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This Paratha Pop-up At Wychwood Barns Is Serving Nostalgia With A Twist For Brunch

Paratha is made from a dough of Atta flour which is then stuffed with different fillings. Pictured here is a plate of warm Aloo paratha. (Suresh Doss/CBC)

Metro Morning food guide Suresh Doss joins the program every week to discuss one of the many great GTA eateries he's discovered.

This week, he's bringing us to Paratha Begum's pop-up at the Wychwood Barns Farmers Market.

Below is a lightly edited transcript of Doss's conversation with guest host Eli Glasner.

Suresh Doss: Do you have a fond, childhood weekend brunch memory to share with me?

Eli Glasner: Sometimes my mother would make fresh challah and there's nothing greater than egg bread ... Peanut butter and honey and lightly toasted. Heaven.

Suresh Doss: So, my favourite memory to this day is whenever my mom would make dosas for brunch — the fermented savoury pancake which you can eat with chutneys or curries. She would make these pancakes one at a time for the four of us, and we would wait patiently for each one. Sometimes we would even fight for them, it was a precious thing. Noreen Ahmed, the co-owner of Paratha Begum, has a similar story from growing up in her Pakistani household. Noreen and her parents (who are also co-owners) run a pop-up at the Saturday market at Wychwood Barns. They offer a very modest and humble menu that highlights nostalgic Pakistani brunch by way of paratha. Have you had parathas?

Noreen Ahmed and her parents Nasira and Muzaffor Ahmed. (Suresh Doss/CBC)

Eli Glasner: I have not.

Suresh Doss: So, it's this idea of taking Atta flour and making a dough from it. You then you stuff the dough with a few different fillings. There's the Aloo version, which is cooked potatoes accented by chili, cumin and cilantro. It's crimped, rolled out and then cooked on a Tawa griddle and blistered by the spreading butter. It's typically served with some chutney and achar, which is usually pickled carrots or cabbage. It's so comforting and really the perfect kind of street food.

Eli Glasner: What's the story behind this family?

Suresh Doss: Noreen is a second-generation Pakistani Canadian. She grew up in Ottawa but moved to Toronto a few years ago and has settled into the St. Clair West neighbourhood. She's really inspired by her mom's cooking and a year ago she decided to start this pop-up, which pays homage to her family's cooking — particularly her mom's. Begum is a term of endearment in Pakistani Muslim culture. The pop-up is at the market every Saturday.

The chili paratha is not traditional, but it's one of Suresh Doss' favourites, he says. (Suresh Doss/CBC)

Eli Glasner: So is there just one type of paratha?

Suresh Doss: Actually, there are typically three and are very vegetarian and vegan friendly. So you have the Aloo paratha, but there is also a green paratha, which features kale and leeks mixed with red onion and a formidable amount of garlic and is served with a wonderful chutney as well. The pop-up also offers a crowd favourite: chili cheese paratha.

Eli Glasner: What's that?

Suresh Doss: This is not traditional but it's one of my favourite. Picture this: dark red chili garlic spread that is stuffed into a paratha and then brushed with a chili garlic oil. It becomes this really bright orange, spicy paratha with a wonderful, cheesy pull. My preferred way to eat it is to tear a piece and to wrap some carrot achar with it, which gives you a nice acidic contrast to the spice. But if paratha is not your jam, I would get the daal. They make this wonderful cooked lentil — almost porridge-like — daal, which people eat by the spoonful.

Aloo Paratha Recipe

1. Make a soft dough with the specified ingredients.

2. Divide the dough into balls, as per the required size.

3. Chop the onions, green chillies and the coriander leaves. Then boil the potatoes; remove the skin and mash.

4. Add the rest of the ingredients and mix well. Take each portion of the dough, flatten it on palm.

5. Stuff the filling in the dough and roll into balls. With a rolling pin, flatten the balls into 1/2" thick round parathas.

6. Grease a pan with a little oil and heat on a medium flame.

7. Cook the parathas until both sides are golden and cooked through.

I Lived With Disordered Eating For 20 Years – Here's How I Finally Freed Myself

My brain was working overtime, thinking about my world imploding (Picture: Sharan Dhaliwal)

Adding atta flour. Kneading. Rolling.

I add far too much potato filling and I fold the edges together to create a ball. Each press with the rolling pin is done with vigour despite the delicate potato mix inside.

Making an aloo paratha may sound like a simple task, but during the height of my disordered eating, I would never have been able to do it.

I spent years spiralling, dealing with bad body image, and sometimes avoiding food altogether.

Thankfully, I've now fallen back in love with food – and it's thanks to my partner and my mental health recovery after lockdown.

Disordered eating reared its ugly head for me at the start of the pandemic – but I first experienced it in my teens. I felt like I knew what I was doing when I was younger – limiting my food in order to feel good about my body.

But I didn't realise that it was happening to replace the depressive thoughts I was living with.

When my long-distance relationship fell apart in 2020, at the age of 36, I went back into depression. I stopped eating – in fact, I rarely moved and was paralysed in my bedroom.

I'm in a healthier space and have a deeper connection with my family history (Picture: Sharan Dhaliwal)

My body merely felt like an inconvenience. My brain was working overtime, thinking about my world imploding, and I believed there was no point in caring for myself.

I watched as my body slowly started fading.

I'd post a selfie to Instagram and watch people comment on how great I looked – this only exacerbated my disordered eating and I kept trying to attain a smaller and smaller figure for more validation.

It was easy to hide during lockdown too because, although I lived with someone, they never came out of their room or interacted with me, so no one witnessed my spiral.

Occasionally, I would make myself instant noodles, and wolf it down in a frenzy. Immediately I would feel guilty about the pleasure of consuming food and convince myself I shouldn't eat for a while.

This pattern continued on and off, for almost two years.

Occasionally, I would make myself instant noodles, and wolf it down in a frenzy (Picture: Sharan Dhaliwal) When I finally let go of the shame, I let go of my anxiety (Picture: Sharan Dhaliwal)

My journey into falling back in love with food came hand-in-hand with my mental health recovery.

As lockdown ended, the comfort I found in my solitude with my disordered eating suddenly became visible. I had to go back to eating at restaurants – something my friends and I regularly did before Covid.

I was no longer alone with thoughts – being surrounded by people meant I couldn't hide anymore and my experiences with food became more real.

In those circumstances, I was in a way, shamed into recovery from acknowledging that I couldn't hide in my little destructive world, but it also came from my new partner too.

I've known my partner for around six years – as queer South Asian people, we've worked in the same spaces and ended up becoming acquaintances. Last year that changed, and we formed a stronger bond, which turned to love.

My body has changed through this recovery and I'm finally beginning to embrace it (Picture: Sharan Dhaliwal)

They shared a similar journey in their mental health and gently allowed me to feel everything I was feeling. We tend to open up and speak when we feel anxiety, instead of letting it fester inside us.

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There was a moment when we discussed eating plans and I felt uneasy about spending a full day of food. Instead of ignoring it, I told them exactly how it made me feel.

We spoke about it regularly, until I didn't feel ashamed when eating. When I finally let go of the shame, I let go of my anxiety.

They fed me my favourite dish – saag paneer – on our first date, they let me cook for them, and listened to any concerns I had.

My partner truly made eating safe again.

Our shared background means they also understood the cultural importance of food.

And when I fell back in love with food, that's what I really fell in love with my Indian roots.

This love has cemented a connection with my culture; those memories of my grandma opening pea pods, the way my mother makes rice.

I cook with an intention to be healthier and to find joy (Picture: Sharan Dhaliwal)

A big part of Indian culture is sharing food and feeding others – I would go to aunties' houses as a child and be fed until I couldn't move.

I'm proud to say that – after over 20 years of struggling with disordered eating – I now have that same urge to feed and be fed. Cooking has become an important way of showing my love.

One day my dad asked me if I could make him daal 'but not mushy like mum makes it'.

I made the tarka with spices as a base, and added the lentils and tomatoes. 'Not too mushy,' he kept saying. We sat together and smiled at how simple it was to make.

I eat for myself too. I devour the spices, various pulses and vegetables that create a taste many people get a take-away to experience.

Growing up, I would hear stories from my family about life back in Panjab – where they grow sugar canes and wheat – stories about making flour for our roti and sugar for our tea. I remembered these stories and they now make me value what I cook and put in my body.

On top of that, my body has changed through this recovery and I'm finally beginning to embrace it. I don't shy away from eating large meals, or having more than one meal a day – something I couldn't previously imagine.

My time in the kitchen is sacred – I cook with an intention to be healthier and to find joy. But I also find that joy in the food's connection to my culture.

It took a while to get here – and there are still moments I have anxiety over it – but I'm in a healthier space and have a deeper connection with my family history.

It's not just about my health, it's about joy. And I think I've found it again.

Do you have a story you'd like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.Austin@metro.Co.Uk.

Share your views in the comments below.

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