The ubiquitous Malabar Parotta – and its meandering journey
I love the Malabar Parotta, and ever since I first tasted it
during our college days in Calicut in the 1970s, it has remained a favorite.
There was even a time when we only ate it during vacation visits to India since
there was just one Pakistani restaurant in Istanbul in the 90s when we lived
there. Not willing to give it up, we packed a few dozen fresh Parottas bought
from Bur Dubai during a layover to be frozen and eaten when the craving hit
hard. However, that attempt didn't quite work out; the hot-packed Parottas
tended to stick together and were very hard to separate, even after
microwaving. It was many more years later that the first frozen versions from
Daily Delight and Wynad appeared in stores after we moved to the US.
Now we have many versions, but I can assure you that nothing
beats the moist, flaky original from Hotel Sagar in Calicut. Before I start
getting protests from others claiming that Paragon or Top Form versions are
better, I should digress and return to the main point— which is an attempt to
trace the story of this delightful bread that’s now so popular.
It is now sold worldwide in frozen form, and the days are
gone when Mallu nomads would sit and dream about the small Kaka hotel in
neighborhoods that once served them. Today, you find countless brands and many
varieties—the original circular Malabar version, the square Ceylon or Veechu
Parotta, chopped-up Kothu Parotta, fried enna (Parotta), coin-sized Parottas,
kizhi Parotta, the exotic bun and nool (thread) Parottas, and the Malay
versions made by Kawan. ID has added new items like the chili, peri-peri, and
Italian herb Parottas. Whichever you choose, you can pair them with vegetable
stew or a spicy curry with poultry, meat, or eggs, though the average Malayali
would say it should be eaten with a robustly spiced beef curry.
But how did this bread become popular in India, and where
did it originate? Some time ago, we explored the history of the Idli, the
pedigree of the Sambar (many criticized me for spelling it Sambhar, but I had
my reasons) curry, the Malabar Biryani, and now it's time to look at the winner
of the gastronomic crown – the Kerala or Malabar Parotta. The search for its
origin took a lot of time and effort, but it was definitely worth it!
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| Yemeni M'alwah |
Let’s start by looking at the culinary history of Malabar in earlier times. Nearly all travelers to Malabar, whether from the west or the east, have observed that the residents mainly ate rice. Abdur Razak, Ibn Battuta, Ma Huan, Barbosa, and Pyrad Laval all stated that the food was quite simple, usually boiled rice served plain or as porridge, often accompanied by ghee and some type of lentil, and sometimes fish in certain communities. Ibn Battuta also mentioned that the parathas and shish kebabs in Delhi were very good, so he knew what he was talking about. From these historical accounts, it’s clear that even the Muslim communities mainly relied on rice dishes. From the 18th to the 20th centuries, new varieties like idlis, dosas, appams, puttu, and others appeared, while the Moplahs turned to Pathiris and other rice snacks. There are no records of chapati, pooris, wheat kanjis or gruels, or wheat dosas until the famine period of the 1940s to 1960s, when wheat was introduced more widely. Refer to my article on the introduction of wheat in Kerala.
I clearly don't remember seeing Parottas in any Calicut or
Palghat hotel during my childhood. In fact, the first time I saw them was in
the 70s, in Trivandrum and Calicut, and later in Palghat. I think they became
popular in the late 60s. Kanippayur Sankaran Nambuthiripad, writing his memoirs
in 1960-62, mentions that there were Brahmin, Nair, and Hindu (Ezhava) hotels
in larger cities. Snacks and tiffins were served only in coffee hotels or
clubs. Behind glass cases, they displayed items like vada, murukku, idli, dosa,
puttu, etc. Puttu was, in fact, a new addition, which amazed him. He doesn't
mention any use of wheat or wheat-based foods. However, it's worth noting that
he had not visited any Moplah eateries.
However, that does not mean wheat was unknown to the people
of Malabar, especially in the port towns of Zamorin's territory, mainly Calicut
and Ponnani. During the medieval period, 1300-1700 AD, these ports hosted
various nationalities, including Yemenis, Egyptians, Persians, Turks, Chinese,
and fringe communities like Jews from the Maghreb region. Pathans, Africans,
Siddis, and a mix of other Arabs and Christians from Mediterranean Europe lived
and worked in Calicut and even Ponnani. So, without a doubt, they would have
brought in foods they liked to eat or raw materials to cook what they
preferred, if not in large quantities. Wheat was certainly carried by them, as
flour, raw, or leavened. We also know from Ben Yiju's 12th-century accounts
(who settled in North Malabar) that he often ordered wheat flour from Egypt.
Many of these Arabs stayed in Calicut during the monsoon
season, during which they prepared their favorite breads and taught their
adopted Muta marriage partners how to make them. Most of these Arabs were
Hadrami Yemenis, and some moved to the nearby Ma’abar sultanate to establish
other port communities, mainly the Marakkayar-Chulia community. The Chulias
later concentrated on the Kayalpatanam–Tuticorin area and laid the groundwork
for trade with Ceylon. They were expert sailors and eventually built extensive
trading networks with port cities in Ceylon, Penang, Melaka, Burma, Brunei, and
Aceh (Sumatra) in Indonesia.
Now, let's explore the layered breads traditionally made by
Muslims in the Middle East. Almost all of them have a version with a flaky,
puff-pastry texture, although they look and taste different. While most use
yeast, regular flour, and even semolina, the Indian Parotta versions use Maida
without yeast. This is the key factor that leads to a different taste.
The original layered breads from which the Indian Parotta
may have evolved include Morocco’s M’semen, which is square, and the M’lawi,
which is circular and quite similar to Indian versions. There is the Omani
Maldouf, the Somali Malawah, the Egyptian Feteer Meshaltet, the Algerian
Msemen, the Qatlama Patir of the Uzbeks, the Iraqi Kahi, the Chapati Za Ngozi
of the Kenyans, the Libyan Fateerah, the Bulgarian Banitsa, and the Azeri
Fesli, just to name a few. All of them are similar, but the strongest contenders
in the Parotta discussion are the Yemeni Khobz Tawa and the Malawah (Malawach
of the Jews), which the Yemeni Arabs would have brought to Malabar.
Meanwhile, the Islamic conquerors left a lasting culinary
impact in North India, where wheat was widely grown and consumed. Various
baked, girdled, and tossed breads (with the Tandoor oven becoming prominent)
were enjoyed enthusiastically alongside many curries. However, wheat was never
very popular in the regions south of the Deccan, so the North Indian bread
tradition persisted there even after the British took control. The only breads
that show some characteristics of the Parotta are Rumali Roti, which is as thin
as a handkerchief, and Laccha Parotta, which is rolled flat, coiled, and
rerolled, similar to Malabar Parotta.
After the Pardesi Arabs left Malabar, Calicut lost its
status as a trading hub. Aside from a few clerics in Ponnani and Calicut who
became Thangals, there were very few expatriates in the towns. The once-busy
trading centers became quiet old towns, and with the arrival of the English,
their condition worsened. Major lifestyle changes and a decline in prosperity
led to poverty, and old traditions began to fade away. However, the Portuguese
and the English had introduced new dishes, vegetables, and cooking methods.
Chillis, tomatoes, and potatoes were among the new vegetables that appeared,
although wheat bread was primarily made and consumed by foreigners.
Wheat disappeared from the palate, was no longer imported
after the expats left, and did not return to Malabar for many years. The Bengal
famine, the Japanese occupation of Burma, and the diversion of Indian produce
for the British war effort caused severe famines. My article on this very topic
would provide more detail for those interested, but in summary, statutory
rationing began in 1944, and a one-pound rice limit was imposed for ration
holders in Calicut. However, this was conditional on their buying a certain
amount of wheat and Ragi. Approximately 93 civic restaurants were set up in
Malabar to help its people move away from rice. Wheat-based dishes such as Upma
(salt mango tree), Poori, Chapati, and others entered the mainstream. The
traditional meal, consisting of a huge heap of Burmese boiled rice on a
plantain leaf with a curry or two, started facing new competition. But when did
the Parotta come in?
The earliest records of Parotta date back to the 1940s and are linked to hotels in Madras, indicating that other cities in Tamil Nadu were already making Parotta. James Balraj, writing about his time in Madras around 1941, recalls that he and his friends used to visit the Deccan Hotel on Purasawalkam High Road to eat Parotta with Kurma. Manorama’s Mamman Mathew notes that he visited the Coronation Hotel on Mount Road to enjoy biryanis and egg parotta in the 1930s. A 1957 edition of the Madras Gazetteer mentions a demand for Parotta and Roti makers. This suggests that Parotta was already appearing on some Muslim-owned hotel menus during the 1930s and 1940s. This was well before wheat reentered Malabar, making it quite limited to a few hotels in Madras, a rarity, and thus not yet known in Malabar, Cochin, or Travancore.
After the war, efforts to promote wheat as part of the ration, along with numerous cooking demonstrations and an advertising campaign, introduced wheat to the South Indian palate. This was also the period when World War II was ending, and ex-servicemen began opening military hotels to serve many military personnel passing through, who were used to eating non-veg food. Velu’s in Madras opened in 1952. Ramachandra’s in Coonoor had served Veechu Parotta with Salna since the 1950s (it was renamed Wellington Parotta in the 1980s). The Mannar military hotel at Kanchipuram, noting its proximity to Lanka and its regular train and boat links to Ceylon, has operated since the 1920s. It’s clear they did not serve Parotta at that time but offered idli, vada, and poori as tiffins on a lotus leaf.
Interestingly, wheat flour was imported into Sri Lanka even
before the war. So, one can assume that locals and Tamil Muslims in Jaffna and
Batticaloa were making wheat breads there. As I mentioned earlier, Tamil
Muslims mainly consisted of the Chulia Marakkayars, who trace their ancestry to
Arabs from Yemen's Hadhramaut. This brings us back to the Yemeni Malawah and
its related filled versions, the martabak. The earliest layered bread in Ceylon
was called the Godamba (wheat) Roti and was prepared similarly to the Malawah.
In Batticaloa, they made a chopped-and-spiced variation called Kothu Roti.
Tamils in the northern region of Jaffna, closer to the Indian coast, simply
called it the veech (Veeshiya – tossed) parotta and Kothu Porotta. Today,
Godamba Roti is known as Ceylon Parotta and is sold as such.
By the way, Parotta has a distant country cousin, all the
way west, in Trinidad, and other parts of the West Indies. That is the
‘Buss-up-shut’ Paratha roti, meaning like a ‘Busted up shirt’, same as our
Parotta, shapeless, square or circular, but cooked with ghee. It must have travelled
with the 19th-century plantation workers from the Tamil regions. Now that
brings up the question – If it was that old, then wheat Parotta versions surely
existed in the M’abar sultanate.
Did the Veechu Porotta return to India with the Tamil
laborers? No, not really. The Kayalpatanam Marakkayars and the Jaffna
Marakkayars were separated by a very narrow strait, which was easily crossed,
and trade flowed freely without borders. The same dishes found in Jaffna were
also available in the Marakkayar hotels in Kayalpatanam, Tuticorin, and
possibly as far as Nagercoil and Keelkarai. (Note: It was during the LTTE years
that Muslims were relocated out of Jaffna). Many Malabar Moplahs had close trade
and family ties with the Chulia Marakkayars.
The same Chulia Marakkayars and Malabar Moplah communities
composed the workforce in Penang, Singapore, Malaya, and Aceh in Sumatra. The
same Yemeni Malawah bread was introduced in all these locations from the early
days (since wheat was widely available), and the community was popularly called
mamaks, especially in Malaya. As a result, Roti Prata was introduced in Penang
and Singapore, Roti Canai in Malaysia, Roti Konde or Roti Maryam in Indonesia,
and Palata in Burma.
What about Malabar? Well, none of the early Moplah cookbooks
mention the Parotta, although many versions of Pathiri are listed. Also, Malayalees
strongly resisted the introduction of wheat, even after the central government,
Australians, and Americans tried to promote it by setting up ‘Wheat houses’ in
Trivandrum, Cochin, and Calicut. In fact, there was a wheat propaganda officer
to promote Australian wheat in the 40’s. Was Parotta made with flour or Maida promoted
during cooking demonstrations in the '40s through the '60s? Could it be that
the Malabar Porotta was shaped in a circular form because of the Laccha paratha
technique taught to Malayalees during North Indian-led cooking demos? Was it
introduced in the 93 civic restaurants? We do not know the answers, as yet.
Did the returnees from the estates—those working in the rice
fields in Burma, Ceylon, and Malaya—influence hotels in Malabar to make the
Parotta? It was also around the same time that many Malayalis in Ceylon
returned to Malabar and Travancore (see my
article on Ceylon Malayalees). Anyway, it’s clear that this dish gained
widespread popularity in Kerala after the Gulf oil boom in the early 60s, when
people had higher disposable incomes. The laborers from Ceylon, Malaya, and the
Gulf were all familiar with the original versions from their work areas in SE
Asia, Ceylon, Dubai, Aden, and Kuwait.
An article by Lara Wijesuriya tells us that wheat was
abhorred in Ceylon, as in S India, until the 1944 indoctrination efforts (in
Ceylon, it was called "Wheat rice," and ads proclaimed that eating it
would make one stronger!). This increases
the possibility that returnees from Burma or Singapore/Malaya promoted the dish
in Madras, even earlier than the famine years.
Anyway, the Ceylon Porotta or the Veechu Porotta was never
introduced or accepted in Malabar as such. The circular layered version,
similar to the Laccha parotta, became the standard in Malabar, and world over,
the Malabar Parotta is the go-to version. Personally, I find it hard to believe
the claim that laborers from Ceylon brought it to Malabar, though it is clear
that all Parotta varieties have Yemeni ancestry.
Along the way, Maida gained a bad reputation; it was criticized for various reasons, possibly because of the use of toxic bleaching agents in the refining process (similar to those used in white sugar), its high gluten and glycemic content, and other issues.
Undeterred, Malayalis and Tamilians continued to enjoy the
dish in its traditional forms, even though healthier versions like whole-wheat
Parotta have been introduced. While Vanaspati/Dalda was a major ingredient in
the past, other vegetable oils are used now. Companies that sell the frozen
versions have added many new varieties, including vegetables, spices, and more.
What surprised me most on this culinary journey was a
technical paper from Indonesia about the geometry of parotta, which concluded
that a circular shape is best!
Ah! Well! That is the story of the Parotta or Borotta,
Veeshi Parotta or Veechu Borotta, and the Yemeni Malawah! Not to mention
strange names like the Border Parotta, which became popular in hotels near
borders, one at the Kerala/Tamil Nadu border and another closer to Rameshwaram.
That it originated in Yemen, was popularized by
Yemeni-origin Marakkayars and Moplahs in Malabar and the southern coastal regions of
Tamilakam, drifted as far as the West Indies, experienced a resurgence in Southeast
Asia as Roti Prata, and reemerged in South India after wheat was introduced
following the famine years, and the Gulf boom, is a reasonable inference from all these studies.
Enjoy your Parotta, guys. I’m off for my weekly quota – a
couple of Parottas with a spicy egg curry.
References
Eat wheat for better health: propaganda posters and the
‘modern woman’ - Melissa Reynolds
Daily Delight Brochure – for the photos
Foreign Agriculture – JN 1968
Note: I have used the generic spelling Parotta instead of
the phonetically spelled Porotta in Kerala or Borotta in Tamil lingo.
Additional reading
Historic alleys – Malabar
- the war years 1941-1944
Maddy’s Ramblings – The
Ceylon Malayalees
Other food articles
Maddy’s Ramblings – Idli – A
delectable dish
Maddy’s Ramblings - Sambhar
Maddy’s Ramblings – Malabar Biryani
Maddy’s Ramblings - Balthu Chutney
Maddy’s Ramblings - Food for
thought, Connections to Carnatic music
Maddy’s Ramblings - In
transition – Malayali food habits
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