Real Soup

On grit and grace

Rain has a way of putting things at a distance.

With a netting of grey clouds around the house, enclosing it with a soft textured music and welcome sensations of humidity and relaxed air pressure, giving a lovely backdrop to the early flowers and green, I like to think of the sky endlessly falling softly into the yard, pattering onto the fields and into all the mouthy roots below the surface.

Breaking through this easy tender storm, come fine, delicate strands of sunlight. Golden. Clean. With the clarity

of a symbol.

Steam comes whirling off the porch planks in big breaths, the hollyhocks hold little clear cabashons sparkling on their leaves, ravens sail like ships in a high sea. The cats bustle in, damp and accusing.

Good things do happen. If we tend to forget this, it is a forgivable oversight. After all, we do have world news browbeating us night and day and tentacles of international greed and disaster reaching us emotionally, economically, morally, even in our little safe havens.

I have begun to think of myself as old. I am crotchety and stiff due to various quiet preoccupations as well as sloth, and I often become contrary and oppressive when talk moves around to the world situation. I go about frankly waiting for things to get worse.

I see time passing and little social progress. Simple, practical solutions to problems seem improbable.

Human nature seems as base and self serving as it did before paper was invented. Considering my job as parent, I worry and fret and hold dark views of the future of mankind while my hair follicles rapidly drain of all youthful color.

Age has, however, lent me some insights into the subtleties of the major virtues.

First off, they do exist. And often alongside situations for which there is no joyous remedy to plot, nor hope for resolution.

There may be shining faces here, but behind them, within, is a grain of grit that enables someone thus anguished, thus embued, to hold a myriad of practical things together, keeping the home sphere quietly intact, gracefully maintaining a comforting atmosphere for someone loved.

We learn from this. Every moment is its own.

If, then, in the midst of a dark and stormy day when one's large child has gratefully stayed home from school, very faintly ill and surely tired, to awaken near noon remarkably refreshed, recovered, and full of healthy vigor, if there occurs an inspiration to make Chapatis, consider it an act of understanding of such matters, a recognition of the blessing of good health, a potential stroke, therefore, of virtuosity.

I do not teach chapatis because I have made them badly, so the following recipe is from the new chapati maestro in our household and includes observed hints regarding technique and general approach as well as a few maternal admonishments.

You can mix this unleavened dough ahead, overnight even, and knead, make into balls, roll and bake when you are ready.

I will also suggest that if you cannot fresh grind the wheat, when you purchase whole wheat flour, locate a source of fresh bulk flour that is well kept. Sniff it and if it smells sweetly of wheat and not dust, it should produce that good flavor. Be picky.

With enthusiasm, then, mix together:

1 1/2 C. whole wheat flour

1 1/2 C. all purpose flour

1 tsp. salt

2 Tbsp. oil

You want a solid dough here, not sticky. If you have such a lovely thing as a stand up mixer with a dough hook, you can get a good start on the process by setting that up.

According to our young teacher, kneading by hand requires that you leap raucously into the air sending your knees and the hindmost part of you skyward as you push the mound with the heel of your hand. Breathe loudly, whilst making expulsive martial arts noises and land flat footed on the floor like thunder.

Give yourself 4-5 minutes to knead it into a smooth, elastic condition.

Then flatten the dough into a mound or roll into a rope and cut it into 16 equal pieces. Make these into balls as tidily as you want - this determines the finished shape.

Roll the balls into circles or free shapes that are about 7" in diameter. This makes them nice and thin. Important to good chapatis.

Now. Naturally you have ghee on hand. Spread it or a light oil or just plain butter on a hot skillet 350 degrees or thereabouts. You can use teflon and no lubricant if you are a fat free person.

Cook as many chapatis as you can in your skillet, just don't let them touch each other. It makes them hard to flip.

After bubbles begin to appear under the surface, brush the tops with ghee or oil or nothing. Too much is best, according to our budding culinary sage.

The gentle pressure of the little brush strokes encourages puffing and the favorable texture of blisters on the bottom. Turn once, when the bottom starts to brown.

As you go along, wrap the finished ones in a clean towel so they remain soft and warm. Eat as soon as possible.

Traditionally, chapatis accompany the lovely and authentic Indian dinners which generate such controversy at our home ("No! No!"). They are the one item that enjoys certain approval and which has, in fact, moved into the general circulating repertoire.

There seems no limit to the fillings or the cultures to which they adapt. Such is the boon of their simplicity.

They will serve, for example, most deliciously as small tortillas. Fill them with fried eggs or with peanut butter, turkey and mayonnaise, wrap a hot dog with them if you are so inclined, or make a unique fish sandwich with leftover filet and tartar sauce.

Good fresh bread, a practical form of growth and wisdom.