My favorites: "Delhi's Dosa Disaster: A Culinary Crime Scene

 

The Great Delhi Dosa Disaster: A South Indian's Nightmare

There's a special place in hell reserved for what Delhi has done to the humble masala dosa, and I'm pretty sure it's got neon lights, disco balls, and serves "Cheese Burst Chocolate Dosa with Extra Mayo."

Let me take you back to simpler times. The masala dosa, in its pure, unadulterated form, is a crispy fermented crepe filled with spiced potatoes, served with coconut chutney and sambar. That's it. Three components. Holy trinity. Perfection achieved somewhere in the mists of South Indian time, probably by someone who understood that not everything needs "fusion" slapped onto it.

But then Delhi got its hands on it.

I don't know which culinary mad scientist first looked at a perfectly innocent dosa and thought, "You know what this needs? EVERYTHING." But whoever you are, we need to talk. Preferably in a room with a therapist present.

Walk into any "South Indian" joint in Delhi, and the menu reads like a fever dream after binge-watching the Food Network at 3 AM. Cheese Dosa. Paneer Tikka Dosa. Schezwan Dosa. Pizza Dosa. Pasta Dosa. At this point, I'm convinced someone's working on a Biryani Dosa, and honestly, I'm scared to ask.

The audacity reached its peak when I saw "Mexican Dosa" on a menu in Connaught Place. Beans, jalapeños, salsa, and sour cream wrapped in what was once a respectable South Indian staple. The dosa looked confused. I felt confused. My Tamilian friend needed to sit down.

But wait, there's more! Because why stop at savory when you can commit crimes against dessert too? Enter the "Chocolate Dosa" – a crispy dosa generously slathered with Nutella, topped with banana slices, and if you're really unlucky, drizzled with chocolate syrup AND condensed milk. Some places throw ice cream on top because apparently, we've collectively decided that moderation is for quitters.

I once witnessed a "Oreo Dosa with Vanilla Ice Cream" being served. The person at the next table actually ordered it. Willingly. With money. The dosa was there, sad and crispy, acting as a vehicle for what was essentially a deconstructed milkshake. I'm pretty sure I heard ancestors weeping in the distance.

The sauces situation deserves its own paragraph. Where coconut chutney once reigned supreme, Delhi's dosa vendors have created a sauce arsenal that would make a Subway sandwich artist jealous. Mayonnaise (why?), thousand island dressing (HOW?), mint mayo (STOP), tandoori mayo (PLEASE STOP), schezwan sauce, red chili sauce, cheese sauce, and something ominously labeled "special sauce" that I'm convinced is just all the other sauces mixed together in a desperate cry for help.

The toppings have achieved sentience at this point. I've seen dosas topped with: corn (fine, weird but fine), capsicum (okay, getting experimental), cottage cheese (we're losing the plot), jalapeños (full detour), olives (WRONG CONTINENT), pineapple (we need to talk), gummy bears (this is a CRY FOR HELP), and yes, at one particularly adventurous stall in Kamla Nagar, POPCORN. Buttered popcorn. On a dosa. The vendor looked me dead in the eye and called it "Popcorn Masala Dosa." Masala was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

My favorite part is when they try to justify it. "Bhaiya, fusion food hai, modern hai!" Modern? MODERN? The dosa is ancient. It has survived centuries. It survived colonization. It did NOT survive Delhi's innovation phase.

And yet, plot twist: they're always packed. Lines out the door. People are LOVING this chaos. Instagram is full of reels of people taking that first bite of "Maggi Dosa" (yes, that's instant noodles IN a dosa) like they've discovered fire. Maybe I'm the crazy one. Maybe I'm the dinosaur refusing to evolve while the world moves on without me.

But I'll die on this hill, clutching my simple masala dosa with exactly three accompaniments, muttering "this is the way" like a culinary Mandalorian, while Delhi continues its rampage through every cuisine known to mankind, one dosa at a time.

Somewhere in Tamil Nadu, a grandmother just felt a disturbance in the force.