When I was growing up, parathas (say: par-ought-ahs), a type of Indian “roti” or bread, were made on a regular basis. My mom would spend hours in the kitchen mixing and kneading, and rolling, and perfecting those delicious flat breads that could be eaten at every meal. But parathas aren’t easy to make. They take time and skill, and as my mom always says, “nothing tastes good unless you make it with love.”

When The Boss and I lived in Los Angeles, we shared a car. And by “shared” I mean I didn’t even know what our license plate number was. The only way I knew which car was ours (when it wasn’t parked in the assigned spot at our apartment) was because of the Connecticut plates. And then we moved to Connecticut and I was that idiot roaming the parking lots aimlessly clicking the remote on the keys trying to follow the beeps because I couldn’t remember if our car was black, or green, or dark blue. Maybe it was gray? AND WHY DOES EVERYONE ELSE’S LICENSE PLATES HAVE CLOUDS ON THEM?

Oh, that’s because WE’RE IN CONNECTICUT NOW.

BEEP! BEEP!

I walked all over the city when we moved L.A. and the people at the local grocery store, farmer’s market and Indian and halal stores and I became very well acquainted. I’d take all the reusable grocery bags we had and my hiking backpack to the grocery store, pile on 30 pounds of groceries/cleaning supplies/other necessities and walk a mile back to our apartment. A lot of the local grocers had seen me do this, and would randomly give me discounts on my groceries; I think they thought I was my husband’s slave.

Dude goes to work, and this little girl who looks like a boy walks 2 miles to get groceries and probably slaves over the hot stove all day. Poor thing.

Hey, I’m all about misconceptions if it means I’m going to get a 20 percent discount!

WORKS FOR ME!

One afternoon at the Indian foods store, I stopped at the shelves lined with “atta,” durum wheat used for baking a variety of Indian breads. I looked through all the varieties for a while (I’m the person you never want to be in line behind at a vending machine) and decided that I was going to try my hand at parathas. I’d seen my mom and aunts make these breads my whole life so I felt confident in my ability to recall their recipes from my childhood.

I got a 10-pound bag of atta, which retailed for $12, but I got it for $6. The old man at the counter asked me where my mom was and when I said, “Northern Virginia” he goes, “I give it to you six dollar.”

WORKS FOR ME!

All the paratha recipes I know include a lot of “extras.” Like I mentioned in the video, some of you may make these breads with butter, shortening, oil and salt. I ended up playing with my own paratha recipe. I added salt then I didn’t. Then I added oil, then I didn’t. And then I read what “shortening” was and I almost puked. In the end, I decided that “clean” was the way to go, and I started making my parathas with three simple ingredients: atta, water and love.

The first several times I made parathas I made a lot of mistakes. My back and wrists were in massive amounts of pain; the smoke from cooking was suffocating. It would fill our 330 square-foot apartment causing the smoke alarm to go off every six minutes. I’d often half-slip on little oil drippings on the kitchen tile and hurt my lower back or hip flexer. In the beginning, I opted to pull my hair back in a high, messy bun and wear sweat pants, neither of which were good ideas. And when I froze the parathas I used paper towels aluminum foil and plastic bags. Again, not ideal. But I’ve discovered that there is an exact science to make this whole process seamless. Two years ago it took me 6 hours to make 30 parathas. And yesterday it took 1 hour and 2 minutes to make 49.

Now, the break down.

Attire: Shorts and a t-shirt or tank top are ideal. Wear comfortable…ahem…undergarments. Picking wedgies and adjusting straps will only result in dry, crusty dough stuck to your clothes (in awkward places) forever.

Shoes: Everyone needs a pair of these. They’re perfect house shoes for cold weather and do great in the kitchen.

Hair: If your hair is long enough for a ponytail, pull it back and slide on a no-slip grip flat soft hairband (I’m a big fan of scünci) so you’re not trying to push back fly-aways while you cook. If your hair won’t pull back into a ponytail, you can still use one of those headbands to keep the shorter hairs out of your face. I also use these for working out.

Ventilation: Open windows in separate areas of your house and turn the exhaust fan in your kitchen to high.

Avoiding soreness: Stand only to knead the flour. Keep feet hip distance apart and tuck your tailbone in slightly to protect your lower back. When you start making the tiny balls, alternate sitting and standing with equal weight distribution on both feet. You can do calf raises while you stand. In my mind that cancels out the carbs! To avoid elbow and wrist soreness, keep your elbows slightly bent and don’t let your wrists get floppy while you use the rolling pin.

Tools and shortcuts: Traditionally, rolling pins are made of wood, but I’ve learned over the years that they’re the hardest to clean. So this year I bought a non-stick rolling pin (Betty Crocker at Bed Bath & Beyond for $9.99). I use all four burners at once, but if you have small children or pets, you might have to make an adjustment here.

Storage: Divvy your parathas into groups of 10. Wrap in aluminum foil and seal in 1 gallon Ziploc Double-Zipper Freezer Bags. Yes, the brand matters here. And don’t use paper towels because they’ll stick to food when frozen.

Serving after freezing: Heat parathas for about 1 minute in a 350 degree oven. They should be soft like a tortilla and warm through the middle.

Sometimes “simple” can be interpreted as “lazy” or “tasteless,” but I’ve never met someone who ate my parathas and said, “Hmm, this needs animal fat,” or “I don’t really like whole wheat.” I was really lucky to find a high quality atta that I’ve been loyal to for almost 3 years and I’m totally convinced that my happy thoughts add to the great taste!

Oh, and if you’re a man reading this,  unless you have a fade or a shaved head, you should probably borrow a headband from that special lady in your life.

Okay, now on to cooking details.

Ingredients:

SWARNA Chaki Fresh Atta 100% stone ground whole wheat
Warm water
Salt (optional)
Cooking oil. A variety will change texture (and in some cases flavor) or your parathas so experiment!
Happy thoughts and love

Directions:

Note: 6 cups flour yields approximately 50 parathas so calculate according to your needs.

Mix 3 to 5 cups of atta with 1 to 2 cups of water. Play around with this ratio. Consistency should be that of a new container of Play-Doh. Put the dough in a bowl and cover with damp paper towels. Let rise for 1 hour.

After dough has risen, transfer to an open work station. Knead well for 1 minute. Pull off small handfuls of dough and knead into small flat rounds. (You can add oil, shortening, butter or a drop of water to each ball before you roll it into a paratha).

Cook parathas for about 1-2 minutes on each side. Cooking time may vary based on stove and pan. Transfer parathas onto a plate covered with a paper towel to soak up excess oil. Eat right away, or let cool for about an hour and then transfer to freezer.

That was a massive sandwich you guys. Okay, I also had an ice cream.

On Saturday night, New Year’s Eve, a little before midnight, I found out that Obama signed H.R. 1540, the National Defense Authorization Act, which is a bullet in the chest of American freedom. Obama signed the NDAA on Dec. 31, 2011 at 6:30 p.m. It took me several minutes to digest what this meant; for me, for my family, for my fellow Americans. After reading a few articles about the bill, and trying to make sense of what those numbers meant (12/31/11 6:30 p.m.) I finally saw the truth. And it was disgusting. Like, throwing a handful of soiled baby diapers against a wall and watching them slide down SLOOOWWWLLLYYY.

When something is done under the cover of darkness, it’s usually wrong. And the time at which President Obama signed this bill was essentially under the cover of darkness. The last 3 months of the year is the busiest time for most Americans. We, The People, spend a great deal of time away from our news feeds, e-mail alerts, twitter accounts, and nightly news broadcasts as we prepare for the holidays with friends, family and food. College and high school students who have become a politi-cultural force to be reckoned with in the the age of a social media onslaught were on winter break. And as all of us were preparing for the excitement of back-to-back long weekends, we were swamped at work, planning vacations, balancing fourth quarter budgets, grading papers, and tying up loose ends on projects that no one wants on their desks come Jan. 3. Signing this bill on Dec. 31, 2011 at 6:30 p.m. is like taking a child out of her bed while her parents sleep. If you’re going to kidnap someone, President Obama, don’t let your handwriting match the ransom note.

On New Year’s Eve, those that we Americans elect in hopes of upholding the law and the constitution of the United States – congressmen and women, senators and those who have the privilege of sitting in the oval office – reached the peak of Mt. Shoddy Leadership. This was calculated hypocrisy and deceit at its finest. After the ball dropped on New Year’s Eve, and I ate half-a-bag too many black bean tortilla chips, I went to bed with a heavy heart. Twenty-twelve was supposed to be the start of a great year for all of us. It was supposed to be an overzealous karate kick to the achilles tendon of Last Year when so many people were struggling in our country and around the world. But instead of allowing the American people to welcome the new year with hope, our president committed a sort of spiritual genocide against us while congress lurked in the shadows like over-payed employees in the devil’s minion workshop.

I voted for Obama when he ran against John McCain four years ago. Not because I’d rather vote for a goat than John McCain (yes, that’s true too), but because I really liked Obama. He had a freshness and an honesty about him. He was charismatic and had so many great ideas accompanied by what appeared to be humility and a genuine desire to make our country better. I bet Obama’s a really nice guy; he’s probably a good father and husband, but I think he turned out to be a subpar leader. Obama spent his whole presidency trying not to “rock the boat.” But a strong leader isn’t afraid to rock the boat because sometimes that boat needs to be rocked.

I thought the milk bit at the end of this video was going to be obvious to most people, but I’ve been getting some questions about it so I figured I’d go ahead and explain it here. The milk was representative of the NDAA. And I was Obama. Milk is delicious (yes it is, Tina!) and it’s good for your body, and there were some items in H.R. 1540 that were good for our country. I prefer to drink non-fat organic milk, but in this video I was being bullied by someone off-camera who was telling me to drink the milk that I really didn’t want to drink, just like Obama has been bullied by Congress and lobbyists “off-camera” his whole presidency. So I drank the milk and President Obama signed the bill. And in the end, it was so disgusting it was kind of hilarious.

Oh, and that last part about poisoning the already sensitive stomachs of the lactose intolerant? Well, that was Obama’s bill punching every American-Muslim in the groin because apparently, slavery and Japanese Internment just didn’t seem to fill enough pages in our history books.

Statement by the President on H.R. 1540 (via whitehouse.gov)

Nationwide NDAA 2012 Congressional Protest

I’ve decided that each year on Eid I’m going to go up to random people and be all, “What are you doing for Eid this year?!” and when they look at me all, HUH? I’m going to be like, “Oh, you don’t celebrate Eid? AAAWWW!!! HOW WILL YOU POSSIBLY SURVIVE?” And I’m going to be all extra aggressive-like, like when hippos are desperately fighting for the last viable female to help gestate their spawn. Yes, I could have just gotten mammals and amphibians mixed up, but don’t go Googling my online correctness because then YOU’LL MISS THE JOKE.

Before I started covering my hair no one ever asked me about my “holiday plans.” In some ways that was awesome because I never had to explain that I didn’t celebrate Christmas since most of my close friends already knew I had two of my own religious holidays called Eid. Yes, two. And yes, they’re both called Eid. We’re original like that. On the flip side, not being asked about my holiday plans was also un-awesome because I was (sadly) never a good representation of my faith. As in, when I started covering my hair a close girlfriend of mine from high school was all, “When did you become a Muslim?”

Ouch. Yeah, it was one of those.

I don’t not like Christmas, you guys. I love the festive holiday lights; I love the bulked up candy aisle at CVS; I love the smell of winter. And The Boss is a huge fan of this time of year. His childhood babysitter used to celebrate Christmas with The Boss and his sister when they were young so unlike me The Boss has somewhat of a connection to the holiday. At least once a day for the last 20 days I’ve walked into the living room with The Boss listening (and singing along) to a Frank Sinatra or Andy Williams Christmas classic.

But what I can’t wrap my head around is how Christmas celebrators can’t wrap their head around what non-Christmas celebrators do on Christmas. Uh, what do you do on Hanukkah? Any plans for Diwali? I have to admit, I don’t fully understand why non-Christians celebrate Christmas. People always complain that Christmas has “become commercialized,” but by whom? Uh, obvs by the people who exchanged gifts this year more out of habit and trend and less out of religious significance or family tradition. You know who you are.

If people want the tree and the presents, why not just pick a random day in the year like the Jehovah’s Witnesses do and call it Family Day (like they do), or Present Day or Let’s Grow Trees Just So We Can Cut Them Down And Shove Them Into Our Basements Where The Ceilings Are Way Too Low For Nature To Thrive Day?

I believe in Jesus. I believe in Mary. I believe in the immaculate conception. But I don’t believe in bandwagon holiday participation. I don’t not celebrate Christmas because I’m part of some subculture that’s trying to prove a point about society with my eye tattoo and black nail polish (before 2007 made that trendy), I don’t celebrate Christmas because it doesn’t have religious significance for me and I find the holiday historically inaccurate. And the reason I don’t feel like I’m missing out is because I get to celebrate my holidays, which originate from my own faith and commemorate and celebrate stuff that’s really important to me.

If I were a practicing Christian or Catholic (or some variation of) I think I’d be annoyed that people were turning my holy day into a time when pepper spray need be involved — even if it was in self defense. The only thing you should be defending yourself from during the Christmas season IS LOVE.

Feel free to re-tweet that.