In South India, dosas are the staff of life. Breakfast, dinner, snacktime, even for a light lunch, the dosa is always served. People say it's a pancake, but a true dosa bears no resemblance to your standard buttermilk, nor even to a slim French crepe. Properly made, a dosa is translucent, golden and crisp, bendable only at the moment it slides off the pan. This is not takeout food, nor anything to serve at a sociable gathering, at least not one for the cook to take part in. It's perfect the moment it's made, and gets a little less good with every passing minute.
Preparation sounds simple. Blend rice (some recipes call for a mixture of rice and black lentils, but in South India home cooks and restaurants use only rice) with enough water to make a smooth paste, let it ferment at room temperature overnight, and fry. Sounds simple, but don’t be fooled. Cooking dosas is best left to a professional. A good dosa’s perfect, thin smoothness and slightly ridged interior are only achieved through years of practice. Sliding one off the pan without breaking or wrinkling it is a feat, not to mention rolling it into a loose cylinder before it hardens.
Eat a dosa with your fingers. Break off a piece, dip it in the pale, pureed coconut chutney always served alongside, and enjoy the crispness, the oddly substantial cheweyness, the caramelized, subtle nuttiness, of a perfect dosa.
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