It was the sort of evening where dessert had to be eaten first. It was the end of June and the tiny, scarlet, sweet-as-jam wild strawberries, le fragoline di Nemi were in season. Baba was visiting me in Rome from Bucharest and on the weekend our dear friends, Uncle Iqi and Aunty Neeman graciously drove us up into the Castelli Romani to the small town of Nemi. They always knew where to take us for the best medium-rare steak or the crispiest-thinnest pizza in Rome. And this time, they invited us for early season porcini mushrooms and le fragoline in Nemi.

All the local cafés there were serving le fragoline in tall glasses with clouds of fresh, whipped cream, or atop a creamy vanilla gelato. And then there was my favourite, brought to you in bowls with a splash of balsamic vinegar, the sweetness of the strawberries coaxed by the tart and earthy tones of the aceto di balsamico.

Uncle Iqi chose a restaurant overlooking the silver lake which is so perfectly still and calm that it is referred to as Il Specchio di Diana; the mirror of Diana. But prior to dinner, Aunty Neeman said we needed a fix of these wild strawberries at the café, so as Uncle Iqi sipped on his wine and chatted in his charming baritone voice, Baba lingered over his caffè latte whilst us girls tucked into our naughty pre-dinner desserts. Italians love their culinary rules: no grated cheese with spaghetti alle vongole, no cappuccino in the afternoon, but Aunty Neeman assured me there was absolutely nothing wrong with having some spoonfuls of Nemi’s strawberries before our dinner.

Later, the four of us shared plate after plate of bruschetti, crowned with fresh tomatoes glistening with olive oil and verdant leaves of basilico. After this carb-gluttony, Baba and I decided to share one primo of taglioni, tossed with roasted, intense-flavoured porcini mushrooms, and to bind the dish, a generous heap of grated pecorino romano. The grassy olive oil spread all over our lips as we kept twirling our forks into the taglioni, adding a fresh grind of pepper here and there. The patrons at the other tables wondered who this odd father-daughter pair were- how odd that they were sharing one plate of pasta.

But it was one of those inexplicable father-daughter moments.

And of course, the indulgence continued with bowls of fragoline di Nemi to round off our meal.

Aunty Neeman and I strolled back towards the car, with Baba and Uncle Iqi ahead of us, savouring puffs from their Partagás as the sun was setting late into the night and the silvery sheen of the lake now gone.

The local Ontario strawberries remind me of that evening in Nemi and all the other times I have indulged in scoops of fragoline di Nemi gelato in Rome.

The creaminess of the Greek yoghurt is just the sort of base that accentuates the sweetness of the strawberries- that, mingling with the fragrance of rosewater, and all you need is a dusting of crushed pistachios and a gentle swirl of your preferred honey over the berries.

Serves 4

Ingredients:
*350 g / 1 cup full fat Greek yoghurt
*200g / 1½ cup strawberries
*½ tsp rosewater (this can be found in Persian, Lebanese / Syrian, Pakistani or Indian grocery stores- (if you live in Toronto- it can be found at a local Rabba corner shop)
*2 tsp crushed, unsalted pistachios
*your preferred honey for drizzling

Preparation:
*Place yoghurt in a medium-size mixing bowl. Add rosewater and gently stir. Set aside.
*Hull the strawberries and slice as thinly as possible on the vertical (the strawberries will look heart-shaped when sliced).
*Transfer 4 tbsp of the rosewater-spiked yoghurt to each individual plate / bowl. If using a plate, you can transfer with an icing spatula to spread the yoghurt in a circular pattern.
*Arrange strawberry slices on top.
*Dust with crushed pistachios.
*Drizzle with your favourite honey. I use lavender or manuka.

Blog post is in response to a request from my friend AFC- who loved his masala omelettes during his business trips to India.

I like to eat my masala omelette placed between two pieces of soft, untoasted bread and eaten like a sarnie with some sweet chili sauce. It’s a childhood thing, you know, that ‘nursery food’ texture we all remember. The masala omelette is to the Pakistani kitchen what pancakes are to an American kitchen. The only pancakes I ever had as a child were out of a box, and that too, slathered with Aunt Jemima’s Kitchen syrup.

As a child, the only cooking Ami and I did together in the kitchen was when she made eggs or French Toast. Our housekeeper, Amma Parveen used to have the weekends off and that’s when Ami and I’d get deep into the kitchen.

Well, not quite in the way you think…

Please erase that vision of Ami and I standing in the kitchen in our matching pink pinnies. Nope. I was a brat, and that’s why I was in the kitchen with her: “Ami, the edges of the omelette aren’t dark enough…” or “Ami, you didn’t put enough dhania (coriander) in the omelette.” And then there was, “Ami, you overcooked the egg yolk, now I shan’t eat it.”

What a nightmare I was. I’m sure Ami wanted to smack me and make me watch Fred Flinstone or something else mind-numbing instead of annoying her in the kitchen during breakfast time. But she didn’t.

Ami always made everything perfectly right- she knew I liked my French Toast a little bit soggy in the middle, crisp around the edges and my Masala Omelette without tomatoes and sandwiched between two pieces of bread. And she always put just the right amount of sweet chili sauce on it, too.

There I sat with Ami, in front of the telly, watching the Flintstone’s, whilst washing the masala omelette down with a tall glass of Nesquik strawberry milk. (I know, I know, but now I drink grown-up strawberry milk- here’s my friend’s recipe.)

Only a mother can tolerate such bratty behaviour, and it’s not just on Mother’s Day that I think of this…

Here is her recipe, I’ve added the pinch of haldi in it, which she wouldn’t approve of, but I know she’ll forgive me for being fiddly with it.

A similar dish is called khagina- which is a spiced scramble egg- please forgive me for the bland photos, it was my first ever post – I now cringe when I look at those earlier photos.

Serves 1; this recipe can easily be doubled.

Ingredients:
*2 medium-sized eggs
*half a small onion, minced
*¼ cup fresh coriander, chopped finely
*½ green thai bird chili minced. If you’re a chili-head like me, add one whole chili. Use shears to cut this straight into the bowl, so you don’t burn your fingertips.
*pinch haldi; turmeric powder (found in most Pakistani/Indian/Persian grocery stores)
*½ tsp cayenne pepper
*½ tsp salt
*1 tsp ghee or 1 tbsp neutral oil (sunflower or corn)

Preparation:
*Pre-heat your grill/broiler.
*Beat two eggs in a small bowl and add onion, coriander, green chili, haldi, cayenne and salt. Whisk well.
*Place a small frying pan on medium heat and add ghee/oil.
*Pour egg mixture into frying pan and keep swirling till the egg mixture is well distributed. Don’t touch the mixture with your spatula.
*After 2-3 minutes, you will see the edges begin to crisp up. At this point, you can either flip the omelette over, or if you want to be cautious, place it under the grill till golden, about 2 minutes.
*Serve with bread of your choice.

Her name was Bridget but we called her Aunty Brige. Not pronounced ‘bridge’, like the one which connects two points across a river, but Brige, with a long ‘i’, as in liege. She was tall and wore lots of white, flowing dresses which looked beautiful with her crown of wavy, strawberry blonde hair. One could imagine her sitting elegantly next to a harp, with her fingers plucking at the strings. Aunty Brige had light eyes; I cannot remember if they were green or blue or hazel, and they were always hidden behind large spectacles.Aunty Brige was the wife of the Irish Ambassador to Nigeria, and became my Ami’s dear friend when we lived in Lagos. On weekends, Aunty Brige and her husband, Uncle Aidan would invite us to go motoring through the Lagos Lagoon in their boat, towards the Tarkwa Bay. The boat would sometimes rock up and down and Aunty Brige would squeeze my hand and say, “Ah, it’s very choppy today.” Terrified, I just wanted to cry and get the hell off of that boat and build my sand castle at the Bay. She loved little girls, especially since she had six boys of her own and just one daughter. She told my Ami that when her last child was born, while the nurse swaddled the newborn baby, she asked Aunty Brige what she would like the name to be. Exhausted after labour, she simply waved her hand and said, “Oh, anything, Tom, Dick or Harry.” The nurse laughed and said, “Mrs. Mulloy, I don’t think your daughter would appreciate those names.”

It was during our years in Lagos that my youngest sister was born. Ami was away in Washington with my younger sister for the delivery, whilst Baba and I stayed back. Knowing I was feeling lonely without my mother, Aunty Brige would bring me soft cakes made with marzipan, which she knew were Ami’s favourite. On weekends they would invite us to their home for lunches. Uncle Aidan, a gourmand, loved having chilled soups during lunchtime; he found them particularly cooling in the tropical heat of Lagos. It was my first time trying a cucumber-yoghurt soup and it was unforgettable: mainly because I couldn’t drink more than a few spoonfuls. My childhood palate never let me forget how awful it tasted back then. It was cold, and I couldn’t understand why we were drinking cucumber juice mixed with yoghurt, out of a bowl, and that too, with a spoon.

After we left Lagos for Washington DC, Aunty Brige continued to send me birthday cards every year, but soon after that I moved to Lahore to live with my grandmother, and we lost touch with them all together. I heard from a friend, many years later, that Aunty Brige had passed away from cancer. Sweet Aunty Brige, who took photos of me building sandcastles in Tarkwa Bay.

All these years later, I came to appreciate cucumber-yoghurt soup, which always reminds me of Uncle Aidan and Aunty Brige. Especially that time in my childhood when not many things tasted very good, don’t forget, I was drinking a lot of Campbell Chicken Noodle Soup back then. My tastebuds were almost ruined.

This is just the sort of soup I would make for my Aunty Brige, but with my own Persian spin on it- chilled, with beads of crunchy cucumbers, fragrant with mint and a bit of earthiness from the walnuts. And finally, topped off with crackly fried shallots which melt into the cool soup as caramelised ribbons.

Serves 4-6 as a first course or 10-12 in smaller portions for a cocktail party

Ingredients:
*1 shallot, sliced thin
*1 tbsp olive oil
*6 English (mini) cucumbers (approximately 300g)
*handful mint leaves (no stalks)
*1 garlic clove
*salt to taste
*1½ cup or approximately 350 g Greek or whole milk yoghurt
*½ cup or approximately 60 g walnuts, plus some more for garnishing, crushed and chopped by hand
*Dried rose petals for garnish- found in most Persian grocery stores (optional)

Preparation:
*Slice shallot thinly;
*Place a small frying pan on medium-high heat and add one tablespoon of olive oil;
*Add shallots and fry till a dark golden colour;
*Transfer to a newspaper or paper towel and allow to dry.
*Set aside;
*Peel the skin from cucumbers;
*Slice each cucumber lengthwise and with a teaspoon, gently scoop out the seeds. Divide cucumbers into two separate batches;
*Take the first batch of cucumbers and slice into very thin strips lengthwise. Then dice into very small pieces, approximately less than ½ centimetre and 1/8th of an inch. (See photo above).
*Set first batch of cucumbers aside.
*Take the second batch of cucumbers and garlic clove and place in a blender or food processor. Blend till completely smooth.
*Add mint leaves to the blender or food processor and pulse just so the mint leaves are shredded but not completely blended in. You want to be able to see small specks of the mint leaves.
*Transfer the puréed cucumber and mint to a mixing bowl. Add Greek yoghurt, walnuts, the first batch of diced cucumbers and gently mix to combine. Add salt to taste.
*The consistency should be like that of a thick soup. If it is too watery for your liking, you can add more Greek yoghurt, if it is too thick, add some ice cold water, tablespoon by tablespoon till you get the desired consistency.
*Place in the fridge and allow to chill for 2-3 hours.
*Serve in a soup bowl or in tiny glasses and just prior to serving, garnish with crunchy shallots, crushed walnuts and (optional) dried rose petals.

Recipe created by my dear friend BH and myself. BH adores spelt flour and has shown me how to incorporate it in my repertoire.

I could never understand why we didn’t eat Uncle Ben’s rice at home; the kind that Mrs. Ferris, my friend Sarah’s mum boiled in its own bag and served us alongside roast chicken. Each grain was plum and served slightly watery.

Why did we have to have basmati rice all the time? Sometimes laced with cumin and sometimes cooked in a cinnamon, cloves and cardamom-infused chicken stock.

I could never understand why I couldn’t eat Fig Newtons as a child. So what if there was animal (pig) fat in it?

Why didn’t we have a ‘station wagon’ like the one my friend Carrie’s parents drove? Why did we have to have a German car?

Why did we have to go to Europe and Pakistan every summer when the rest of my friends were staying in Washington DC and going down the slide at the pool near our home whilst sipping grape juice out of small boxes with straws attached?

And most importantly, why did we eat spicy masala omelettes or crêpes for breakfast and not pancakes and waffles like everyone else in my neighbourhood? I wanted to eat those Eggo waffles which came out of boxes and were slathered with Aunt Jemima’s sugary syrup. The kind that bores holes into your molars.

There was no boxed food in our home, no Eggo waffles and no Chef Boyardee. I had to go to my friends’ homes to have that.

It’s only when you’re older do you understand that having spicy baked eggs, the kind your Ami always makes, are better than Eggo waffles…

And that a platter of elongated basmati rice perfumed with roasted cumins seeds is better than Uncle Ben’s sloppy mess…

And that the mangoes we ate every summer at my grandmother’s home in Lahore; the ones which were so decadently sweet and juicy that the nectar would run all the way down your arms to your elbows…could never compare to the boxed juices my friends were having at the pool in DC…

And nutty spelt flour pancakes made at home…

Dressed with caramelised apples; candy-like and crisp around the edges…

Drizzled with maple syrup like molten amber…

Are better than any Fig Newton you were deprived of as a child…

Especially with a dusting of confectioner’s sugar on top, and washed down with cups of jasmine tea…

Serves 4
You will need two 8-9 in non-stick frying pans and maple syrup.

Ingredients:
For the pancakes:
1 1/2 cups spelt flour
1 tbsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp baking soda (sodium bicarbonate)
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
2 eggs
2 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
extra butter (unsalted) for the frying pan
confectioner’s sugar

For caramelised apples:
2 tbsp salted butter
1 large apple (preferably Granny Smith), peeled, cored and sliced thin
1 tbsp brown sugar
1/2 tsp nutmeg powder
1/2 tsp cinnamon powder
2-3 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick
2-3 cardamom pods
pinch white pepper (optional)

Preparation:
For the pancakes:
*Combine the flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and powder in a mixing bowl.
*Separately combine buttermilk, eggs, unsalted butter.
*Slowly, add wet ingredients to dry ingredients and stir. The resultant batter should not be completely smooth; allow for some lumps.
*Place a non-stick frying pan over medium-high heat and brush with butter.
*When butter starts to bubble, add a 1/4 of batter into the pan. You can add two portions at a time like I do.
*You’ll see the sides of the pancake begin to turn golden and the top will start to bubble. At this point, flip the pancake over. You may have to adjust the heat down from medium-high to medium.
*Place in a warm oven at 200F till ready to serve.

For the caramelised apples:
*Place a non-stick frying pan on medium heat and add butter.
*When it starts to bubble, add apples, brown sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon powders, cloves, cinnamon stick, cardamom pods and white pepper. Stir every few minutes as they caramelise slowly over the next 10-15 minutes.
*The apples are ready when they turn a nutty golden colour and a sharp knife can be easily inserted.

Assemblage:
Serve pancakes with a dusting of confectioner’s sugar and some caramelised apples on top. Smother with lots of butter and drizzle with maple syrup.

Baba tells me that Bobby Darin’s Dream Lover would play repeatedly at picnics with his friends in 1960s Lahore. But for real affectation, there had to be some Françoise Hardy. Baba also tells me that if you didn’t know her hit La maison où j’ai grandi, or at least pretend to know it, then you were essentially a nobody.

And there were no picnic invitations for nobodies.

Françoise Hardy

For a March picnic in Lahore, the dastarkhan would be laid out under the shade of the mango trees, and everyone would tuck into spicy beef kebabs, dipping them into a verdant yoghurt and mint sauce. The girls, with their Twiggy-esque hairdos and aquamarine dusted eyelids, would take delicate sips of coca-cola with the straws bobbing up and down in the small bottles. There would be finger-thin cucumber sandwiches with just the right amount of slathered butter and a waxy, creamy potato salad made by my grandmother, Mader with her homemade mayonnaise.

As the kebabs and sandwiches disappeared, a bowl full of chikoo and a paring knife would be placed on the dastarkhan. Brown and potato skin-like on the outside, the knife would slice through each chikoo revealing its malty sweetness. Everyone would take a half of the chikoo and suck out the caramel-sweet flesh.

The flasks containing sabz chai-green tea- would emerge, poured into small glass mugs, the fragrance of cardamom mingling with the Spring air of Lahore. Everyone would drink the tea while biting into thumb-size pieces of dried apricot as Bobby Darin played on in the background.

Wishing my Baba a very Happy Father’s Day.

Borani is a a cold yoghurt-based Afghan dish. Borani Kachalu is a dish of potatoes sautéed in a garlic and ginger-infused tomato sauce. A creamy yoghurt with aromatic dried mint is poured over it and mopped up with naan. I find this to be the perfect picnic food- a sort of Afghan-style potato salad if prepared with small fingerling potatoes (or other small boiling potatoes), slathered with yoghurt instead of mayonnaise.

Photo credit of chikoos: The Famous Tourist Destinations

Serves 4 as a side dish

Ingredients:
*1-2 tbsp olive oil
*1/2 tsp fresh minced garlic
*1/2 tsp fresh minced ginger
*1/2 cup (8 tbsp) tomato sauce/passata or crushed tinned tomatoes
*1lb fingerling potatoes, sliced into 1/8 of an inch thick disks
*1/8 tsp turmeric powder (haldi)
*1/8 tsp cayenne (add up to a 1/4 tsp if you so like)
*3/4 cup yoghurt thinned with 2 tbsp water (not of the thick Greek genre)
*1 tsp dried mint + extra for garnish
*Salt

Preparation:
*Place large frying pan on medium heat and add olive oil.
*Once the oil is heated through, add garlic and ginger and sauté 30 seconds till fragrant.
*Add tomato sauce, turmeric and cayenne and stir for one minute and add potato disks.
*Stir for 2-3 minutes, ensuring that each disk is coated with oil and tomato sauce.
*Sprinkle some water on top of potatoes, and cover pan with a lid or with foil and turn the heat to low.
*Allow potatoes to cook in their own steam for 15 minutes. At the 10 minute mark remove the lid/foil and insert a knife into the potato to test for doneness.
*When done, a knife should slide through freely. The tomato sauce should look thick, coating the potatoes.
*Allow potatoes to come to room temperature. In the meanwhile, prepare the spiced yoghurt.
*Add 2tbsp of water to yoghurt and whip. Add dried mint and salt to taste.
*When ready to serve, arrange potatoes in your dish and drizzle with yoghurt. Dust with dried mint.

This post was featured in Oliver Thring’s weekly round-up. Oliver Thring writes for the Guardian and iStarvin’.

“Always keep some whipped butter next to the sink,” Aunty Bhupinder tells me as I lament over my dry hands after my move to Toronto. “Once you’re done with cooking,” she continues, “wash your hands and smear a little bit of whipped butter all over them.” Following the advice of someone I love like a grandmother, I slather some whipped butter on my hands. But in vain. Aunty Bhupinder’s hands are soft; like cake batter before it goes into the oven. No amount of whipped butter will soften mine up like hers.

As school-going children in Nairobi, while our parents were traveling, we would stay with Aunty Bhupinder and her husband. Upon our request, every night she would make us parathas and dal, with her mother’s secret mix of garam masala. The same garam masala she still brings back from Delhi for me every year, even though her mother is no longer with us. Our cook would come every night, lovingly, to ask if we wanted him to prepare us a meat-based dish; but we only wanted Aunty Bhupinder’s vegetarian food. Just before dinner we’d peek into her prayer room and watch her kneeling next to the Guru Grant Sahib, head covered in a chiffon dupatta, wondering when she’d be down in the kitchen to spoil us and prepare the flaky parathas and dal tempered with spiced butter.

The Golden Temple, Amritsar, India- from www.wayfaring.info

It is these same hands which I have seen rolling dough for a paratha since I was a child. On each wrist she wears a thick golden bangle, with two elephant heads joining each bracelet together, and in her ears are diamond studs. Her hair is pinned back neatly in a bun, like a swiss roll sliced thin. A rust-hued lipstick, her eyes deep set and beautiful, her eyelashes glossy and long; belying her age.

As I sit on the table in her white kitchen in Washington DC, I watch Aunty Bhupinder as she rolls the dough for the paratha, forming it into a snake-like coil then folding it repeatedly to get those papery thin layers. Every few minutes she turns her head, her hands working the dough and says, “Shayma, please have some orange juice…can I get you some fruit?” I smile and walk towards the fruitbowl in the dining room.

Like a grandmother to me, I know better than to refuse her offer.

She carefully places each paratha, or ‘paronthees’ as she calls them, on a plate, the omelette clinging to it, all unctuous and golden.  Specially for me. She knows her kati rolls are among one of my favourite dishes prepared by her.

And on goes the spiced chicken, with a drizzle of jade-green mint chutney; paudinay ki chutney…

Then some fresh onions for crunch; tomatoes (her addition, not traditionally added in Kolkata); green chilies for heat; and fresh cilantro for freshness.

The ultimate street food-snack…rolled up…

Cut in half…

Ready for tucking into…

We end the meal with a cup of tea, into which she adds a pinch of ground whole cardamom powder, brought back from Delhi. I leave Washington DC, always, with a ziploc containing the pistachio green, fragrant powder.

With my maternal and paternal grandmothers long gone, I am grateful to still have one with me, Aunty Bhupinder.

Serves 4
You will need parathas or chapatis. I use store-bought parathas.
For mint chutney- in a blender, puree a bushel of mint with some water, salt and 1 green chili. Mix this with some yoghurt for paudinay ki chutney, which is what we use for the kati roll.

Ingredients:
4 chicken thighs or legs (use dark meat)
1 cup yoghurt
1 tsp salt
1 tsp garam masala
1 tsp minced garlic (or garlic paste from the jar)
1 tsp minced ginger (or ginger paste from the jar)
Small bushel of chopped, fresh coriander leaves and stems (enough for the chicken marinade, omelette and for garnishing the kati roll. Use proportions as you please.)
2+2 tiny green chilies, chopped
1/2 tsp freshly cracked black pepper
1/2 tsp tandoori masala (in powder form, not paste)
2 tbsp + 4 tsp corn oil (or any other neutral oil)
4 parathas (or chapatis)
4 eggs
1/2 tsp red chili powder
Pinch salt
1 medium onion sliced into thin rings
Mint chutney (paudinay ki chutney)
2 medium tomatoes sliced thin, into disks

Preparation:
Step 1: Prepare the pulled-chicken:
*In a large bowl, add yoghurt, garam masala, garlic&ginger paste, fresh coriander, 2 chopped green chilies, salt, cracked black pepper and tandoori masala powder with chicken thighs.
*Marinate 3-5 hours or preferably, overnight.
*Place a pan over medium-high heat with 2 tbsp oil. Add chicken plus the marinade.
*Allow to cook, uncovered, for 20 minutes. When the chicken has absorbed all the juices and is almost dry, take off the flame.
*Remove meat from bones, shred by hand and set aside.

Step 2: Prepare the paratha and omelette:
*Beat 4 eggs with red chili powder, pinch salt (to taste) and chopped cilantro.
*Bear in mind that you will be making 4 omelettes, respectively, for each kati roll.
*Place a non-stick frying pan on medium heat. The diameter of the pan should be the same as your paratha or chapati.
*Add 1 tsp of oil per omelette, to the pan.
*Slowly pour in 1/4 of the egg mix and swirl, to cover the pan. As soon as you see that the bottom of the omelette is set and the top is still soft and custard-like, place the the paratha on top, it will cling to the omelette.
*Gently insert a spatula underneath the omelette and flip it over. Let the paratha bronzen a bit, then remove from flame. The omelette will be clinging to the paratha now.

Step 3: Assemble kati roll:
*In a plate, place the paratha with the omelette side up.
*Add pulled-chicken, then dot with some mint chutney.
*Add onions, tomatoes, coriander and chopped green chillies. Drizzle some more mint chutney on top.
*Roll and eat warm.

If you are preparing these for a crowd, you can prepare the paratha and omelette and serve this to your guests. Place all the accoutrements in a dish for your guests to assemble themselves at the table.

Breakfast in a Pakistani Home

“Halwa puri!,” Baba and Kaka (father’s elder brother in Dari) would holler from the bottom of the stairwell in our family home in Lahore. The two brothers had made it a weekend ritual to go together to Ghalib Market to bring their six daughters halwa puri for breakfast after their morning run in Race Course Park.

A year and a half apart in age, here they are, sweet and as thick as thieves and honey.

(Mader really hoped for a girl before my father was born- perhaps the reason why my poor father had to suffer wearing a girl’s “bouffant” of sorts, till he was old enough to say “no more!”).

Groggy and still in our beds, the words ‘halwa puri‘ would lead us down the long vertical staircase. Into the breakfast room we would go in our pjs with plush shawls wrapped around us on that cold Lahore morning. We would excitedly unwrap the newspaper encasing the puris and place one on each plate.

Tearing off a piece of the puffed up golden bread with our fingers, we would scoop up the sweet halwa. Made with semolina, the halwa was all soft and buttery with white flecks of almond, dotted with black cardamom seeds.

The adults would drink a strong milky tea with it and we’d settle for glasses of lukewarm milk, you know, the kind all kids hate.

The conversation would fluctuate between Punjabi, English and Dari and us kids would walk out of the breakfast room with greasy fingers towards the washroom.

Then back to our beds.

Here in Toronto, I wake up some mornings thinking of Baba and Kaka and the little things they did for the six of us. The halwa puri runs, the midnight drives to Barqat, the paan wallah in Main Market for a Pineapple Crush pop on the side; the family walks from our home in Gulberg to Mini Market to buy 20 sweeties for 5 rupees. Mitchell’s raspberry bon bons were my favourite.

To this day I love it when Barqat sees me in Main Market and says, “Where are Sarosh Bibi and Owaise Sahab, why haven’t they come for a paan?”

So very far from home, here is what we have in our home on Saturday mornings:

Chunks of tomato spiced with turmeric, a bit of chili, paprika and some fragrant caramelised onions…

Topped with fresh, cracked eggs…

Baked till soft, with yolks as pudgy as a baby’s belly…

A scattering of fresh coriander leaves, a verdant flavour which always reminds me of Pakistan…

Eaten with roghani naan…

Here are three other lovely versions of baked eggs which I love, by some of my fave bloggers: Glutton for Life, Taste of Beirut and Tamarind and Thyme.

Photos of halwa puri: from Kar_jony, Karachi Metblogs.

Photos of Race Course Park: from www.Pashtohomes.com.

Serves 5

Pre-heat your oven to 350F / 180C

Ingredients:

*2 tbsp corn (or other neutral) oil
*4 medium-sized tomatoes (approximately 600g / 1lb), blanched, skins peeled, and diced
*1/4 of a small onion, finely chopped
*1/4 tsp salt
*1/8 tsp (pinch) turmeric; haldi powder
*1/4 tsp red chili pepper
*1/4 tsp hot paprika
*5 eggs
*Fresh coriander leaves chopped, for garnish
*Salted butter for smearing on baking dish. I use an 11 1/2 inch quiche dish.

Preparation:
*Place 8-inch frying pan on medium heat.
*Add 2 tbsp oil and chopped onions, saute till translucent and slightly golden.
*Add chopped tomatoes.
*Add salt, haldi, red chili pepper and paprika.
*Stir for 7-10 minutes over a medium-high heat. The tomatoes should keep their shape somewhat.
*Smear butter all over the bottom and sides of the quiche dish.
*Transfer the chopped tomato sauce to the dish.
*Gently crack open the eggs one by one on to the tomato base.
*Place in oven for 15-20 minutes for a soft yolk and 20-25 for a more cooked yolk.
*Sprinkle with chopped coriander leaves.

“A monarch, regardless of being a queen or a king, must defend his or her land and treat the people with justice,” declared the Sassanian Empress Porandokht, (AD 630-31). An advocate of sexual egalitarianism, she was the first female monarch to rule over the Sassanian Empire. Under her 16-month rule, before she died, Empress Porandokht signed a peace treaty with the Byzantines and reformed her empire by re-structuring and lowering taxes.

Every era has had their crop of strong women, and Mader, my paternal grandmother, was most certainly one from hers.

Living in Lahore, in the 1930s, during pre-partition India, Syeda Shameem, the beloved granddaughter of a Sufi Pir, cast off her burqa and donned a sari to blend in with the majority Hindu population and take up a job as Assistant Registrar of Cooperative Societies. She did not want to stand out as someone from a minority group. Nothing was going to constrain this lady from being at the workplace.

Every morning she would choose a sari from her armoire and neatly unfold the perfect rectangle. She would twirl the sari around her waist and hips, the folds falling gracefully, then draping the loose end of it; the pallu, over her left shoulder. Looking at herself in the mirror as she stepped outside for work, this girl knew she was now indistinguishable from the rest of the population, thanks to her sari.

Sadly, I cannot tie a sari (on my own) to save my life, but Mader’s work ethic and ideals of equality among religions and gender are the traits which I do remember, even if subconsciously, every morning as I wear my suit while getting ready for the office. Even long after she is gone.

The face of women and egalitarianism in Pakistan has changed since the era Mader grew up in. We do have our handful of troubles, but women are strutting their stuff into the office in trouser suits as newscasters/journalists, as stay at home mothers in their saris or as Head Mistresses in their kurta shalwars.

There may have been a Syeda Shameem in many of these womens’ lives.

The word Borani it is said, has originated from the name Porandokht. According to legend, the Empress loved cold yoghurt-based dishes. When she was proclaimed Queen, the name Porani was given to these dishes. Later on Porani is said to have become the term Borani.

The traditional version of Borani-e-Labu (labu meaning beet in Farsi) calls for a mixing of chopped beet in yoghurt. This is my twist on the recipe- which reminds me of a beet ‘carpaccio’. The beets are sliced into thin leaf-like slices, then cushioned on a plump bed of thick yoghurt. A jade-green drizzle of olive oil and some woodsy fragrant dried mint on top. And then mop it up with chubby Afghan bread.

The tart creaminess of the yoghurt pairs excellently with the candy-like sweetness and earthiness of the beet.

Serves 4 as an appetiser or a side dish.

Ingredients:
* 2 small beets (approximately 250g in total)
* Your everyday cooking olive oil
* 2 small tubs very thick, drained yoghurt- I use Greek Yoghurt, ‘Total Fage’, (it comes in a 150g tub). Or 300g of any thick yoghurt such as labneh (Lebanese/Syrian) or mast-e-kisei (‘drained yoghurt’) from a Persian store.
* Dried mint for garnish (please do use dried vs. fresh mint, therein lies the beauty of this dish- the use of a woodsy, earthy dried herb)
* Salt
* Your best olive oil

Preparation:
* Pre-heat your oven to 400F/200C
* Wash and clean your beets. Dry with paper towel.
* Gloss all over with the olive oil you would use for cooking.
* Take two small pieces of foil and tightly wrap each beet individually.
* Place in oven and roast for 45 minutes to 1 hour (timings vary from oven to oven).
* Test with a sharp knife, if is slides through easily, it is done.
* Once done, remove from oven and allow to cool and rest for 20 minutes.
* Remove the skin and carefully slice very thinly, like a leaf.
* Set aside.
* In a large serving plate or individual plates, smear a generous amount of yoghurt.
* Just before serving, gently place slices of beets on the yoghurt.
* Sprinkle with salt and dried mint.
* Drizze your best olive oil on top.
* Serve with bread.

Yassi’s As-Moist-As-a-Pudding Date Cake

Yassi sits on her stool in the kitchen kneading the glossy détrempe for la pâte feuilletée; puff pastry. There is no beurre sec, but Lurpak will do. Her silver and black hair is in short waves and immaculate as always; her pastel kurta is starched. Yassi’s slender, milky fingers are bare as they push the dough back and forth, like a potter with her clay. Her mother’s vintage ring bearing three overlapping leaves in rose, yellow and white gold removed and placed in the porcelain Wedgewood jewelry jar given to her by her daughter-in-law. She looks at the granite counter, “It would be lovely to have a cup of champagne resting there for small sips while the dough rests,” she thinks. But she is no longer in her Paris kitchen, she is in Karachi.

Champagne is now reserved only for special occasions.

To her daughter-in-law who visits once a year, everyday is a special day in Yassi’s home. For lunch, sheets of la pâte feuilletée are sliced into rectangles; delicately sautéed chicken and julienned carrots are folded in; the pastry sealed, brushed with egg white and baked till ballooned and brought to table. Served with a tomato chutney. For tea, Yassi’s fruit cake, a small, thick slice, filled with currants and orange peel soaked in brandy. One slice. Two, ah, maybe another one for her daughter-in-law. For supper a gratin de courgettes with grated parmiggiano, with a dense, spicy lentil and goat curry for the chili-heads in the family. Some caramel custard for pudding; lacquered on top; tender and creamy from inside.

Or maybe a quiche- her son’s favourite. During their courtship, Yassi’s daughter-in-law would get jealous when her son would talk about his mother’s “most fabulous quiche“. “Hmph. And what about my crêpes?” she would ask him under her breath. But a part of the family now, enamoured by Yassi and her effortless elegance and perfection, her daughter-in-law knew she could only wish to be like her. Knead the détrempe like her. Yassi the only person who can say the phrase, “oh how lovely” five times in a conversation and not sound the least bit affected.

Yassi serves her daughter-in-law a date cake, between meals. “Oh, you’re on holiday, you must enjoy it,” she tells her, while dropping thick, heavy spoonfuls of double cream on a slice of the cake in her daughter-in-law’s plate. A recipe passed down to Yassi by her own mother. A recipe older than her marriage; even older than her son. A dense, dark, earthy cake moistened with the gooeyness of dates, almost like a steamed pudding.

As I said, everyday is a special day in Yassi’s home. You can have that cake, and eat it, too.

NB For a gluten-free version, you can use a combination of gluten-free ‘flours’, for the recipe, please refer to the Gluten-Free Goddess’ website here.

You will need a 10-in (25 cm) Springform pan and some parchment paper. (If you use a pan with a smaller diameter, the cake may remain raw from the middle and cooked from the sides, so please do use a 10 in pan.)

Ingredients:
*250 g plump dates with seed. (If using stoned dates, you’ll have to adjust/decrease the amount)
*250 ml boiling water
*1 tsp baking soda (sodium bicarbonate)
*100 g butter, unsalted, brought to room temperature
*180 g granulated sugar
*2 eggs
*150 g flour
*2 tsp baking powder

Preparation:
*Preheat your oven to 175C / 350F.
*Place parchment paper on top of the springform pan base and trace a circle. Line pan with parchment circle and butter and flour the sides.

Step 1: Prepare the date mixture:
*Deseed your dates by gently tearing them open from top to bottom.
*Chop dates fine.
*Bring 250 ml of water to a boil (I boil it in my kettle and then measure out 250 ml to be exact).
*Pour into saucepan, when water starts to boil, add baking soda, (it will froth).
*Add chopped dates and stir the mixture for 2-3 minutes.
*The date mixture should be on the thick side, not watery.
*Take off the stove and allow to cool for at least 15 minutes.

Step 2: Prepare the batter:
*Whip butter with sugar till light and fluffy.
*Add eggs slowly; they may curdle at first but keep whipping, the mixture will come together and become smooth.
*Slowly fold in flour and baking powder and keep whipping/mixing.
*Add in date mixture, with a spoon/spatula and gently stir.
*Batter will seem slightly thin, but since we’re using a pan with a wide base, don’t worry, the cake will cook through. Remember, this is a moist, pudding-like cake.
*Pour into Springform.
*Bake for 35 minutes, test to see if the toothpick comes out clean after 30 mins; I like this cake moist and goeey, please don’t overbake it.

Allow cake to rest half an hour before taking out of Springform pan, or serve by the spoonfuls immediately, like a soft pudding, with double, triple or clotted cream on top.

The French have their pillowy, like-a-curdled-creme, soufflé-like version of scrambled eggs. The Latin Americans have their huevos revueltos; the Colombians serve theirs with pillowy arepas. Us Pakistanis & Afghans have our own version of scrambled eggs, called Khagina.

To prepare Khagina one needs just a few simple, fresh ingredients: eggs, tomatoes, onions, green chilies and fresh coriander/cilantro. Add cumin and the dish is lifted with an aromatic spice. It is comfort food, a dish which evokes fragrant memories of childhood in Lahore. The eggs are mopped up with chapati; a Pakistani whole-wheat flat bread or cushioned on crusty bread, sliced thick. Khagina is a much-loved dish which can be eaten for breakfast and just as easily served as an entrée for lunch or dinner. It is the layering of flavours; nutty, chili and herbal, which make this a rather special dish. I’ve always managed to find these ingredients in my fridge; a perfect dish to whip up not only for brekkers, but also on that night when you get in very late from work.

Making Khagina requires an indulgent amount of butter, but if you want to employ healthy cooking techniques, use 2-3 tbsps of olive oil. You will need a 7-8 inch non-stick frying pan.

Serves 4
Prep time: 15 minutes
Active time: 15 minutes

Ingredients:
* 6 eggs, (preferably free-range)
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 3 tablespoons butter (or olive oil)
* 1 small white onion, finely chopped
* 2 teaspoons cumin seed (zeera)
* 1 medium tomato, finely chopped
* 2-3 tablespoons fresh cilantro/coriander, (both leaves&stems)
* 2-3 thai bird chillies, sliced straight into the mixture in the pan with kitchen shears.

Preparation:
*Break the eggs into a bowl, add salt and whisk lightly together, just enough so that the yolks combine with the whites;

* Place pan over a fairly medium heat, add the butter (or olive oil) and tilt the pan from side to side so the pan is coated evenly. As soon as the butter stops foaming and begins to turn a nutty brown, add the onions and stir for 5-7 minutes till soft and golden;

*Add the cumin seeds and fry for 2 minutes till aromatic;

*To this, add the tomatoes and stir till warmed over and slightly soft. Turn the heat to low;

*Add cilantro, the egg mixture and chilies;

*Continue to stir the eggs swiftly, for another 5-7 minutes, until they are at the point of setting and resemble a soft custard. Make sure to keep scraping the bottom and sides of the pan. Serve immediately; while warm and creamy.