Rotee Hunt

At the Thai temple in North Hollywood I attended every Sunday for many years, there was a dark-skinned southern Thai woman with plump cheek apples who came to the basement food market every week. She'd come with big oiled balls of white dough, which she'd roll out into a rope and cut into pieces about the size of a child's fist and put to rest peacefullly in little cake tins.

Later, she'd throw each ball sort of like a pizza maker would, in a figure 8 motion, then throw it down, spinning the dough until it unfurled into a thin, pliable disc in the air, the dough sometimes wearing so thin that she'd create a gap in the translucence. She'd release each disc into a loose, long rope, then roll the rope into a coil. The coils would then be placed in another flat, small pan. Upon receiving an order, she'd knead the edges out to form a flat circle, 6 inches in diameter, still retaining the whorl from its previous incarnation. One of these flat circles would land onto a hot, greased skillet, where the dough would puff into flaky layers, crisp and golden brown on both sides. After a generous drizzle of condensed milk and a teaspoon of sprinkled sugar, she'd roll each rotee into a cylinder and wrap the bottom half in white waxed paper, the grease from the griddle seeping through.

I still dream of this rotee, the hot, crisp flaky layers giving way to the warm, sweet tang of condensed milk and sugar, wiping the grease on my Sunday school uniform. And they were only $1! The rotee's fleeting glory was unmatched when hot; but once it was cold, it was a lifeless, limp mess. It's one of those many Thai street foods I've never seen on a Stateside menu, because who's going to go to the trouble of making such a thing?

It's been years since I had one; I found a recipe, but I'll probably never match the rotee lady's years of manual experience, knowing precisely how to throw the dough, when the proteins in the dough have rested enough, when the elasticity has reached its breaking point.

But when my friend Jim pointed out these frozen parathas at Pacific Supermarket in Queens, I decided to experiment. I threw a frozen disc in the pan. It puffed and browned like the rotee lady's did. I drizzled with a teaspoon of sticky condensed milk. Not bad, I must say. Of course, it's not the real thing, but these frozen paratha are convenient and good enough for a trip down memory lane.

Frozen paratha, $1.79 for 5 at Pacific Supermarket in Woodside. There are many brands available; I'm sure they can be found at the bigger Chinatown markets.

Feel ambitious? You can try this detailed recipe for Thai-style Roti.