“Maka pao de,” might seem like a pretty innocuous demand when translated from Konkani into English. “Give me bread” is what it literally means. But its subtext is a much deeper one. Generously laced with oodles of thinly veiled, socio-cultural expression and meaning. For you see, to a Goan like myself, it is a phrase that almost encapsulates my Goan-ness down to the T. More so, my — and an entire community’s — love... nay, obsession with bread. No big surprise then that we Goans have been (lovingly) bestowed with the moniker of ‘macapaos’, which is an abridged version of the aforementioned “maka pao de”. An appellation, that we neither take too lightly nor one that we are offended by. And why should we even be?
Bread and its various iterations, the chief of which being pao, is an integral part of our Goan ethos and woven tightly into the social fabric of the state of Goa. Used either as a vehicle to mop up our vinergar-y vindaloos and coconut-based kalchi kodis or hollowed out and stuffed with the spicy chorizo sausages, there’s never a day without paying obeisance at the altar of bread. All this, with the local village baker called the poder as a very important cog in a wheel that is constantly in motion. Churning out quotidian supplies of, pardon the pun, our daily bread!
P-Squared
To speak of bread in the context of Goan cuisine and not begin with the pao would be sacrilegious. These essential, edible parts of our history are simple looking, square bread buns that come in two versions—one with a soft top and the other with a crusty top called brun pao. While the former is an all-day staple that goes with almost everything savoury, the latter is a breakfast time favourite slathered with salted butter or used to scoop up leftover prawn caldeen curry. Slightly smaller in size than the pao, the unddo (used mostly for the Goan staple of cutlet pao) is usually baked at a low temperature on the floor of the oven and this gives it a crunchy crust. It is part of the local folklore that the genesis of the pao has a lot to do with the Portuguese invasion of Goa. The Portuguese residing in India missed their daily diet of bread. Both for the taste and for the significance it had in their Roman Catholic religious rituals. Yeast, necessary for baking bread, was unheard of in India, at the time. In fact, it was the Goan poder who came to their rescue. They used that all-important leavening agent of the sap of the coconut palm that is colloquially known as ‘toddy’ to ferment the dough, with good results. Very soon, the Portuguese added a variety of European breads like crusty white rolls and sweet milk bread called pao de lo, to the Indian repertoire. Poie, on the other hand, seems to have its roots in the Middle East with its pita bread-like appearance. It can be pulled apart and stuffed with everything from dry meat chilli fries to the ubiquitous chicken xacuti ros omelette. Here too, there are two versions: the kunddeachi poie (husk poie) and the godd poie (sweet poie).
Shape-shifting
Highlighting the average Goan’s love for assigning comparative names to just about anything is this duo of bread. Both bear a distinct shape and function. Made in the shape of a bangle (kankonn in Konkani) the doughnut/bagel-adjacent kankonn with its dry pretzel-like exterior is relished as a tea-time snack, particularly during the monsoon season when it is teamed with tea. Or with traditional Portuguese-Goan soups like the potato-spinach caldo verde and the broth-like caldo de galinha chicken soup. Getting its name from the pair of scissors that the poder uses to cut the dough into shape is the katro. Characterised by its distinctive butterfly shape, this type of baked bread is another firm breakfast favourite. Pillow-y soft inside with a crusty exterior.
Steamy surprises
But it would be remiss of me to get all caught up in the wonders of the baked versions of Goan bread to the detriment of its steamed counterparts. Deliciously fluffy breads that are just as scrumptious and important cultural flag bearers. Similar in appearance to an idli, a sanna is a steamed bread made from a fermented mixture of fat-grained parboiled rice, coconut, sugar, salt and toddy (sur in Konkani). This bread can be had either dipped in savoury gravies like sorpotel and baffath, or on its own as a sweet with a little powdered jaggery on the side. To prepare it, the sanna batter is spooned into small, steel vatis (bowls) which give it its round, cake-like shape as opposed to an idli’s convex look. These bowls are then steamed in a funnel-topped contraption called a chondro that sits over burning coconut husks. Texturally speaking, a sanna is spongier, with a glossy white countenance as opposed to an idli’s granular crumb. Often the red Goan parboiled rice we call ukda tandul in Konkani imparts a few tiny red flecks onto a sanna’s surface. Similarly, poleys also known as ghavne in neighbouring Maharashtra, are neer dosa doppelgangers made from coconut and rice flour and considered very much a ‘bread’ in Goa. Again, these can be relished with a variety of curries and gravies or on their own, stuffed with freshly scraped coconut, cardamom and the all-pervasive jaggery.