I can’t understand why I never tried a Reese’s Pieces when I was a child, maybe because the epic joy of having a jolly rancher with its neon watermelon and green apple flavours seemed more interesting than a boring, drab and round chocolate cup. On Halloween there were Nerds to be had, those tiny, hot pink sweet and sour candies you poured into your hand out of a pocket-size box and ate till your tongue turned a scary purple and pink. Then there were American Smarties- small pastel coloured discs which made your mouth pucker up from their tartness. I never touched any of the chocolate in my Halloween basket, maybe because I was also a snob, used to eating chocolate my Baba brought back for us from the UK and France.

I adore Reese’s Pieces now, especially the dark chocolate version. A Reese’s recreated into a dessert, this double-chocolate peanut butter pie is just the ticket if you love that combination of sweet, salty and rich. You get an extra punch of chocolate in the base with the addition of molten chocolate and buttery goodness, and then in the middle is the filling- rich, creamy, salty-sweet with just a little bit of crunch from the peanuts. And to top it all off, a thick slathering of dark chocolate ganache to balance out the sweet richness of the filling.

After dinner, you just need one slice.

Or two, if you’re my husband with a sweet tooth.

I have rewritten a recipe by Chef Vitaly Paley which I found in Food and Wine magazine. The character of the final product is still the same, so the credit for this recipe goes to Chef Paley. But I have changed almost all of the proportions of ingredients; added an ingredient (sour cream) and omitted two ingredients (roasted peanuts and salt).

I find it hard to work in cups, so everything in my adapted recipe is in grams and millilitres.

My changes/additions:

*In the original recipe, Chef Paley calls for 8oz (227g) of cream cheese. I used 200g of cream cheese and added sour cream.
*I increased the amount of sugar from approximately 100g (1/2 cup) to 150g (3/4 cup) to counterbalance the tartness from the sour cream.
*I decreased the amount of heavy cream and peanut butter.
*I added sour cream.
*I omitted roasted peanuts and salt.
*I did not whip the heavy cream separately and fold it in (as per Chef Paley’s recipe) as I wanted a more dense cake. I simply added the heavy cream, unwhipped, to all the filling ingredients.
*I have added corn syrup to the chocolate ganache and changed its preparation method.

Here is the original recipe by Chef Paley.

My Version
Serves 8-10

Ingredients:
Chocolate Base:
*100g dark chocolate broken into small pieces- I used Lindt 85%
*100g unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
*300g chocolate wafer biscuits / cookies, finely ground

Peanut Butter Filling:
*200g cream cheese, softened
*2 heaped tablespoons of sour cream (You could substitute with crème fraîche, but bear in mind that it is less tangy than sour cream and more dense. If either of the two ingredients are not available in your country they can be omitted- they are there to add tang to the filling)
*230g chunky peanut butter
*150g sugar
*2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
*200ml well-chilled heavy cream

Chocolate Ganache
*100g dark chocolate broken into small pieces- I used Lindt 85%
*100ml heavy cream
*1 tablespoon light corn syrup (optional)

Prepare the chocolate base:
*Preheat the oven to 190C / 375F.
*Combine chocolate and butter in a small sauce pan and place on low heat. Stir till butter and chocolate have melted and come together.
*Pour butter and chocolate mixture over biscuit crumbs, mix till it is fully incorporated.
*Press the biscuit crumbs into the bottom of a 25cm (9.5in) springform pan and 3cm up the side.
*Bake the crust for 10 minutes, or until set; the crust will continue to firm up as it cools.

Prepare the peanut butter filling:
*In a large bowl, using an electric mixer, beat the cream cheese and sour cream with peanut butter, sugar, vanilla extract and whipped cream until blended and fluffy.
*Spoon the filling into the crust, smoothing the surface with a spatula.
*Refrigerate until set, about 3 hours.
*Once the peanut butter filling has set, you can start to prepare the chocolate ganache.

Prepare the chocolate ganache:
*Place the chocolate in a metal or heatproof glass bowl.
*Place cream in a small saucepan over medium heat, and bring it to just a boil. Pour over chocolate. Let it sit undisturbed for 5 minutes.
*Stir the chocolate and cream and add corn syrup and stir until smooth. Do not whip as it will create bubbles.
*Spread the chocolate ganache over the pie filling and refrigerate for an hour till firm.

The pie can be covered and refrigerated overnight.
Serve the pie chilled or slightly cooler than room temperature.

It looked like a tangled mess, those sawayyan; vermicelli, lying in a mound in the silver-gilt rim white porcelain dish on Eid morning in Nani Ami’s home. Next to it lay dainty matching bowls with silver spoons, a large carafe of fresh, raw milk, a sugar bowl and several bowls of dried nuts, slivered, whole and crushed to a dust-something for everyone’s preferences in the family.

My maternal grandparents- Nani Ami and Daddy

As soon as my maternal Uncles and grandfather returned from their Eid prayers it was time for tucking into Nani Ami’s sawayyan- a vermicelli pudding typically made in many households in Pakistan to celebrate the end of Ramadan.

Nani Ami would scoop up the sawayyan with her fork and plonk them into my bowl.

Then she’d add some of that warm, raw milk- the smell of which is undeniably creamy and fresh. And the tangles of vermicelli would come undone, mingling with the milk. When it was time to add the sugar, I had to take over from Nani Ami. I’d sprinkle the sawayyan with one, two, three teaspoons of sugar, and then twirl my spoon in it and watch the sugar melt into the warm milk.

The best part was dusting the sawayyan with neon-green crushed pistachios and adding pinches of crunchy almond slivers.

That amorphous mass of vermicelli was transformed, as if by alchemy, into a creamy, carb-rich, sweet pudding. This was the taste of Eid in my grandmother’s home. I still remember those days in Lahore, in the dining room, sitting around the table with my Ami and the rest of the family, watching my Uncles and grandfather in their perfectly starched white kameez shalwars, slurping the sawayyan down, just like me. Except I am pretty sure I was the only one who had sweetened milk running down my chin with each greedy bite.

Last night, for Eid, Ami prepared her version of Afghan sawayyan, similar to the way they are prepared in my Baba’s home.

Afghan version of sawayyan with chandi ka varak; edible silver leaf- Shir Khurma

But today we were missing my Nani Ami and craving her Punjabi-version of the same dish. We called my maternal Uncle, Mamoo M, (aka, ‘Bruto’- I am ‘Bruta’ to him) in Pakistan at 1am. We needed to know how Nani Ami made this dish, we had already failed with one batch of vermicelli. Half-asleep, he relayed the recipe to us- and Ami got it just right. My Unc’ really is the best.

Spoonfuls of it transported me right back to that dining room in Lahore at my Nani Ami’s home on Sunderdas Road, near the canal with the weeping willow trees.

As soon as my husband comes home from work, we’ll be devouring both versions of the dish- my Nani Ami’s and Mader’s. What better Eid can there be with two puddings, made in honour of my two grandmothers?

Eid Mubarik to everyone.

Serves 8-10
There really isn’t a set recipe for this- you should add as much milk and sugar to the dish as you like, and then adorn it with the dried nuts you love.

Ingredients:
*1 packet 120g sawayyan or vermicelli bought in a Pakistani or Indian grocery store
*water
*milk, warm or cold- suited to your taste
*sugar
*dried, unsalted nuts of your choice
*crushed cardamom seeds

Preparation:
*Place a large pot of water on the stove and when it comes to a boil, add vermicelli (don’t add in stages, it must all cook together).
*Remove after 20 seconds (test for doneness first) and strain immediately.
*Transfer to a dish.
*Serve alongside warm or cold milk with sugar on the side, crushed nuts and cardamom seed powder.

At the Ciragan Palace in Istanbul last summer, having lots of scrumptious little bites and long, cool drinks.

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.

I first tried “gossip” when I lived in Rome. No, not that kind. I learned what gossip was in the kindergarten when my ‘husband’, Jamie and I paid Gina for a pound of tomatoes and instead of putting the two plastic yellow coins in the till, she put them in her pocket. And instead of tommies, she handed us bananas. By recess time, everyone knew about the dreadful thing Gina had done to us.

But the other kind of ”gossip” I tried for the first time in Rome during Carnevale was rectangular and crackly, dusted with icing sugar. And each bite sounded like chatter, just like gossip, which is why it is called chiacchiere by Southern Italians. In celebration of Carnevale, all the pasticceria windows in Rome are full of chiacchiere. I remember on weekends little girls and boys dressed up in their costumes would arrive with their parents to buy the fried goodies. The little ones would watch eagerly as the man behind the counter would carefully place each crisp rectangle on a golden paper tray. But before wrapping paper around it and sealing it with a bow, he’d hand one treat to the children, who would devour the chiacchiere, licking the sugar dust off their lips with each bite.

My friends and I loved having these fried treats after lunch with a thimble of dense, inky caffè, at pasticceria Tornatora, near our office. Shattering with each bite, the sugar would spread all over our mouths. And there we would stand, against the bar in our coats and knee-high boots on that lethal sugar-and-caffeine-high, doing some real chiacchiere (gossip) before heading back to our offices. Those were the Roman tail-end-of-winter days I particularly adored. And the sweet, crispy treats reminded me of tea-time at home in Pakistan with my family.

The Afghan kitchen has an equivalent of chiacchiere which we call gosh-e-feel in Dari, for their elephant ear-like shape. We sprinkle them with sugar just like the Italians, but we add another layer of colour, flavour and texture to it with crushed pistachios. They are just the ticket with tea on a cold afternoon…

Or, if you’re like my husband, back from Pakistan and jet lagged, you may want to have one, two, three, five, ah, maybe more, when you’re up at 4am- only to have your wife wake up a few hours later to find that the tray of gosh-e-feel she was supposed to take to work is one-third empty…Ah, bless him…

Makes 30-40 7cm treats
You will need a round cookie cutter (size of your choice), a wok or deep fryer and a rolling pin.

Ingredients:
*200g + 50 g flour
*pinch salt
*2 eggs, whisked
*30g butter, melted
*1 heaped teaspoon granulated sugar
*50ml full-fat milk
*neutral oil like corn or sunflower, for deep frying
*caster / icing sugar
*1 tsp cardamom powder or crushed cardamom seeds (optional)
*handful unsalted pistachios, crushed with a rolling pin
*handful edible rose petals, available at Persian or Middle Eastern grocery stores

Preparation:
*Sift the two portions of flour separately.
*Add a pinch of salt to the 200g portion.
*You will keep the remainder of the 50g of flour on reserve whilst you are kneading the dough.
*In a large bowl combine whisked eggs; cooled, melted butter; granulated sugar; and 50ml of milk.
*Add 200g of sifted flour and knead on a floured surface till it comes together and forms a dough.
*If it is seems wet and sticky, slowly add flour from the reserve till it begins to bind well.
*Knead for 10-15 minutes.
*Divide dough into two portions, cover with a teacloth or plastic wrap and allow to rest for 1 hour.
*Roll out first portion on a floured surface with a floured rolling pin till dough is half a centimetre thick.
*With a cookie cutter (size of your choice) cut out circles and pinch/pleat the sides with your thumb and forefinger so the circle resembles the ear of an elephant, as shown in the photo above.
*Place on parchment paper as you shape them and cover with a teacloth.
*Take the leftover scraps from the cookie cutter and knead it into the second portion of dough.
*Repeat the process of rolling out the dough and cutting out circles, as you did for the first portion.
*Place a wok on medium high heat with enough oil for deep frying. Test with a small piece of dough, if it floats freely to the top, the oil is ready.
*Fry the gosh-e-feel 3-4 at a time , 5-10 seconds on each side till golden brown. Keep transferring to a plate lined with parchment paper or paper towels.
*Sprinkle with icing sugar, cardamom powder, crushed pistachios and rose petals.

Salted caramels from Trader Joe’s and saffron strands from Yekta were always packed into my suitcase for my trip back home to Rome. And when I was really lucky, I’d get to take back a blueberry-banana bread loaf made by Aunty Shelly and a cranberry walnut loaf by Aunty Sabiha, my Ami’s dearest friends.

When I was visiting my Ami in Washington, I would miss the orb-like cherry tomatoes from the corner shop in Testaccio, the kind you pop in your mouth like candy, and the cacio e pepe at Da Francesco, creamy, starchy, tangy, with just the right amount of fresh cracked pepper grinded on top. And I would especially miss the walk back home to San Saba through the centre of Rome’s historical centre, wobbling in my vertiginous heels on the uneven sanpietrini.

But when in Rome, I would miss the chats with the women my mother befriended when she arrived in Washington DC as a young bride. That’s me being a brat (chamchi is the correct word in Urdu) on Aunty Shelly’s lap with my mother next to us, resplendent in fuchsia. And Aunty Sabiha, the last one on the right, elegant, like a petite  ballerina.

Aunty Sabiha makes a mean saffron-infused bread pudding which she serves during her luscious Eid luncheons every year, it’s her mum’s recipe. It is pretty much her opus magnus. And this is a woman who is also an economics Professor, mind you. Oh, and an artist, her paintings depicting scenes of Pakistan.

Unfortunately, this bread pudding, known as Shahi Tukray, the Emperor’s Morsels, could not be packed up and taken with to Rome, so I asked her for the recipe. Now I can have this bread pudding with its notes of musky saffron all year round, rather than just during Eid.

It’s most certainly not the kind of bread pudding you’re used to. This has no eggs, but that’s the way it is traditionally made in Pakistan.

First Aunty Sabiha fries each delicate piece of crustless bread in a little bit of butter and oil and then transfers it to a baking dish…

She keeps soaking the bread with creamy half-and-half…

Then the bread is ready for its second layer of a sugary, saffron and cardamom-infused syrup, like molten amber…

And finally, another pour of heavy whipping cream and it all goes into the oven…

Emerging puffed, bubbly, soft, bronzed…

With notes of saffron in every morsel…a bonne bouche.

You will need an 11×13 in baking dish.

Ingredients:
*Approximately 10 slices white bread; preferably thick sandwich variety. (If in the USA, use Pepperidge Farm toasting white).
*1 1/2 cups half-and-half (half whole milk; half whole cream)
*1 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream
*1 cup sugar
*3/4 cup water
*4-6 cardamom pods
*1 1/2 tsp (heaped) saffron strands, ground into a powder (I use a mortal and pestle)
*A neutral oil and unsalted butter for frying
*Almonds and pistachios any style to your liking, (unsalted), for garnish

Preparation:
*Lightly butter your baking dish and set aside.
*Pre-heat oven to 350F.
*Cut off edges from the bread, slice in half on the diagonal.
*Place pan on medium high heat and smear with some butter, then add a few drops of oil (approximately 2 tsps).
*Fry bread till lightly brown on both sides. You will have to keep adding more butter and oil as you fry the batches of bread.
*Transfer fried bread into baking dish. Do not double layer the bread.
*Slowly begin to pour half-and-half on bread. As the bread absorbs the liquid, pour more.
*In the meantime place a saucepan on the stove on high heat and add sugar,water and cardamom pods.
*Once it comes to a boil, turn the heat to low, add saffron powder and allow it to simmer for 10 minutes.
*Pour half of heavy cream over the bread.
*Now pour hot syrup on top of bread, then pour the remainder of the whipped cream and bake in the oven for 30 minutes.
*Garnish with almonds and pistachios.
*Serve hot or at room temperature.

I remember when I first moved to Rome, I used to lie on a weekly basis. At least for the first two months.

Every week, I went to Volpetti, a luscious gourmet food store in Testaccio, down the hill from my flat in Aventino.

My burnt orange-hued flat

Volpetti had fragrant, almost pungent cheeses wrapped in fig leaves; a special terrine of mascarpone and gorgonzola studded with walnuts, which they cut into slices and wrapped into white wax paper; casserole dishes filled with stuffed red cherry peppers in olive oil; and bottles of Barolo and other deep, dark reds.

Volpetti

They also had fresh pasta which they sold in 100 gram quantities.

Whilst pointing to the strands of fettuccine, I would say something in my broken Italian. Invariably, the gentleman behind the display of walnut and olive bread would ask me, “Per quante persone, Signorina; for how many people, Miss?”

And I would always be too embarrassed to say, “Solo per me, Signore; only for me, Sir.”

Instead, I would say, “Per due; for two.” A lie.

But it sounded so sad and pathetic to tell a total stranger that you’ve just moved to a new country and are eating alone at home.

The rest of the fresh pasta would go into my freezer as I sat alone, eating fettuccine with a large spoonful of black truffle in oil I had bought from Volpetti, dolloped on top. I was lonely without my family and I still remember those nights, sitting in silence…but I was eating truffles for no particular reason, living on one of the Seven Hills of Rome, and I was starting a new career and a new life. And very soon, the Romans invited me into their homes and their lives. Much to be grateful for.

Fresh pasta with black truffles always reminds me of those cathartic, beautiful- even if lonely- first few months in Rome.

This weekend here in Toronto, I’d planned a welcome home dinner for my husband who had been away on a business trip. An entrée of slices of glassy, slippery smoked Scottish salmon with red onion confetti, lacquered with Ravida olive oil. And then followed by a second plate of fettuccine with fresh black truffle shavings and a generous dusting of nutty parmiggiano. Rounded off with a sliver of lemon tart, to cleanse the palate.

But alas, it never came to any of this. I had prepared the tarte au citron in the afternoon- and We Polished It All Off.

Yes, all, of it.

And then there was no room for any carb-heavy dinner that night. We went off to our favourite izakaya and had fried oysters (did I say we had no space in our stomachs? well, there is always space for some fried food); roasted, crackly-skinned duck; and sweetened black cod.

The black truffles are still waiting to be shaved onto strands of fettucine, perhaps for next weekend.  After all, I didn’t need a reason to have truffles all those years ago when I moved to Rome; and my husband and I don’t need a particular reason to eat them now…

Every day we celebrate life…

You can find David Lebovitz’s recipe for his tarte au citron here. Word of caution: I was trying to be efficient, so I prepared the lemon curd a day in advance, so when I tried to spread it into the baked tarte shell the next day, it didn’t spread as evenly as I would have liked, so I’d advise you to make the lemon curd and while it is still warm, pour it into the shell. But, as you know, we didn’t mind the unevenness.

Photo credit for Volpetti: Gypsyboy on Flickr

Wishing everyone Eid Mubarak.

We had a luncheon at our home, serving a ‘deconstructed raita‘- heirloom tomatoes and dainty Persian cucumbers served atop a pillowy layer of creamy Greek yoghurt, dusted with salt and cayenne pepper; an aromatic chicken rice pilaf (yakhni palao); and an aubergine, greek yoghurt and savoury mince dish. I roasted the shiny-skinned aubergines in the oven, scooped out the velvety flesh, sautéed it with onions and roasted cumin, slathered some Greek yoghurt on top, and added the savoury mince with chiffoned fresh mint.

We rounded off the meal with cups of shir khurma, a thick, creamy pudding made of vermicelli, roasted cardamom seeds, full-cream milk, almonds and sultanas. And sugar, lots of sugar. It was polished off before I could take any photos of it.

Hope everyone’s Eid was as wonderful as ours.

I shall be posting the recipes in separate posts this month.

‘On Exile’ (to borrow Edward Said’s phrase)

My post is inspired by ‘York’, by Belgian Waffle, a fascinating blogger, who has written a nostalgic piece about her city of birth.

I was born in Lahore, Pakistan and left my homeland when I was two years old. My life, if sketched as a path on a map, would be a series of zig zags, going from Pakistan to America, to Nigeria, to America, back to Pakistan, then to Kenya, to Bangladesh, to the UK, back to America again, to Italy and  finally, Canada. At the age of 13, when we were living in Washington DC, Baba, my father, decided to send me to live in Pakistan with Mader, my paternal grandmother,  because he didn’t want me to become “Americanised”. I didn’t want to leave my parents, my sisters, and I especially didn’t want to leave my Ami; my mother, my best friend. But I didn’t resist or fight back; racist children in school had made my life miserable beyond comprehension, and all I wanted to do was to run away from them. 

I remember the day I left. Even though I was dying to cling to Ami and sob on her breast, wet her sweater with my tears and smell her perfume for the last time before getting on that plane to Lahore, my face remained straight, my eyes strained and cold.

I lived with Mader, and my father’s brother- Kaka Tarik‘s family. By the time I was 16, my parents were being transferred to Nairobi, Kenya, and Ami and Baba wanted me back. But I didn’t want to go to Nairobi, I was too happy living in Lahore with my new friends, uncles and aunts, cousins and grandparents. But I did leave, and I most certainly left kicking and screaming. And this time, there were a lot of tears that were shed at the airport. I arrived in Nairobi scared and apprehensive, but left it soon after, for uni, with wonderful friends and memories.

The daughter of an expat, moving around all my life, home was always Lahore, my birthplace, and the city where my parents were born.

Androoneh Shaihar-inner city, Lahore. Artist Haider Ali Jan. Photo by my cousin, Sara Patel, from Alhamra Art Exhibition.

That Spring day when I got on the flight to be with my parents and sisters again, I didn’t want to leave. And every time I go home to Lahore, I still don’t want to leave.

Back when I was a young girl, I wanted to stay in Lahore and continue going to Nani Ami, my maternal grandmother’s house every weekend, when she would make yakhni-chicken broth for me. And a stewed apricot pudding she served with malai-clotted cream.

I wanted to run to the tuck shop during recess with my best friend Ayesha Nabi, and have a five ruppee naan kebab and bottle of RC cola.

I wanted to celebrate Chand Raat, the night when the new moon is sighted, marking the end of Ramadan, with my maternal uncles, Mamoo Mamoon and Mamoo Tariq, driving along the Mall Road, past the Aitchison College, all lit up in candy-colours for Eid celebrations. Before returning home, my Mamoos would take me to the bazaar and buy me sparkly bangles.

I wanted to sit in the garden with Mader, Kaka Tarik and his wife, Aunty Shahla and have tea with samosas bought in Mini Market. The pedestal fan would be blowing from left to right as we would bite into the crisp samosas, the cumin-laced potatoes falling out onto our plates.

Samosa-wallah

I wanted to go with my cousins Saadiya and Ashi to Liberty Market to buy ribbons, lace and adornments for our kurta shalwars, the ones we would wear on Eid.

I wanted to sit with Daddy, my maternal grandfather, in the terrace, during the winter months having khatai biscuits from the androoneh shaihar- inner city. Each buttery disc was formed by hand, brushed with egg wash and baked till a mahogany crust formed on top. With each bite it crumbled, disclosing roasted almonds and specks of musky cardamom embedded in the soft biscuit.

I wanted to be in my family home.

My home in Lahore, lit up for my sister’s wedding.

And I wanted to be in Nani Ami’s bed on days that I were feeling poorly, waiting for her to bring warm, milky tapioca pudding for me.

Tapioca pudding with roasted apricot.

These are the things I knew I would miss about Lahore, and I still miss today, so many years later.

Lahore Fort

Tapioca Pudding with Roasted Apricot
Serves 4

Ingredients:
*4 tbsp medium-sized tapioca pearls (not the quick-cook variety)
*2 cups whole milk
*4 tbsp sugar
*4 green cardamom pods
*2 apricots, halved, seed discarded
*brown sugar for sprinkling
*salted butter (at room temperature) for brushing on apricots
*slivered unsalted pistachios for garnish

Preparation:
*Soak tapioca pearls in cold water for 2 hours till they swell. Discard water.
*In a medium saucepan, heat milk on medium heat, till warm.
*Add tapioca pearls, sugar and cardamom pods and stir.
*The pudding wil begin to thicken after around 15 minutes. Continue to stir for a full 35 minutes.
*When the pudding looks thick like a rice pudding, take off the heat and allow to cool.
*Optional: Line your ramekins / glasses with a thin layer of slivered pistachios.
*When cool, transfer pudding into ramekins / glasses and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, and ideally, overnight.

When ready to serve:

*Turn your broiler / grill on.
*Brush apricot halves with butter and sprinkle with brown sugar.
*Place apricots under broiler for 2-3 minutes till slightly golden on top.
*Serve each slice atop individual tapioca ramekin/glass and dust with crushed pistachios.

Dates filled with nuts & ‘sar shir’, a Persian-style cream; the ‘skin’ from boiling milk.

Switzerland? No, this is the Naran Valley in Northern Pakistan. Photo taken by my husband’s cousin, Suraiya Khalid Anvery this summer.

One of my favourite memories of Ramzaan (Ramadan, in Urdu), are from uni days when my best friend Shameen and I would take the train to London to stay with our Aunt, Nadia Khala on weekends. We’d be perched up on our stools in the kitchen during iftar time, when the fast is broken, while Nadia Khala’s housekeeper, Bano would be frying coriander and green chili pakoras in the wok. Watching them bob up and down in the oil, we’d wait impatiently to have a pakora before Bano could transfer them on to the plate lined with a paper towel. Too keen to break our fast, we’d grab a piece straight off the spatula, whilst burning our fingers. We were supposed to break our fast, as per tradition, with a date, but this hot savoury tempura was more tempting. Nadia Khala would chop soft dates for us and mix them with Marks & Spencer double cream. Toffee flavours slathered with creaminess. That would be our dessert. And then mugs of hot, milky tea would be passed around. We hated leaving Nadia Khala every weekend. Ramzaan just isn’t the same without family.

A village in the Sindh province. Photo by Daniel Berehulak/Getty Images, from Boston Globe.

Ramzaan is not the same this year given the devastation which has taken place in Pakistan recently. The number of those suffering from the floods exceeds 15 million- a number far above those affected by the tsunami, Kashmir and Haiti earthquake.

My two preferred organisations are Behbud and Unicef, for those who would like to donate. Relief4Pakistan is also running a fantastic campaign, donations will be channeled through MercyCorps. For any donations, we would be very grateful…

Men and livestock wade together. Photo by REUTERS/Akhtar Soomro, from Boston Globe.

Flood survivors. Photo by A. MAJEED/AFP/Getty Images, from Boston Globe.

Children. Waiting. Photo by Daniel Berehulak/Getty Images, from Boston Globe.

Naran Valley, July, 2010. Photo by Suraiya Khalid Anvery.