a meal, because that one was delicious.

I ate at the restaurant about ten feet away from my friend's house, and she's been there so much they know she likes coconut chutney.  I've been there a few times and I am the color of coconut, so they say "hi" and wave when I come and don't try to talk to me too much. They're very nice, and for some reason they don't accept tips.  I give them about 800 points for that, because the food is really good.

When you go to a restaurant, they bring you a section of palm or banana leaf that's about the size and shape of a placemat.  You use a little water to rinse it off and shake the water right onto the table.  Then you ask the cook what's in.  I've tried to order puri, some thin fried brown bread, at two wrong meals so far.  It's only for breakfast, I found out, and I got there too late today.  But no matter--I ordered a dosa, the other thing I know how to say, instead.  

Once you order, they bring you out little metal cups of chutney, which you pour onto your leaf.  The chutney is waterier than you'd think for being called "chutney."  It's the main ingredient--mint or coconut or tomato or chili--ground up super fine and mixed with spices, especially some very flavorful tiny black dots, mustard seed.  It's all very spicy.  So far the mint is my favorite but you have to eat certain things with certain chutneys, and mint doesn't go with much.  Today came with coconut and tomato, and something called sambar that if I had thought ahead, I would have refused, because it's the only thing I don't like so far--oily, pungent tomato sauce that tastes like fennel or something else really fierce and odd at breakfast.  I mean, it's all odd at breakfast, but this stuff is the consistency of snot.  

Very quickly, they bring you out your bread of choice.  Dosas are gigantic circles, probably 1 1/2 feet across, and have to be folded up in quarters so that they fit on your plate.  They're paper thin and mine arrived hot and crunchy at the edges--the Indian equivalent of a fresh Krispy Kreme.  You tear off small pieces with your right hand and use them to scoop up the chutney.

When you're done, they'll bring you coffee, though I've always asked for mine with my food.  I haven't figured out why the coffee or tea is served after, though I'm sure it's for good reason, because all of the food seems to be served and eaten with purpose (for example--there's this thing called rice curd that is rice ground up in curds and it actually cools you down, so everyone eats it all summer).  The coffee comes in a little tin cup that stands in a shallow, flat-bottomed bowl.  You pour the coffee back and forth between the bowl and the cup to cool it and mix it.  And then you reach nirvana as you sip it, because the coffee here is hands down, no question, sorry to say, exactly two billion times better than the sweetest, most cream-filled coffee I ever got at Dunkin Donuts.  And I am devoted.

They only give you half a cup, but it's enough.  When you're done, you fold your leaf in half towards you to cover up the mess, rinse your hands off at the sink, and tell the man at the cash register what you ordered.  He prints a reciept with a miniscule amount of money on it (today's dosa cost 26 rupees, which is about sixty cents).  It says "Thank you GOD BLESS YOU" across the bottom.  Of course you leave smiling and stuffed.