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.

La vita è bella

“It’s your last night here, what would you like to eat, Baba?,” I ask my father.
I know he likes the straccetti alla rughetta at Da Francesco in Piazza del Fico.
“A home-cooked meal. Dal and chawal,” he answers.

On his last night whilst visiting me in Rome, my father wished for me to prepare him a simple Pakistani-Afghan meal of dal, (lentils) and chawal, (Basmati rice). A meal taking him back to his roots. Soft, warm, velvety food. He asked for dal, just like the great Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan had requested of his son, Prince Aurangzeb.

But here is where the similarity between my father and I and Aurangzeb and his father ends.

In a blind quest for power, Aurangzeb imprisoned Shah Jahan for eight years, till his death. Knowing that his father was a gourmand, Aurangzeb callously presented Shah Jahan with a stark choice, giving him the option of selecting but one food type for every meal. Shah Jahan summoned his Royal Khansama (Chef) for advice. He selected dal. It was the most prolific ingredient, cooked in umpteen ways and even used for dessert. Though Shah Jahan did not live happily after, he enjoyed a variety of meals, thereby frustrating the sadistic designs of his son.

No such imprisonment here. Baba was to fly back to his home in Bucharest, Romania the next morning. Though I do wish I could have kept him in Rome for the next 8 years.

Baba’s visits to Rome involved a daily jog in Circus Maximus. Every evening, we’d walk down from my home in San Saba and go round and round the length of the oblong track, at the foot of the Palatine Hills, inhaling the scent of the pine tree canopies above us. Powdered dust flying behind us as we would run farther and farther along the track.

On the very same ground where the chariot wheels must have turned for the entertainment of the Etruscan Kings of Rome.

After these runs, we would reward ourselves with some Roman fare.

Maybe we would head over to a favourite pizzeria, Remo, for a pizza margherita, crispy and paper thin, with a candy-red tomato base. One solitary emerald-green leaf of basil embedded in the oozing mozzarella. With Baba’s Partagás cigar finally lit up, we would walk through the Aventine Hill, towards Circus Maximus, past the famous Bocca della Verita from the film, Roman Holiday, and into the historical centre. Our favourite gelateria, Ciampini, shut at night, we would opt for Giolitti. For me, a scoop of more (blackberry) with a snowball size of panna fresca, (fresh cream) and for Baba, always his favourite, pistacchio. No panna fresca, per favore.

Other nights we would have some clotted-cream-like burrata cheese at an enoteca, Cul de Sac. As a frequent customer, the off-the-menu item of sliced Sicilian tomatoes (pachini) would arrive, drenched in jade-green olive oil with some crusty bread on the side. Then maybe an order of the gamey venison pâté with juniper berries.

On a weekend, we’d start off the day at the Bar Linari in Testaccio, just down the road from my home in San Saba. We’d sit outside in the sunshine as Baba would sip caffè latte from a tall, thin glass, reading the Financial Times and I would catch up on some chiacchiere with the barrista or the lady from the till.

And so our days would go.

Sunrays, coffee, gelato, pasta, small narrow alleys, a new church to be discovered.

All under Rome’s glorious cerulean blue skies.

But on his last night- before a 6 am flight back to Bucharest, he wanted to slump on the sofa, watch Rai Tre and feel like he was home again, in Lahore. After all the lovely Roman meals we had had all week, we wanted to go back to our roots again. With a bowl of mustard-yellow dal, scented with a tarka; a cumin and garlic oil infusion and dotted with confetti of fresh coriander leaves. Over a mound of steaming Basmati rice. Or perhaps scooped up with some pizza bianca in the absence of naan.

Sitting, eating in my flat as the church bells in Piazza Nicoloso da Recco would go off for Sunday evening mass. Later standing on my Juliette balcony, among my coral-red geraniums, looking at Frascati in the distance. Baba’s arm draped over my shoulder. A lovely end to a father-daughter week.

La vita è bella. With a bowl of lentils and rice.

You can also have dal as a soup with some yoghurt drizzled on top…

…and some squirts of lemon.

Shah Jahan photocredit here.
Giolitti photocredit: Tridadvisor.

In this recipe, the ratios are most important. I use a small teacup to prepare mine, you can use the American cups measurement, as long as you use the same proportions. My teacup is approximately 2/3 of an American cup measurement. For my recipe, the ratio of red lentils to moong lentils should always be 3:1, with the salt and cayenne pepper adjusted according to the amount you decide to make.

As cooking times may vary, please remember that this dish is ready when you can no longer distinguish the shape of both lentils. You’ll see an almost alchemy-like process in which the dal becomes a velvety purée.

You can vary the thickness by adding/subtracting water- but it should never be thick and lumpy.

Ingredients:
Here is a link which shows photos of both lentils- masoor and moong.
* 1.5 teacup red lentils (masoor or Lens culinaris)
* 1/2 teacup yellow moong lentils (the variety with husk/skin removed), found in Pakistani / Indian grocery stores.
* 1/2 teaspoon salt (adjust to taste)
* pinch turmeric powder (haldi)
* 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
* 1 tablespoon tomato sauce/passata/canned diced tomatoes or 1/4 fresh tomato, chopped, skin removed. (Don’t worry about opening a brand new can for these ingredients, they can be omitted; you won’t be compromising on the flavour of the end result).
* 1 garlic clove
* 6 teacups boiling water, add more for the consistency of your liking

A tarka, (scented oil infusion) is optional, if you want to employ healthy cooking techniques, you can skip it all together. At home, unless entertaining, I skip it.
Tarka:
*2-3 tbsp. sunflower oil (or any other neutral-scented oil, except olive oil)
*1 tsp zeera; cumin seeds
*1 whole garlic clove, sliced very thin and wide
*optional: 1 long, dried red chili (found in Pakistani / Indian grocery stores)

Garnish:
* fresh coriander/cilantro leaves stems and leaves chopped fine.

Preparation:
*Plonk into a medium-sized heavy bottomed pan, (I use a 6 qt stockpot): lentils, salt, haldi, cayenne pepper, garlic clove, tomato sauce and boiling water.
*Place it on a low-medium flame, cover with lid, but not completely, so as to allow some steam to escape, otherwise the lentils will overflow- you don’t want a yellow protein mess on your stovetop.
*Let it simmer for 30 minutes. You will see that the two breeds of lentils will finally become a velvety puree, indistinguishable from each other; this means it is ready. Smoosh the garlic clove with the back of your ladle, it will blend right in.

For the tarka:
Heat the oil in a frying pan, once the oil is hot, add garlic, dried chili pepper and cumin. As soon as the garlic turns a nutty brown, remove from the stove and pour over the lentils. Take care, it may splatter.
Stir and sprinkle with fresh coriander.

Serving options:
*With Basmati rice, (see my recipe here);
*With chapati or naan; or
*As a soup, with some lemon squeezed in with dollops of yoghurt.

Surely, we all have childhood-related food indulgences we don’t like to discuss. Of course banana purée wasn’t our first solid; it was foie gras mi-cuit. At age 2, we weren’t fed spaghetti with tomato sauce, but rather, we slurped a slippery noodle out of a bowl of assam laksa. But of course. All foodies were born foodies. So, how many of us will admit to eating as-orange-as-a-fake-tan-gone-wrong-cheese known as Kraft Singles? Grilled between two white, flaccid pieces of toast. Anyone? *A hand slowly creeps up from the crowd*. Yes, I ate chicken nuggets (didn’t we all?), Kraft Singles grilled “cheese” sandwiches, and I rather messily drank a bowl of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup, the one of sodium-packed-goodness fame. The soup immortalised by Andy Warhol.

After school, in front of the telly, I many a time ignored wafts of cinammon-spiced rice and clove-cloaked chicken korma coming from the kitchen; preferring a reliable bowl of Campbell’s soup. It was the glossy, pudgy noodles and the congealed chicken which had their appeal, mainly.

That doesn’t mean to say I didn’t come to love real soup. Soup that isn’t out of a can. A smoky-sweet, velvety purée of red capsicum, roasted alongside shallots and garlic, sautéed in olive oil with waxy potatoes and passed through a food mill. Topped with buttery, tart, Irani feta to dovetail with the sweet elements; pignolia nuts for textural play; and rounded off nicely with a meandering trail of olive oil. Some crusty bread with a soft interior, to mop it up.

A rust, Autumn-toned soup.

For the record, I still like Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup, after all, so did Warhol, who said, “I used to drink it. I used to have the same lunch every day, for twenty years, I guess, the same thing over and over again.”

A few cooking notes:

• A blender can be used to purée the vegetables, but I prefer to use a food mill, as I find that the blender turns the potatoes to a gluey mess.
• The juices of the roasted peppers are very sweet; while peeling the charred skin and removing the seeds, be sure to save them and add them to the pot. Please don’t wash them, or you’ll lose the juices.
• Fleur de sel is very dear, but this recipe only requires one teaspoon. Since the dish has very few ingredients, using fleur de sel will lift the flavours rather nicely.
• My preferred feta is an Irani brand, made with sheep’s milk.
• As oven intensities vary, please do keep an eye on your capsicum, shallots and garlic; roasting times may vary.

Campbell’s Soup photo credit: MoMA

Serves 2

Active Time: 45 minutes

Ingredients:
*3 red capsicum
*1 clove garlic in its skin, rubbed with olive oil
*2 small shallots in their skin, rubbed with olive oil
*3 tbsp olive oil
*1 medium-sized potato, peeled and cubed
*2-3 cups chicken broth
*1 tsp fleur de sel or sea salt
*2 tbsp soft feta
*2 tsp pignolia nuts

Preparation:
*Place red capsicum, shallots and garlic for roasting directly under a high-heat broiler. The garlic and shallots should be soft and ready within the first 10 minutes, remove from the oven, cool and squeeze the flesh out of the skins and set aside;
*Rotate the peppers for a total of 20 minutes as they blacken and char; when roasting is complete, remove and place in a brown paper bag for 10 minutes. This will help the skin slide off easily;
*Remove the skin and seeds and set capsicum aside, reserve the juices;
*Place a heavy-bottomed pan on medium heat and add 3 tbsp of olive oil;
*Add the roasted garlic, shallots and potatoes and sauté till potatoes turn golden;
*Deglaze the pan with chicken stock and add salt, capsicum and reserved juices;
*Cover and let simmer for 20 minutes, till potatoes are soft;
*Transfer to a food mill (or blender) and purée and pour back into pan;
*Simmer on a very low heat, and add water (approximately 1 cup)- create a consistency you like. Season to taste with salt;
*Decant into bowls and serve with a dollop of feta cheese, a scattering of pignolia nuts and a ribbon of olive oil, alongside some crusty bread. Swirl the feta in with your spoon before you dive in.