When I’m in Goa, as I was recently, I’m faced with a Hamletesque dilemma: To poee, or not to poee; that is the question.
The poee is a traditional Goan bread of wheat flour and bran with a chewy elasticity of texture and a hollow pocket inside to stuff in whatever savoury or sweet filling you fancy.

I love poees. The trouble is that I can’t make up my mind if I love the undo (oon-doh) as much or even more. The undo has a crackly crust that conceals a butter soft interior, and is perfect for mopping up the rich gravy of a xacuti or caldin. Goa’s bakers, called Poders, also make the pao, the spongy bun Mumbaikars have hijacked to create the streetside staple of Vada Pav, using the bread to sandwich an aloo vada.

Deliberating on the delectable rivalry between the poee, the undo and the pao, I marvel at how fortunate we are in India to have such a plentiful and varied basket of bread, an enticing alphabet of the edible.

A is for Appum, that perfect combo of an idli and a dosa, ideal for people who can’t make up their minds as to which of these two Udupi menu items they prefer.

B is for Bhatura, all puffed up with justifiable self-importance and the ideal companion to chhole. C is for the ubiquitous Chapati, and D for the aforementioned Dosa of which there are reportedly no less than 101 fillings.

Skipping a few letters, we come to H for Handvo, a scrumptiously thick dal pancake from Kutch served hot with chilled dahi. Yum doesn’t get yummier.

K is for Kulcha, serious challenger to the Bhatura as the significant other for chhole. L is for the Bengali Luchi, which partners perfectly with Alur Dom. M is for the Gujarati Muthiya which, baked and crisp-fried, makes for a lovely snack.

P is for Puran Poli, Maharashtra’s sweet flatbread, R for the enormous Radhabollobi, as large and imposing as its name, T for Gujarat’s Thepla, eaten with nimbu noh achaar, and U for Uttapam.
It’s said a civilisation is gauged by the bread it produces. By this token we Indians are a pretty civilised and well-bread lot.

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