It is not the pressing I see first, but the way the cook’s wrist turns, gentle yet firm, sealing spiced mince into the soft batter—a careful containment. As a vegetarian, I notice this like a lesson in layering flavours on the griddle, a patience I know from spreading chutney thinly on a crisp dosa. My own hands press only soaked lentils into stone, yet the motion, that attentive press, feels familiar; it is in the way I press seeds into soil in my terrace garden, believing in what will take root.
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