Few things in cooking are as dramatic as slipping a small, flat disk into hot oil and watching it puff up into a perfect sphere. In India, when you’re lucky enough to be invited to lunch or dinner in a Gujarati household, the puris keep coming out, wave after wave. The way they’re offered is irresistible. “Just one?” And so they keep adding up.
Although people take cold puris on train journeys and picnics, if you’re going to all the trouble, they should be hot, hot, hot. Someone has