Gathering its sides together so that its surface settles into whorls and folds – all the better for toasty texture when griddled – he's a true craftsman.
He pats out his oily, elastic dough before spinning it mid-air into something that resembles pliable chiffon, so thin it's almost transparent, but without a single rip or airhole. The Roti King (aka Kalpana Sugendran Sugendran) is a master prataman (that name's another nod to the bread's Indian origins). They are rarely made in-house over here, even in the most "authentic" Malaysian restaurants, because their creation takes skill, dexterity and years of practice. I love roti canai, the flaky, buttery, insanely delicious flatbreads of Malaysia, close relatives of parathas and named for Chennai in southern India. Me, I'm doing a little carb-fuelled jig of joy. For those who've followed the eponymous ruler from his days at Oriental City in Colindale (RIP) through a residency at one of those odd outlets in the parallel universe under Charing Cross Road's unlovely brick "porticoes", this is cause for great celebration. But bear with me, because this is the new dominion of the Roti King.
0 kommentar(er)
