Thanks for the Bread

Memories of food, childhood, and love

Maria H. Khan
Promptly Written
4 min readNov 17, 2021

--

Thanks to the amazing woodworker/photographer Saleema Hamid for this picture. Follow her on Insta or facebook.

I plunge the measuring cup to scoop out the white powdery flour from the canister and mix it up with tepid water. My daughter stands on a step stool all giddy about getting her hands into the gooey mixture. “Make a fist,” I tell her softly. She shows off her knuckles and then promptly punches the dough.

A gentle breeze tousles the wispy herbs lining the kitchen window. I set out a rolling pin and board, called a chakla in Urdu, on the countertop. The chakla is an heirloom of sorts. It was handed down by my grandmother and has been used to flatten out innumerable balls of dough into discs for generations. This unassuming piece of teak has witnessed the rich gastronomical history of our family and plenty of kitchen gossip.

The Smell of Beloved Memories

Thanks to my wonderful Neha Abbas for capturing this at my childhood home. Follow her photography here.

I now lay out the flour disc on a hot, flat skillet. The fresh aroma of cooked wheat flour takes me back home. It is the smell of childhood. It is the smell of a dear memory. The memory of standing barefoot in the hot kitchen in the shade of the bright pink bougainvillea as the sunlight filtered in. My head is level with the countertop. I watch my grandmother knead the dough in a huge silver bowl while wetting her palms every few minutes. I am transfixed by her meditative movements. Finally, she turns to look at me and arches her eyebrows as if to ask “Wanna have some?” I nod my head vigorously and she flashes a big toothy smile.

Back to my own kitchen miles away from my ancestral home, I expertly flip the roti and it puffs up. “You know, Ayra, my Aunt could make10 rotis in 10 minutes all perfectly round and airy,” I tell my daughter. Mine are, on the other hand, a misshapen, bruised bunch but I still hope this moment becomes a memory Ayra will look back to and say thanks for. Just like I am looking back at mine today.

What’s on-the-side?

As I transfer the flatbread onto the soft patterned cloth, I think about all the people who have made home-cooked rotis for me since I was a child. I am fond of food and I am thankful to all those who have ever fed me. But I chalk the roti in a separate category of gratitude. The kind of labor of love it requires everyday is not something anyone can just pull off. It is one of those “tasks” that is taken for granted, like dropping kids at school every morning or doing laundry. But quite like those tasks, it requires commitment and perseverance — both qualities that are rooted in love — yet it never basks in the limelight of appreciation. While the main course on the dining table takes the spotlight and all the oohs and aahs, the humble bread sits on the side. Even though without it the experience would be incomplete.

Thanks for the love

Photo by Alexas_Fotos on Unsplash

I pen these words in remembrance and celebration of all those who put their energy and love to make these sidekicks; who give us a sense of belonging; who carry on a culinary tradition; and those who gave and continue to give us the incomparable satisfaction of home-cooked food.

I thank my parents who made sure I had fresh bread at almost every meal. Our beloved family cook who has been making rotis for us for as long as I can remember. My Aunts who make the tastiest curries and stews to go perfectly with their feather-light rotis. Those of my Aunts who made rotis by the dozens for voracious teenage appetites even when their pockets were light. My relatives in the U.S. whose rotis brought the flavor of home to a sleep-deprived graduate student. And finally, I thank all those unnamed cooks whose flatbreads I dined on as they rolled, flipped and puffed up these beauties back in their kitchens, away from the spotlight. You are loved and remembered.

What special food or childhood memory are you thankful for today?

************************************************************

I would like to thank Ravyne Hawke of Promptly Written to remind me to express my gratitude to this entourage of “breadmakers” in my life.

You can find other essays I have written about self-reflection, stillness, and animals. Follow me if you are interested for more. Thanks for reading.

--

--

Maria H. Khan
Promptly Written

Self-proclaimed warrior against social injustices; crazy mom to 3 crazier kids; an explorer of nature & society, I try to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.