The essential paratha

Being one of the youngest on my father’s side of the family, I never got to meet his father and I have few memories of time spent with his mother.

Geography made it difficult, and there was also the issue of my parents’ very different upbringings and faiths: My dad’s family was strictly vegetarian and followed traditions that were fascinating to me at the time. My mom, meanwhile, came from a completely different world — they were Catholic and ate meat.

Yet my mom and paternal grandmother shared an odd relationship. A language barrier with English made it difficult for my grandmother to communicate and there was the question of my mother’s omnivorous diet. My grandmother was a stickler for traditions (and rules), especially compared to the rest of the family. She gave up onions and garlic when my grandfather passed away and switched to asafetida because archaic dogma said it would induce lust in widows.

She also would not eat or drink anything my mother made. My mom would offer her tea when she’d come to visit. My grandmother would politely accept but quietly keep it to the side, untouched. Then my dad would walk into the kitchen, pour some tea and bring it to his mother. Yet my mom would always take these moments in stride. It was amusing to us both.

My mom has always been a symbol of dignified patience and strength for me. She handles conflict like a skilled artist that waves her brush with paint on a canvas to create something beautiful out of a bunch of random pigments seated in a palette. Her handwritten notes are something I treasure, and when I learned to write with a pen, I was proud to see how close our writing skills resembled each other’s in their curves and crosses.

But that is probably where our similarities end. My mother likes to eat, but does not like to cook the way I do, which is somewhat comical. When she comes for her visits, she loves to watch me cook, and she is excited to try new things. But there are a few things my mom cooks often, and she cooks them well.

From my mother, I learned to make rotis and parathas, the essential daily flatbreads of most Indian homes. My dad claims he taught my mom how to make them well; she claims otherwise. It’s practically impossible to include all the different kinds of flatbreads eaten in India, as the sheer number of varieties could fill an entire book.

Both rotis and parathas can be made in different ways but typically are both made from durum wheat flour and water. Rotis rely on the steam released when the bread is heated to puff up while parathas are flakier because usually ghee or oil is incorporated into the flour while the dough is prepared.

And while parathas can be eaten as is, they can also be stuffed, and the fillings are as ingenious as you can imagine, from seasoned mashed potatoes to grated cauliflower to ground mutton. My personal favorite is the one filled with bits of grated paneer and onions, and I usually eat them hot with a side of plain yogurt, a little sweet mango pickle and a light salad of cucumbers and tomatoes.

Nik Sharma is a two-time IACP award winner; his first solo cookbook, “Season” (Chronicle Books), comes out in the fall. Email: food@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @abrowntable