Cooking without borders: Cuisine from Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran & beyond.
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. [Read more...]
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. [Read more...]
I would like to thank Lucy Waverman whose staff helped me write this recipe. I had a loose recipe from my mother according to her andaaza, estimation method.
Ami and I usually sit in our breakfast room when we’re having an afternoon cup of tea. For her just a splash of milk, “pour it in with just a flick of the wrist, Sham,” Ami cautions me. And for myself, a cardamom popped in, no milk. We share namak paray, finger-thin crackly wafers spiced with cumin as we sip our chai. Ami used to bake buttercup-yellow dense cakes when I was a child, but she’s given up on baking now. But that’s all right, as my Aunty Shelly lives just down the road and I can steal a blueberry-banana bread loaf from her kitchen on most days.
My favourite chai-time treat is when Ami makes kebabs. [Read more...]
Pray, Love and Eat
Guest Post written by Baba, my father.
Every child has a lucky day; mine was Thursday. It was the day Agha, my father, would take my brother and I to meet our grandparents and cousins inside Lahore’s Old City. [Read more...]
Asghar squats on top of a wooden table and fans the coal embers as the chicken tikka, impaled on steel skewers, turns a carbon-black around the edges as it plumpens and becomes amber-hued in the middle. Asghar has worked at Punjab Tikka House in Main Market, Lahore for as long as I can remember. As I sit watching from the car, he effortlessly slides off the bite-sized pieces of chicken tikka with his bare hands. Onto a newspaper. One fold, two fold, then a third, just like fish & chips in England. Then into the plastic bag they go. [Read more...]
The silver filigree antique jhumkas you see in Ami’s earlobes- she gave them to me when I was 18- and the irresponsible teenager that I was, I lent them to a dorm mate who lost them. It didn’t even occur to me that they were missing till I saw this photo recently.
Andaaza
I watched Ami, as she stirred the pot in a circular motion. Round and round her arm circled, the gold bangles glistening on her wrist. Clink, clink, they went as she stirred and stirred. The same gold bangles given to her by her Ami, when she married my father in her China-red and gold brocade gharara.
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. [Read more...]
Mughal Emperor Akbar the Great was a mere thirteen years of age when he ascended the throne. While still a relatively young Emperor, he commissioned the construction of a new capital, known as Fatehpur Sikri. The buildings, a fusion of Islamic, Hindu and Jain architecture, reflect the Great Emperor’s beliefs of universal religious tolerance. It was under his rule that the Islamic jizya tax was revoked for non-Muslims and a new faith called the Din-i-Ilahi (Faith of the Divine) was created by him in an attempt to bring the diverse religions of the Mughal Empire together. To this day, only 18 people are said to have belonged to this faith, but one cannot help but admire Emperor Akbar for trying to unify his peoples. [Read more...]
Currying Favour with the Portuguese
The great Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, King of the World (1592-1666), died in confinement, in Agra Fort, imprisoned by his son, Aurangzeb. As he lay dying, he looked down from the balcony of the Musamman Burj tower at the pearlescent dome of the Taj Mahal he created for his beloved wife. [Read more...]
Comfort(ed) Food
It’s a grey evening in Washington, DC. The rain, falling heavily, creates a pewter gloss on the road as I am driving home from work. It makes me want to be back in Lahore, during the unexpected Spring showers, when we sit on the veranda in my ancestral home with my paternal grandmother, known affectionately by everyone as Mader; mother in Dari. [Read more...]
