Lahore. The city of my birth. The city of the humble samosa. That flaky, deep-fried triangular parcel stuffed with cumin-laced, spicy potatoes you buy from the dhaba; kiosk, from that little alley behind Liberty Market, where they sell glass bangles, twirled and twisted organza scarves and sparkly rhinestone-studded sandals. Greasy and stuffed into a khaki paper bag, you bring the samosas home and eat them hot, dipping them in a red, tangy-tart chili garlic sauce which comes out of that famous Mitchell’s glass bottle. And after that first bite, you slip your finger tips into the handle of your teacup and take a sip of cardamom-fragranced milky tea, to wash it all down. With each sip, the tannins burn your mouth even more.

That is my high.

And then we have Karachi. The city where they refer to the street hawker’s ‘pappu burger‘ with a more classy name- the ‘bun kebab‘. Us Lahoris know that it is essentially the same thing- a shami kebab tucked between two soft, pillowy buns, slathered with mint chutney, tomatoes, cucumbers for textural crunch and some onions thrown in for that extra edge.

Us Lahoris are quite particular about the provenance of our dishes, but we’ll let Karachi have their ‘bun kebab‘.

As long as they don’t call it a ‘pappu burger‘.

But more importantly, Karachi is the city where they whip up the best prawn masala. Prawns are flash-fried in an orb-like steel karahi with a heady punch of ginger and garlic; then they add tomatoes, stirring it all till they become sticky and jammy and start to cling to the glossy surface of the prawns; and finally, a pinch or two or three of secret spices.

This is the prawn masala from BBQ Tonight -pardon the cheesy website, it doesn’t reflect on the ‘I-want-to-eat-my-fingers-this-is-so-good’ quality of their dishes.

I don’t think it is possible to perfectly replicate BBQ Tonight‘s prawn masala. I think it has less to do with the saltiness of the ocean near Karachi’s border which seeps into the prawns; or the tartness of the tomatoes in Pakistan and more to do with the fact that I always have this dish when I land in Karachi at my sister’s home, surrounded by my family and friends. Scooping it up with a chewy, crackly paratha, I chatter away in my jet-lagged state with my sister, brother-in-law and best friends, AJ and KH, who gather around the table to meet me upon my arrival.

My fingertips all greasy from the paratha and spicy prawns, chugging  it down with some Diet Coke, I know and feel that I am home.

Serves 2-3 with rice or bread and a side dish

Ingredients:
*2 tbsp corn oil (or any other neutral oil)
*2 garlic cloves, sliced finely width-wise
*500g raw prawns, de-veined, shells and tails removed
*¼ tsp haldi (turmeric powder)
*1 tsp zeera (cumin) powder
*1 tsp sukha dhania (ground coriander) powder
*½ tsp red chili powder (or add more, to taste)
*2 medium-sized tomatoes, de-seeded and diced (1cm)- try to find tomatoes which are a bit firm
*2 tbsp chopped fresh coriander leaves and stalks

Preparation:
*Place a medium-size wok, or a 25cm (approximately 10 in) frying pan on medium heat.
*Add oil and garlic and sauté for two minutes, till fragrant. The garlic should not darken in colour.
*Add prawns, haldi, zeera powder, sukha dhania powder, salt and red chili powder and continue to sauté for three more minutes till the prawns turn opaque.
*Turn heat to medium-high and add tomatoes. Give the prawns a whirl with your spatula, and after one minute, turn the heat off. You don’t want to overcook the tomatoes, the skin should remain almost in tact.
*Sprinkle with coriander stalks and leaves and serve with crusty bread or steamed basmati.

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.

I don’t have friendships which have lasted thirty-some odd years.

I don’t have friends from kindergarten that I grew up and stayed up late at night with around the bonfire during summer camp, singeing marshmallows till they were gooey enough to be sandwiched between graham crackers with some chocolate tucked in. I don’t have a collection of yearbooks on my bookshelf which I can share with friends and laugh over that nerdy Grade Two portrait, the one in which my hair is parted in the middle and swept up on both sides with a candy-pink barrette, (thanks, Ami).

But none of this matters, for the strong friendships I formed as a child of a wandering development economist cannot be valued by time.

Most of my friends were gypsies, like me, pottering about the world with their parents, from Lagos to DC to Islamabad to Nairobi to Manila to Yerevan, carting their Enid Blyton and Judy Blume collections and stuffed animals along with them (mind you, when we left Lagos, my parents gave away my beloved ‘Famous Five‘ collection to the SOS, which I’ve never forgiven them for). As I grew older, all the moving around just meant that amongst friends, we had to make more of an effort with that phone call, letter or postcard. My poor father, it turns out I mostly favoured costly phone calls over letters. And over the years we continued to meet in not-so-exotic-lands like DC, NY and London for our reunions.

Then one day I landed in Rome, where I thought I was finally going to hang my hat (only to leave, years later- but that’s another blog post). It was through work that I met Maria, a liquorice-haired, Bohemian Costa Rican beauty and Brandy, a jade green-eyed, soft-spoken, pretty girl from Vancouver.

Along with the rest of our gang, the three of us would start our weekends with a newspaper-thin crust pizza at Monte Carlo where the server never brings a bill but scribbles down the total on your makeshift paper tablecloth. Invariably, I’d argue with the server about this and invariably, Brandina, Maria and the rest of the gang would laugh and roll their eyes, “Ah, Shayma, there she goes again…” Then we’d take a walk through the Piazza Navona towards the raucous Campo de’ Fiori, as tourists in our own adopted city. We would go to Vineria Reggio to sip on some really bad sangria. In the land of €8 for a glass of Amarone, you ask, why the bad sangria? Can’t really say why, it’s just one of those quirky things that three close friends do.

I remember sitting at L’Insalata Ricca handing Brandina a silver bracelet, a farewell gift for her from our branch at work. While our boss did a cin cin, Maria and I wept quietly into our artichoke and rocket salad. Maria was a foreign service brat, and had lived all over the world, just like me. But we always cried when it was time to say goodbye.

Just before Brandina left, I prepared my mother’s rice pilaf for her and Maria at my home, made with sweet caramelised onions as a base, and intense, earthy spices like black peppercorns, cloves, black cardamom and a whole cinnamon stick. We ate this alongside cumin-spiced potatoes and a spicy chicken curry.

And then we took the camera and placed it on the kitchen counter, taking silly photos of the three of us with the self-timer.

Maria, Brandina and I haven’t been friends for thirty-some odd years, we cant reminisce about that Second Grade yearbook photo. But we haven’t forgotten the bad sangria, the walks through Campo de’ Fiori and the coffees and the lifelong relationship we formed on the rooftop cafeteria at the UN overlooking the pine trees lining the Terme di Caracalla.

Serves 4
The cloves are for fragrance and should normally not be consumed. Please note that there is no health risk associated with consuming them, but the taste is rather strong. The same goes for the peppercorns.

Ingredients:
400g / 2 cups Basmati rice, soaked in a large bowl filled with cold water for a minimum of 2 hours and a maximum of 24 hours
3 tbsp neutral oil such as corn or sunflower
75 g / ½ cup onion (this is about ½ of a medium onion), sliced vertically and as thinly as possible.
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 tsp whole cloves
1 whole black cardamom (optional, as it may be difficult to find unless you go to a Pakistani / Indian grocery store)
1 large cinnamon stick
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cayenne pepper (optional- or you can add ½ tsp if you want it less spicy)
750ml / 3cups boiling water

Preparation:
*Place a medium-sized heavy-bottomed pot on medium heat and add oil.
*Add sliced onions to this and sauté for 15-20 minutes till the white of the onion is no longer visible and the onions have turned a dark golden-brown colour. Be careful not to let the onions turn black-if they begin to do so, just remove the pot from the burner and lower the flame.
*Start boiling your water in a separate vessel at this point.
*Add peppercorns, cloves, cardamom, cinnamon stick to onions. Drain rice and add to the pot.
*Turn the heat to high and pour in boiling water. As soon as it starts to bubble, cover with a tea cloth and lid and turn the heat to low.
*Allow rice to cook for 15 minutes, do not open the lid before the total time has elapsed.
*Remove rice from the burner and allow it to rest for another 15 minutes without opening the lid.
*Serve with a meat-based curry or with borani kachalu/kudu.

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.

Ami and Nani Ami in Murree, Pakistan

It’s dreadfully difficult to find ice in Rome. It’s considered an American thing- ‘ma, tu sei Americana?‘, the server joked with my sister when she requested ice in her coca-cola. It was May, and my dear friend A and I were hosting a party on her terrace and we needed ice for making those sweet, tart mojitos. We were in a crisis- we had no idea where to get it from in Rome- and we needed lots of it.

A and I got together at her place two nights before our party to organise the ice- after all, that was the most important element for the party. When you have mojitos, who needs food? And that’s when my Ami called from Lahore- to tell me that my Nani Ami’s condition was not improving; it was merely a matter of a few days.

A and I canceled the party.

I walked back home that night, along the pine tree-lined avenue of Terme di Caracalla, thinking of the candy-coloured bangles my grandmother sent me every Eid throughout my childhood, with a matching gota kinari kurta shalwar and dupatta. And the tiny packets of mithi saunf, sugar-coated aniseed with a treat inside each of them, either a ring with a “ruby” or a watch made from an elastic band. But the biggest treat were the packets of Rafhan’s strawberry flavoured jelly she used to send, which she knew I loved and made for me every night when I was in Lahore on holiday. And let’s not forget the volumes of Cassette Kahanis, those cassettes every child loved, relaying stories about ethereal beings and dragons and serpents.

Eid was complete with a gold trim outfit, matching bangles and sugar. All a child needs, really.

Nani Ami passed away the morning after. It was that 6 am phonecall which everyone dreads. The time when the phone really shouldn’t ring- unless your best friend has woken up with a stranger after a drunken night of clubbing. Or, if someone you love has died.

I go back to Lahore every year and though my Uncles and their families live in my grandparents’ home, it’s not the same for me. I miss waking up in the air-conditioned room with the smell of motia, the night blooming jasmine on my side table, which Nani Ami used to bring in for me from the garden after her 6am walk. And I miss being asked again and again, ‘aur sunao.’ Smelling of Diorissimo, she would sit at the foot of my bed, asking me to tell her more, even when my eyes would be closing from jetlag.

I dedicate this post to her, to Nani Ami, a wonderful mother and grandmother.

This is her recipe for aloo tiki; potato cutlets.

Serves 4 during teatime or as an appetiser.

Ingredients:
*500 g white potatoes
*Cumin seeds (zeera), roasted.
*2 tbsp minced white onion
*salt to taste
*red pepper chili flakes to taste
*small handful fresh coriander leaves, chopped fine
*1 egg, beaten
*neutral oil (such as sunflower or corn) for shallow frying

Preparation:
*Wash, scrub and quarter the potatoes.
*Bring a large pot of water to boil.
*Cook potatoes in pot of boiling salted water for 10 to 15 minutes or until potatoes are tender when pierced with a fork.
*In the meantime, place a small non stick frying pan on high heat, add cumin seeds and swirl the pan gently, in order to make sure the seeds are roasted uniformly. When you can smell the aroma and the seeds begin to darken, immediately remove the pan from the burner. Transfer to a plate to stop the cumin from cooking further.
*When the potatoes are fork-tender, drain them, and when cool, remove the skin, (which will come off very easily).
*Mash potatoes with a masher and then with a fork, some lumps may remain, but don’t worry, as this will give a nice texture to the end product.
*Add roasted cumin seeds, minced onion, salt, chili flakes and coriander leaves.
*Shape into small patties as in photo above. (You may want to wet your palms a little bit to prevent the potato mash from sticking to them).
*Place a large non stick frying pan on medium high heat and add a few tablespoons of oil for shallow frying.
*Dip each patty into egg mixture (see photo above) and carefully transfer to frying pan. Fry about 40 seconds on each side, (be careful when flipping patty), till golden.
*Serve hot with a mint chutney or Thai sweet chili sauce.

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.

My Ami’s brother, my eldest Mamoo, always takes me straight to Rahat Bakery after I land at the airport in Lahore in the winter. During my summer visits all one wants to do is go straight home and languish in the air-conditioned room, whilst slicing into the plump flesh of a mango. But in December, when Lahore is in its element and all you need is a mere shawl twirled around your silhouette to keep you warm, we stop for treats at the bakery. Mamoo knows I may want to select my favourite pastry from the display, maybe the lemon tart, which I don’t think is made from real lemon curd at all, but I have been devouring it for so many years that I don’t think it really matters what the ingredients are. Or I may choose the layered rectangular chocolate pastry. I don’t think it is made with fine cocoa, but it is the pastry my Nani Ami, my maternal grandmother and I used to love having together in the evenings sitting in front of the gas heater in the drawing room, sipping our tea.

Rahat also has the best chicken patties in Lahore (my bias, of course), and one must follow a strict method for eating these. Just like there are methods for eating an oreo, there are even stricter methods for eating a chicken patty.  First you gently and carefully remove the top crispy layer which reveals the softer, inner layers of puff pastry. Only once you’ve eaten the crackly top can you dip the softer portion into sweet chili sauce and inhale it in one-two-three-bites. My Mamoo and I leave Rahat with 12 chicken patties, encased in a box, with an orange or pink ribbon tied lazily on top in a bow. And just for old times’ sake I will pick up a small box of Shezan’s mango juice, sultry Lahore summers in that cliched box.

I was not able to go home to Lahore this winter, to have the lemon tart or get my fingers greasy by stuffing chicken patties into my mouth. I missed out on all the different citrus fruits which are in bloom in December, the ones we eat every morning, while the BBC news hums in the background. I missed out on spending time with my Mamoos, the youngest one who comes into our room at midnight with his dinner on a tray after a long day at work, “Hi Bruta“, he always quips, to which I respond, “Hi Bruto“, to which he retorts, “Hi Triple Ugly“. And there he sits with us till 2, sometimes 3 in the morning till we set the world right and talk about Sidney Poitier, one of his favourite actors.

I missed out on Siddique our cook’s morning ritual of coming into my Ami’s room asking me what to cook that day. My daily request for lunch, without fail is always dal with chapati. I don’t know if Siddique puts crack in that dal, but I could eat it every day for the rest of my life. And then the hardest part, what to have for dinner. Some days I request a spicy mutton curry with potatoes for my meat & potatoes fix and other days just a simple chicken roast which my Nani Ami taught Siddique to make.

And some days I yearn for kebab-e-dayg, a kebab dish prepared in a large pot; a dayg. A rich tomato sauce is prepared with a fragrant base of caramelised onions and garlic to which kebabs are added and simmered till the sauce has seeped into each tender piece. Mopped up with a light-as-air chapati or drenched over mounds of basmati rice, it is the taste of winters at home in my maternal grandmother, Nani Ami’s home. I still remember the swish-swoosing of her slippers as she would come towards my door every morning to ask me, her spoilt grandchild visiting from abroad, what I wanted for lunch and dinner that day. And some days I used to get miffed because I would want to continue sleeping rather than discussing lunch and supper menus.

How I wish for her to be there with Ami and I every morning. And not once would I get miffed with her question regarding what to prepare for lunch and dinner.

Serves 4 with a side of basmati chapati, or naan.

Ingredients:
(You will need green fresh chillies and herbs of your choice for garnishing the dish).

For the tomato base:
*3 tbsp oil
*1 small onion, chopped fine
*2 cloves garlic, minced
*28 oz / 400 ml can chopped tomatoes or tomato sauce (passata) or 4-6 large fresh tomatoes, chopped, skin removed.
*1 tsp cayenne pepper
*salt to taste

For the kebabs:
(You will need parchment paper)
*2 bushels scallions/green onions, (hairy ends cut off)
*1 large red onion (peeled, cut into small chunks)
*1 thumb-size knob of fresh ginger (peeled)
*4 whole cloves garlic (peeled)
*1 lb ground beef (not of the lean variety; we need some fat to help ‘bind’ them)
*2 tbsp besan, heaped (gram flour, found in all Indian or Pakistani grocery stores)
*1 egg
*1 tsp cayenne pepper, heaped
*1 tsp salt (or more to taste, remember, the tomato sauce they are poached in will also be salted)
*1 tsp coriander powder
*1 tsp cumin powder

Preparation:
For the tomato base:
*Place a large pot (at least 8-in diameter) on medium heat.
*Add oil, onions and garlic.
*Sauté till golden brown, then add tomatoes and cayenne pepper.
*Cover pot and turn heat to low. Allow to simmer for 20 minutes.
*The mixture will have reduced slightly and darkened in colour.
*Add salt to taste and set aside while you form the kebabs.

For the kebabs:
*Place scallions, onion, ginger and garlic in a food processor and pulse till all the ingredients are minced finely.
*Transfer into a mixing bowl.
*To this, add ground beef, gram flour, egg, cayenne pepper, salt, coriander and cumin powders.
*Mix to combine well.
*Form kebabs in your hands by placing a tablespoon and a half of the mixture in your palm and curling your fingers onto them. They should be wide and round in the middle and tapered on both ends.
*Place each kebab on parchment paper as you continue to shape them.

Final Step- poaching kebabs in the sauce:
You will need to keep boiling water handy.
*Place pot with tomato sauce on medium heat, when it starts to bubble, add 1 cup boiling water.
*Gently place each kebab into the tomato sauce with a slotted spoon. Make sure you don’t overcrowd them or they will break. Do not stack them on top of each other. Depending on the size of the pot you are using, you may have some kebabs leftover which will not fit in the pot. You can freeze these.
*Replace the lid and turn the heat to low. Allow the kebabs to poach in the sauce for 30 minutes.
*When the time has elapsed, allow kebabs to rest for ten minutes before serving, otherwise they may crumble.
*Serve with basmati rice, chapati or naan.
*Garnish with green chillies, mint, coriander or any other fresh herb of your choice.

It was our last summer in London. Post-graduate degrees in hand, we were going to leave the UK soon. I was to join my parents in Washington DC; S was to return to Karachi and Z was moving to Islamabad, her new home after having grown up in Manila. We spent our days walking around Covent Garden pausing to hear a street performer sing an aria, stopping at Caffè Nero for a creamy cappuccino, walking into Karen Millen to ogle the silk dresses (at that age, yes, Karen Millen was l’alta moda) or sitting in Z’s kitchen with her flatmates on the Pentonville Road in her uni housing, while she prepared a Pakistani scrambled egg dish of potatoes, cumin and green chilies for us. And there was tea, lots of tea, along with chocolate digestive biscuits for pudding.

Our dear friend A came from New York to visit us that summer. As we walked over the Embankment Bridge after attending a Sufi Festival at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, I don’t think we quite realised that it would be years before we would be together again. With all of us interspersed all over the world, that is the last time we spent together, the four of us. Whenever we meet now, it’s in configurations of two or three; we’ve never been able to manage that Lucky Number 4.

Before making it home that night, we stopped at the greengrocer’s on the Edgware Road, picking up potatoes, tomatoes and aubergine for a simple vegetarian dinner. Onto bus #16 and then off, across the street from home in Maida Vale. While chatting with S, Z and A, I made a Pakistani dish of potatoes and aubergine: aloo baingan. It’s a dish in which the potatoes and aubergine sort of meld together, each bite velvety and comforting. The tomatoes perfectly balance it out with its hint of tanginess.

We toasted slices of white bread in the toaster to scoop up the aloo baingain with, and spent the night talking, on the floor in an almost empty apartment. I haven’t made this dish since then and so, this post is for you, A- because you loved this dish. I don’t know if the dish was as good as you remember it to be, but that evening certainly was. Here’s to being together again, the four of us, in London again, sitting in Soho and having a cappuccino together, at some coffeeshop chain.

The venue never really mattered then, and it wouldn’t matter now.

Serves 4 with a side dish

Ingredients:
*1 tsp cumin seeds; known as zeera in Urdu
*a pour of corn oil (or other neutral oil)
*1 tsp ginger paste
*1 tsp garlic paste
*1 1/2 tsp black mustard seeds; known as rai in Urdu
*1 lb potatoes
*2 lb aubergine (that will be 2 medium aubergine)
*1/2 lb tomatoes of your choice, I used cherry tomatoes, halved
*1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
*salt to taste
*1/4 tsp turmeric powder
*fresh coriander for garnish

Preparation:
*Place frying pan on high heat, add cumin seeds, when fragrant (10-20 seconds) take off heat and set aside.
*Remove skin from potatoes and dice into 1/4 inch cubes;
*Cut off stem of aubergine and dice into 1/4 inch cubes, with the skin on;
*Place pan (approximately 10-in diameter) on medium-high heat and pour in a glug of oil;
*Add ginger, garlic and mustard seeds-careful, it will splatter, have your pan lid handy (or some aluminium foil). Let it splatter for 30 seconds so the garlic and ginger is browned.
*Carefully remove lid (I take the pot off the burner and let it rest for at least 10 seconds before I remove the lid) and add potatoes.
*Turn the heat to medium;
*Saute for five minutes and add a tablespoon or more of water to prevent the potatoes from sticking to the bottom of the pot.
*Add aubergine and continue to stir. Add cayenne, turmeric and salt to taste. Add a few more tablespoons of water (again, to prevent aubergine or potatoes from sticking to the bottom of the pan) and then add tomatoes.
*Turn the heat to low-medium, place lid on top and allow to steam for 15 minutes. Check at the 10 minute mark.
*When ready, sprinkle with roasted cumin and fresh chopped cilantro.
*Eat with rice, naan, chapati or toasted bread

French-Indian. Mexican-Japanese. Thai-Chinese. Fusion cuisine? Not really my brand of gin.

But when you have a family who is originally Afghan, now settled in Pakistan- invariably, there will be lots of ‘fusion-cuisine’ type of dishes prepared in the kitchen.

Baingan bharta is a soft, earthy and velvety mound of mashed aubergine; a typical Pakistani vegetarian dish. It has notes of cumin, caramelised onions and is spiced up with red chili pepper or fresh green chilies.

In this case , the bharta is crowned with yoghurt and savoury mince, like borani- a quintessential Afghan/Persian dish.

Instead of the traditional Pakistani way of adding fresh coriander leaves, we use mint to add another dimension of fresh flavour, just like with borani.

Eat with Basmati rice, naan or chapati.

Serves 4 with a side dish
You will need to pre-heat your oven to 425F

Ingredients:
*2 large aubergine
*2-3 tbsp olive oil
*salt to taste
*1 medium + ½ a small onion, minced
*1 tbsp whole cumin seeds (zeera)
*2 small green chilies chopped (de-seed if you want less heat)
*1 lb mince meat, beef, (not lean)
*1 garlic clove, minced
*1 tsp tomato paste
*7 oz tomato sauce/stewed chopped tomatoes/passata
*pinch chili pepper
*pinch turmeric
*Greek or other thick yoghurt like labneh
*handful of fresh mint, torn by hand

Preparation:

Step 1: Prepare the savoury mince:
* In a heavy-bottomed pan add meat, salt, 1 minced garlic clove, ½ minced onion, tomato paste, 7 oz tomato sauce, a pinch of chili pepper and turmeric, 1 cup water. Stir, cover and leave to cook on a low-medium flame for one hour.
*Stir/check every 20 minutes to make sure the liquid is evaporating and the meat is not sticking to the bottom of the pot.
*When the water has evaporated and the mince looks ‘saucy’, stir and turn the heat off.
*Set aside.

Step 2: Prepare the bharta:
*Turn your oven to 425F.
*Pierce aubergine with a fork and lay them on a tray lined with aluminium foil in the oven for one hour and twenty minutes.
*When they are almost ready, they will appear to be wilted and soft.
*Remove from the oven and allow to cool.
*Scoop out the flesh from the aubergines, discarding the skin.
*Set aside.
*Add olive oil to a large frying pan and place on medium-high heat.
*Add 1 medium chopped onion and stir, when the onions start to turn golden, add cumin seeds and sauté for one minute till fragrant.
*Add aubergine flesh, salt and chilies and turn heat to high.
*Sauté rigorously for 5 minutes, till you see that all the excess liquid has been absorbed.
*Turn heat off and set aside.

Step 3: Assemblage:
*The bharta and savoury mince should be warmed before serving.
*Spread a layer of bharta at the bottom of a large dish.
*Slather in the middle with yoghurt like in the photo above, allowing bharta to peek out from the sides.
*Arrange savoury mince on top.
*Garnish with fresh mint.
*Serve with chapati, naan or basmati rice.

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.