Sometimes in your new home, you get flashes of life from your previous one that throw you off course. They're there but for a moment, and then gone. I was walking to the neighborhood panaderia early this morning to get a handful of fresh medialunas and pan con queso for the rowdy crowd at home, when it hit me: 18 inches of masala dosa, served crisp and regal. It's not the picture-perfect focus but the emotive fallout that surprised (and also not), the voice inside my head reaffirming that I must hearken back to my Asian roots in my next wandering.
Here's the last masala dosa I had from January of this year (Artesia, CA).
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