Muttai Barotta

I had a fascination for Muttai Barotta ( read as Egg Parotta ) when i was growing up. There used to be this non-vegeterian hotel in Ambattur .O.T bus station. in the evenings, the shop would light up and sell  Evening tiffins, people used to flock to get.

The name of the restaurant is ‘kakaa oatel’. it literally means ‘crow hotel’ in tamil. not sure how it got its name. but crow hotel does not seem like an appetizing name for a restaurant. i am almost sure, it was a nick name given to the establishment by unpatronizing customers who suspected the restaurant was pulling a quick one, by selling crows meat, labeled as chicken meat. then again, its is my theory and nothing more.

There used to be a big iron griddle in the front of the shop. a big metal drum below the iron griddle formed the stove. its also a sign of attraction/ advertisement to people that the shop is still open for business.

A man wearing a dirty sleeve-less t-shirt, a lungi and a sweaty towel on his shoulders would be the operator of the iron griddle. His is the ‘Barotta master’ of the hotel. apart from making Muttai Barotta and Parottas, he would make other made to order foods such as dosai, omblette, half-oil ( read as half-boil, but actually is an egg cooked sunny side up).

egg Barotta was such a treat. somedays, when Mom was too tired to cook, or we had an early dinner at 7 and its now 9 and all were craving for a snack, or we had an unexpected guest , or i got over a sickness and it was time to celebrate after a few days of bland diet, or for no apparent reason, i would get to go and get an Egg-Barotta from kaaka oatel.

i would ride my bicycle to kaaka oatel. meet the cashier who sits on the other side of the entrace and mention that i want an order of ‘muttai Barotta’ to go. the cashier would most likely be the proprietor of the hotel. He was a huge man, had dark complexion and had little hair on his head. but whatever little hair he had, it was impeccably combed. he sported a large mustache and had sandlewood markings on his forehead. he always wore a white shirt that had the first two or three buttons popped. He got my order for Muttai Barotta and relayed it to the Barotta Master. ‘ Masteeeer, oru mutta barotta parcel!’

The Parotta master would nt react to the order, like say ok boss, or even nod the head.  however, He would get into action of preparing the dish. first, He would take 2 parottas and smash it with his hands. he would smash it and tear it over and over again till it crumples in to small pieces. he would toss this crumpled up parottas on the hot griddle. then some oil. then He would break and pour 2 eggs over the smashed parottas. then some chopped up onions. he would take one or two small tomatoes and squeeze and toss the severed tomato pieces over the parotta-onion heap. i could almost hear the tomatoes cry, ‘help…’. he would also toss in a few curry leaves.

then he would add 3 masalas. i knew two of them were red chilli powder and black pepper powder. never figured the third one. then he would add salt. so now the heap looks like a small mountain on the griddle. He would gather the mountain with a big metal spoon. He would then hold 2 metal spoons designed to chop and mix the mass of muttai-barrotta.

the best part of watching the muttai barotta experience is the music. music you might wonder. Yes. with the 2 metal spoons hitting the girdle , one could hear beats. the parotta master would hold the metal spoons vertically and sort of do a work out -like the ones then do with shake-weights. the beats would start slowly : tin, tin-tin, tin-tin, tin-tin and then would pick up speed with the metal spoons pounding over the muttai-barotta mix. tin-tina-tin-tina-tin-tina-tin-tin ( repeat several times )

finally, the muttai-Barorra ready as a cooked mass of molten eggs and onions and parottas and tomatoes and spices and salt and oil. someone from the kitchen would come and pack up the muttai-barotta in a wrapper of banana leaf and old news paper.

back at home, we would portion out the muttai-parotta and i certainly enjoyed my fill.