The comforting memories of childhood come from those secret moments of glee, when you knew the forbidden fruit always tasted the sweetest. Whether it were the festival of Eid or just a whim on a hot Summer’s day – Seviyan is a dessert that I always craved, and was always told was meant to be eaten on special occasions, though my grandmother would always indulge me!

A marriage of all the aromas, textures and colours that define a Pakistani sweet together with it’s cooling temperature – it was always a welcome treat on a hot Summer’s day.  I think of my aunt’s at the stove preparing Seviyan for an Eid dinner, my Nani making me a sweet to calm me if my parent’s were on holiday and my Dadi preparing it for my Dada (grandfather) to woo him even after 65 years of marriage (at the time), though she always made her family recipe of Qawami Seviyan which is linked here – There are many versions of Seviyan, but this is the quickest and easiest, using only South Asian roasted vermicelli, I wouldn’t try it with any other..

To me Seviyan has always been a romantic dessert – one that celebrates the romance of  the land’s history, the warmth of Pakistani hospitality, the cool sea breeze of the coast of the Arabian Sea and the love we have for our Land of the Pure (the literal meaning of the word Pakistan). It highlights all the aromas used in our desserts, ones borrowed from our Mughal heritage, Irani influences and Muslim traditions – it most of all reminds me of lazy, carefree, safe days of my childhood and growing up in a country that to me will always be home. Every bite transports me to happy, endless Summers in Karachi and the safety of both my grandmother’s arms and the enveloping aromas of their kitchens, where I learnt my passion for food.

Preparation time: 15-20 minutes

Cooking time: 15 minutes

Serves: 7-10 people

Ingredients:

Half a packet of Pakistani/Indian roasted vermicelli (found in Asian supermarkets http://www.natco-online.com/acatalog/info_R9200.html) – crush these into small pieces before adding to milk

25 grams caster sugar

100 grams of sweet condensed milk

1 pinch of saffron, soaked in 1 tbsp hot boiling milk

1 pint of whole milk / soya milk / almond milk

A handful of chopped pistachios, almond, raisins

4-5 cardamom pods, bruised open

Ghee

Decorate with silver leaf (optional)

Method:

1. Heat ghee in a saucepan on medium heat and add the cardamom. Once fragrant add the crushed vermicelli and keep stirring to avoid burning them.
2. Once fragrant slowly add both the milks and keep stirring. Add sugar and stir and cook until the mixture becomes thick and vermicelli is cooked through.
3. Pour in saffron and then place in a serving dish. Garnish with nuts and raisin – and silver leaf if available. Serve cold or hot.

Sweet samosas to me speak of comforting treats and warm spring days with a cup of chai sitting by the garden, embalmed in the humidity of a Karachi afternoon. My Nani and I always shared a silent or rather animated afternoon with a cup of her perfect cardamom chai and either a Rusk dipped in the chai or sweet samosa of bananas, guavas or coconut, and sometimes just with sweet Khoya (milk solids). What always drew me into the afternoon was the heavy scent of Marigold’s and Motia’s in the air – rich and heavy with the day’s sunshine, they would take a sigh of relief in the moist but lightly sunny afternoon of Karachi – the sea breeze would suffocate them but they wouldn’t bow their head’s in shame.

When I moved to the UK, I always searched for the perfectly banana tasting banana or guavas but reminded myself that nothing here that isn’t grown here is ever really seasonal. In my search for the perfect sweet samosa filling I came across the humble Rhubarb. Seasonal and vibrant, tangy yet with an intense ability to soak in sweetness. Sitting on a fine line of being turned from savoury to sweet – it’s one of the most comforting flavours I have found in the UK. There is nothing like it in Pakistan, but I like to compare it’s comforting aroma to that of the sweetness of pink guavas and the tartness of Falsa (a berry only found in the Sub-Continent)…To me the marriage of the flavours of the tarty Rhubarb against the earthy moistness of Marigold and the floral essence of cardamom not only takes me home to the embalming warm afternoons of Karachi but mingles with them the new experiences in flavour I have had in the UK. Nani Mummy would approve, as she sip’s her cardamom infused chai up there somewhere…

Serves: To make 6-8 samosas

Timing: Takes about 15 minutes to prepare and 10 minutes to cook

Ingredients:

250 g chopped Rhubarb
50 g caster sugar
1/2 tsp ground cardamom seeds
1 tbsp dried Marigold flowers, I’ve used Steenberg’s dried Marigolds
6-8 samosa pastry sheets or filo pastry cut into 2 inch strips
Vegetable oil to shallow fry and seal the samosas

Method:

1. Make the Rhubarb compote by cooking the fruit with sugar and about 1/2 cup of water until fruit is soft and pulpy

2. Once ready, strain the compote using a sieve to ensure all moisture leaves the compote. You can reserve the liquid to decorate plate or use in porridge for breakfast! Add cardamom and marigold flowers

3. Lay out samosa sheets or filo and starting at one end place a tablespoon of the compote on one corner of the pastry and fold into a triangle, using a pastry brush, brush a little oil as to fold the pastry into a samosa

4. Once all samosas are ready, heat oil in a frying pan and gently fry them until light golden brown. Serve hot.

Many Sunday mornings I would wake late, only to be greeted with the intoxicatingly simple aromas of Aaloo ki Tehri – a family favourite rice dish which is fragranced with turmeric, vibrantly yellow in colour and tasted undefinably delicious. Served best with a raita of cucumber and mint – this was a Sunday lunch I would wait for. To my mother this was her stable recipe for days she was not in the mood to cook much else, as Aaloo ki Tehri, as humble as it may seem, is a complete meal in itself. Somehow, this would be the one meal my father would not miss his meat. It maybe for his childhood memories of Aaloo ki Tehri resonated mine. Homely, comfort and simplicity on a plate, was somehow just enough.

From what I know, Aaloo ki Tehri finds it’s links in the Indian province of Uttar Pardesh (UP), which is where my father’s family were from. Mainly a huge Muslim meat-eating part of the country, this was one of their very rare and treasured rice and vegetable dishes. The version in India is slightly different and has changed and evolved by families that migrated to Pakistan in 1947, taking out a couple of ingredients and adding a few. A great favourite of my Dadi’s (father’s mother), this is a recipe handed down from her to my mother. An exhange of many recipes happened between the two, as my mother’s largely Punjabi cooking techniques completely changed in to the U.P. style of cooking. My cooking techniques hence are  U.P. but have fused with local Pakistani ones, and my cooking therefore is true marriage of styles.

This dish always makes me feel wholesome, comfortable and takes me back to a time of safety, security and carelessly happy family lunches. I find this can grace a summer/spring table just as well as a winter one.

 Ingredients:

2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 red onion, peeled and chopped into half moons
1/2 tsp garlic puree (using fresh garlic)
1/2 tsp grated ginger
1 tomato, chopped roughly
500 g basmati rice (washed and soaked in tap water for 30 minutes prior to cooking)
1-2 tsp ground turmeric
10-12 small baby potatoes, cut into half (slightly par-boiled, before adding to rice)
Salt to taste
Water

To garnish:
Chopped coriander
Chopped green chilli
Chopped dill

Method:

1. Heat oil in a saucepan (use one with a tight-fitting lid). Once hot, add the cumin and allow to pop.

2. Next add the onions till translucent, add ginger and garlic and cook until the raw aroma disappears.

3. Add the chopped tomato and fry until soft. Now add drained rice, potatoes and turmeric. Stir until the rice is covered in the onions and oil and turns quite yellow.

4. Cover with water, enough to just cover the rice. Place lid on top and reduce flame/heat to low. Cook on a simmer until rice is cooked though, carefully sit rice with a fork to avoid grains breaking. If rice is not cooked through, add a couple of splashes of water and cover again. If over cooked or mushy, remove lid and fan the rice and fluff up rice with a fork.

5. Serve hot with a raita and the garnish. (especially the chillis as none are added when cooking, so as not to add to the yellow colour of the rice!)

I was honoured to be published in The Foodie Bugle – a  The Guild of Food Writers Award winning scholastic magazine’s debut print edition – with an article highlighting the history, heritage and migration of the food of Pakistan…

Food and it’s celebration was a gift I grew up with. A precious joy that was handed down to me by my two grandmothers and of course my mother. All my best memories of childhood revolve around a dining table, walking into my home or my grandmother’s homes and being hit with the aromas of home cooked warmth, greeted with smiles and a heart full of love. Feeding me seemed to give them the greatest delight. The happiness they felt knowing I had eaten more than I could cope with always was the reason for my never saying no – nothing can compare to the joy in a Asian’s mother’s face when she sees a plate wiped clean with your last piece of chappati. My most endearing memories of my late grandmother’s was the excitement with which they created a meal – that their entire day would be meaningful from just that. My mother still cooks me  hearty soul satisfying meals with the joy reminiscent of my grandmothers…

Though there is one aroma that transports me to a time of childhood glee and recklessness, a time of endless days and lazy afternoons – the smell of semolina fried gently in ghee and cardamom. One of the simplest desserts of Pakistan is Semolina Halva, and my Nani rejoiced in making this dish, I remember well that she would add  nuts in it – which at the time I abhorred, however with time and experience I have learnt to appreciate the earthiness and sweetness they add – I share my recipe for a Pakistani laddo (a round shaped sweet) – made with pistachios, semolina, coconut and Arabic gum – this edible gum is found in most Asian food stores and my mother always adds this, it is meant to give bones strength – based on a old Lucknowi recipe that my Dadi’s family had been making for centuries. I have now improvised this and added coconut, as the original recipe does not call for it. It is said that edible gum is strengthening and  gives strength to women after pregnancy, the ailing and children as well. But these can be enjoyed as an after dinner treat or even with tea..

On Mother’s Day, I dedicate this recipe  to my late grandmothers who instilled a burning passion for cooking Pakistani food that grows within me and most of all to my wonderful mother who has not only channelled my love for cooking but taught me all that there is to know about life, food and honouring your heritage. Happy Mother’s Day x

Far left, my Nani, second left, Mummy and far right my Dadi – 1971

Preparation time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 20 minutes
Total time: 30 minutes
Makes about 10 pieces, depending on size

Ingredients:

150 – 200 g semolina
80 g  desiccated coconut,  keep a little aside for rolling
115 g  caster sugar
1 tbsp ghee
1 tsp freshly ground cardamom
3 tbsp of chopped pistachios
1 tbsp chopped almonds
1 tbsp Arabic gum – pre-fried in ghee and puffed up (optional)
1 tbsp golden raisins
½ cup whole milk
2 – 3 tbsp ghee

Method:

1. Heat a wok style pan and add ghee on medium heat. Add all the dry fruit and let them change colour slightly. . Add puffed gum at this point if using.
2. Now add the coconut and then semolina, cook on very low heat stirring constantly and not letting the mixture burn and allow to cook evenly
3. Add sugar and keep mixing the semolina. Add milk to bind and now switch off the heat.
4. Add cardamom powder and mix well. Place in a flat dish and allow to cool for a few minutes.
5. Once slightly cool, take a small amount of the semolina and make tiny ladoos, round balls the size of golf-balls. Place on a dish and allow to cool for 1-2 hours.
6. These keep in the fridge for 1 week and outside in a covered container for 2-3 days – best eaten at room temperature.

Thinking back to every mealtime at home with my parents, at either grandparents or aunts growing up in Pakistan, I don’t think even one meal was ever without a daal on the table. It was like an honoury member of a club – someone who just had to be allowed in as his entire family had served for decades – I never quite got this daal fascination in my household, because growing up I can quite remember an immense loathing for this sloppy excuse of a meal. I found it, well just boring. My father to this day, finds a meal painfully incomplete without our sloppy friend on the table. As memory serves it, I remember many a time my father asking where food was, seeing the absence of lentil at dinner.

However, with time and subtle persuasion I found what wonders of life I was missing by dismissing this humble legume. My mother has always been a fantastic cook so it wasnt here lack of making a delectable daal that turned me off, my Dadi’s (Dad’s mom) household being originally from the U.P region of India, were huge daal eaters (might be where Daddy got his obsession from) and my Nani’s (Mum’s mother) side were Punjabi descent; mixed everything remotely lentil with meat or some other vegetable – never could they consume anything in it’s virgin state – such is the Muslim Punjabi culinary mind set! However, I have to admit that my learning to cook daal finally was due to a realisation that I actualy quite enjoyed the wholesome satisfying combination of daal and roti or daal and chawaal (rice) – the ultimate comfort food I soon discovered, at minimal cost and one that gave you so much more than just a full belly of warm heartiness. I slowly understood that not only was it a cheap option to cook it also was such an experimental, food-proof and quick fix that my ‘daal-negative’ mind slowly converted and I appealed to my mother for recipes. I learnt many from my grandmothers’ but to me my Mum’s blasé, non-commital recipes always worked well, because well, she never quite ever had just one recipe she could ever reproduce as she threw in everything but the kitchen sink into her daal – and it always tasted like heaven on a plate. So my best daal memories go back to the nuttiness of cooked daal enhanced with the rich ghee scented aromas of tempering with cumin and whole dried chillis…And most importantly, curry leaves – an essence of home, I remember the wafts of this pungent tree weaving through my senses as I used to walk through my Dadi’s gate – her big curry leaf tree stood there with pride and it’s intoxicating scent. I always find a reason to use curry leaves when I can.

My favourite daal has to be Chaana – yes it’s take a bit more love and time than most others and the trick would be that if you own a pressure cooker, cook it in that, or else soak overnight and be a bit more patient when cooking this one. I personally do not like pressure cookers, to me I grew up hearing one annoyingly whistling away on my Dadi’s old gas burner, all food cooked in it tastes similar in flavour and lacks the patience of slaving away at a hob, which is the only thing I believe I have the patience for – so why loose that skill? Here is my improvised recipe from a basic one of my Mums’ – be adventurous with it – make it yours – a daal is to be owned, cherished and thanked.

Prep and cooking time: overnight soaking of channa daal and about 30-40 minutes cooking and prep

Serves: About 6-8 people

Ingredients:

150 g channa lentil
2-3 cloves of garlic – sliced
1 stick of cinnamon
salt to taste
1/2 tsb turmeric
1 tsb red chilli powder

For the tempering:
Ghee
1 tsb cumin seeds
2 long dried red chilli or round red chilli
2 cloves of sliced garlic
1- curry leaves, fresh if possible

Garnish: 
A handful of ready fried brown onions
1/2 bunch coriander
Slivers of ginger
1 tsp garam masala

Method:

1. Begin with boiling the soaked daal in enough water to cover the lentil and add garlic, red chilli powder, turmeric and cinnamon stick. Boil until the daal softens and you may need to top up water every now and then. Add salt once cooked. You are looking for a firm and not mushy daal.

2. To temper, take daal out into a serving dish and in a small pan heat the ghee, add the cumin and allow to splutter, next a the garlic, when brown add read chillis followed by the curry leaves and quickly pour over the daal.

3. To serve, sprinkle with coriander, ginger, fried brown onions and garam masala. Best served hot with rice or roti.

Reminiscent of lazy Sunday afternoons at my home or at one of my grandmothers – nothing speaks louder of a warm sultry afternoon better than a Biryani, be it chicken, vegetable or meat – the satisfying marriage of rice with curry perfumed with saffron, Kewra (screwpine water), fragranced further with mint leaves and allowed to steam up in it’s own heat – honestly, resistance is futile. A complete meal in itself, it leaves you content if not rather over indulged, but Sunday’s are about that in Pakistan. Walking into my Dadi’s (Dad’s mom) house meant always that the heat of the afternoon sun conjured up the intensity of the aroma of curry leaves from her abundant tree near the gate mixed with that of Desi Gulab (Pakistani roses, fresh petals of which feature in the photos) –  revisiting that house last year, made me realise that trees carry with them such memory – they see you growing up – living your life and you come back to them years later – they look at you as an old relative, shaking their head in knowing glory, proud of who you have become yet humouring the days gone by. My Dadi’s curry leaf tree and it’s essense for me was the one sensual memory that can always transport me to a time of reckless abandon and happier days where life was about how much homework I had missed and how my Dadi’s biryani would be the excuse I use for not finishing it off every Sunday night…

Here is a recipe of Sindhi biryani with a few of my personal additions. No one really knows for certain what makes it so Sindhi, the province I proudly grew up in. Maybe the fact that is it quite spicy – not chilli spicy but masala spicy. Sweet sour dried plums, dried pomegranate powder, and then the addition of potatoes take off the edge from the chilli and the whole garam masalas are a real celebration of the region. In Sindh people are proud of their heritage – Sindhi cooks hail back to the times of Babylon where many Sindhi cooks were employed in emperor’s kitchens due to their refined palates and cooking expertise. No wonder the region is enriched with beautiful produce, recipes with provenance and a rich culture. My family was not originally from Sindh, they were migrant Muslim’s from North West of India but Pakistani cuisine is all about fusion and when they moved to Sindh in 1947, they quickly adapted their Lucknowi cooking methods with local recipes and styles of cooking, and this Sindhi biryani recipe is one of those marriages. The key is to cooking the rice perfectly before adding to the curry and after in ‘Dum‘ (a cooking method that means cooking in low heat, covered, under steam) – the result should always be that each grain of rice is separate and you aren’t left with a mush. Do not despair; it’s like making the perfect Hollandaise – practise makes perfect!

Main ingredients:

1 kg mutton, small pieces, on the bone and without
1 kg basmati rice, washed and soaked for at least 30 minutes before cooking
3-4 medium onions, cut into half moons and fried until light brown
1 tbsp ginger paste ( make by using fresh, using about 1/4 inch of ginger)
1 tbsp garlic paste ( make by using fresh garlic, about 2-4 cloves)
1/2 kg tomatoes, chopped finely
3-4 large potatoes, peeled and cut into thick chunks
300 g natural yoghurt, whipped
2-4 thin green chillis
1/2 bunch coridander leaves
1/2 bunch mint leaves
Vegetable oil, to fry onions and cook the biryani
Spices and extras:
1 tsp red  chilli powder
1/2 tsp turmeric
salt to taste

10- 15 dried plums (Aloo bukharas)

Whole garam masalas:
4-6 green cardamom
2 black cardamom
1-2 cinnamon sticks
2 bay leaves (tez paath)
1 tbsp coriander seeds
1 tbsp black cumin
1 tsbp aniseed / fennel
2 star anise
1 piece of mace

To steam:
2 lemons, sliced
a few mint leaves
1 tbsp ghee
2 large pinches of saffron, soaked in hot milk for 15 minutes
1 tbsp Kewra (screwpine water) or rose water if Kewra not available

Equipment:
Saucepan with tight lid
Foil

Method:

1. Heat water in a saucpan and once boiling, add 1/2 tbsp aniseed / fennel and 1/2 tbsp coriander seeds in a muslin cloth and make into a bouquet garni, Add soaked basmati rice and cook until half done (rice should still be firm to the touch and not break easily). Drain immediately and set aside and dis-guard the bouguet garni.

2. Heat oil in a pan, add all the remaining whole garam masalas and allow to release aroma (do not allow to burn). Add ginger and garlic paste, cook until the raw smell leaves the pan. Now add the mutton and try until sealed. Add the turmeric, salt and red chilli powder.

3. Now add the yoghurt and cook the meat down till the water content evaporates from the curry. Now add the tomatoes, potatoes, dried pomegranate powder, dried plums, coriander, mint and green chillis. There should be about 2 cups of liquid, lower heat and cover slightly and allow to cook until the oil seperates from the curry. There should now be about 1 cup of liquid remaining.

4. Take out about half of the curry with meat and place into a bowl. Layer half the half boiled rice on top of the meat in the pan, then add the remaining meat and curry in the bowl. Finish off with the remaining rice and then sprinkle Kewra (or rosewater), saffron and ghee. Shove in some lemon slices and mint into the rice. Cover tightly with foil, turn heat to low, cover and let it cook in it’s steam for about 20-30 minutes. The key is that when you take off the foil, steam should rice to the top and the rice should be standing on end. Anything further and the rice will be overcooked.

5. When ready, carefully stir the rice with the layers with a spoon and serve hot with a simple raita. Biryani always tastes great the next day!

My Kinara Kitchen “Ladies Night” event (an Award winning Pakistani & Eastern cuisine restaurant in Dublin)  on 1 Feb 2013 promises to be a real celebration of Pakistani cuisine with traditional style recipes with my personal contemporary twists along the way! Gorgeous cocktails made by the award winning bar manager Paul Lambert will highlight the evening as well. A special one he’s made for me called the ‘PukkaPaki’ has me particularly excited!

The evening’s menu will be a fantastic journey and an explosion of taste sensations! All my recipes cooked by the wonderfully talented chefs at Kinara Kitchen, especially Monty, the head chef, from whom I have learnt to many trick of restaurant kitchens! It’s been a real pleasure and learning experience for all of us!

Just a few places left and you won’t leave home without an exciting goodie bag! Book now by calling the number in the flyer above!

Please see below my interview in the Saturday 26th January 2013 Irish Times newspaper below!

Badshahi Mosque by night

In my mind history, art, architecture, fashion, music and food all have something in common, they are all a result of excellence fuelled by passion. Be it a passion for creativity, ideas or science. The limits of such are endless and when I think of the one thing that always inspires me to write about Pakistani food, it’s always through  Pakistani art, Mughal architecture, the beautiful fabrics and fashions that my country has to offer, when I hear the eclectic music and the talent of performers, experience the insightful art created – I think of how little the world knows about my country  - except for what they learn from the media. We thrive in a world obsessed with negative portrayal of the underdog. What people don’t stop to think is that there is rich heritage, ancient civilisations, ethnically diverse people and talent that is earning to be noticed and be given due credit. I don’t deny the apparent issues prevaliant in Pakistan but I choose not to focus on what I can not control, rather highlight the positivity that I know and which needs to be  noticed by the world. I know food, so I write about it, I wrap it in the comfort of the culture it supports and try to do my little to show the world that you can not take away the one thing that Pakistan thrives on, it’s food, traditions and history.

Badshahi Mosque from Cucco’s Den

Hailing from Karachi, the largest port city of Pakistan, I was always very committed to the city growing up, fiercely defensive about Karachi, as an ever present friendly warfare always remains  between the cities of Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad. As for food, I always thought Karachi had the most of offer, home to many ethnically diverse communities, ranging from local Sindhis, Memons, immigrant population such as people from Hyderabad, Dehli, Bhopal and other parts of of NorthWest India, bringing with them  their cuisines during parititon in 1947 and which later fused with local food, creating a definitive Karachi flavour. When I was young and I used visit my cousins in Lahore, all I could think was maybe a bit of shopping and running around in the parks – food was the last thing on my mind. My return to this beautiful city on my trip home this time was focused on food – I came on a mission, albiet a short one on which I knew I could but touch the surface of what Lahore had to offer. But I needed to to this. See Lahore with fresh eyes and for what it was known for, it’s food and history combined.

Roshnai Gate, Walled City

My eyes opened to a feast to the senses as I was whisked away from the airport to the city – As I  moved from a walk through the stunningly awe-inpring Lahore Fort and Badshahi mosque, through the solid original authoritative looking the Roshnai Gate’s tiny door within it’s lofty structure, which takes you into the Walled City – As you enter, you step back into time, like a scene from Midnight in Paris, you were transported into a time forgotten and remembered in the pages of history books. Once the home of the nobles of the Mughal dynasty, later then turned to the red light district of Lahore by the British- this is deep varied history of  the Walled City. However as you enter this historical space now, you are hit by the aromas of smoky barbecues, freshly made bread, simmering rich spicy curries and freshly made Kat-a-Kat, a steamed and fried stir fry….there is a sense of history in the well preserved buildings, they speak of a time of richness, a time of sorrow; a time of much change from it’s heights of royal influence and protection to times of taboo of the dancing girls of Lahore…. But now it’s brought a face of respectability and access to all, through a celebration of the sprit and passion of all Lahori’s – Food. The key attraction in the Food Street in the Walled City is the well known restaruant Cucoo’s Den, owned by the controversial and daring artist Iqbal Hussain, who has supported the retired dancing girl’s through his charity, by selling his art in his restaurant – his art is both moving and dark and captures the pain, sadness of lost lives…The restaurant itself has been around for 22 years and has contributed in lifting the image of the area and led to it’s development into a Food Street as it is today.The 9th inch steep steps that lead up 5 flights of stairs to the roof are worth every treacherous step as the views are truly spectacular. Boasting iconic and inspiring views of the Badshahi mosque, the Lahore Fort and the Minar-e-Pakistan far beyond, in the night lit sky, Lahore is visually stunning. I found myself intoxicated by the culmination of the sounds of the Kat-a-kat in the distance, traffic from a far, views of exquisite Mughal architecture, enveloped in the sweet smoky aroma of barbecue combined with the wafts of agarbatti (incense) – In the background I could hear the faint beating of the tabla and the chattering of people taking in the scene, as I was. I watched in amazement as baskets were lowered down to the kitchen quickly to pull up food to the rooftop from the ground floor kitchen, used in the old days to bring up shopping, laundry and the likes. I was there early, I only started the night at 730pm with gulab jamans, firni and kulfi – Lahore comes alive post 9pm, and an eating extravaganza which lasts until alteast 2 am…

Food Street, Walled City

From the new refurbished Food Street I moved on the old but real Food Street behind the haveli’s – so much so is this in blatant contrast, dusty, crowed, with dardevil motorbikes racing through, the smells of exhaust fumes and tantalising aromas of grilled meats, daal tiki’s, chicken and paiy (goat’s trotter curry) wafting through the air – this is the “real” Lahore. I was greeted with such hospitality to Phaja Siri Paiy restaurant, I was served warming spicy goat’s trotter’s curry with fresh naans, a Pakistani delicacy that is cooked for upto 17 hours to achieve a rich, deeply spicy, rather sticky broth topped with garam masala and nothing beats soft warm naans soaked in the sauce and eaten warm…Next I walked though an array of cheap street stalls of tawa chicken, keema ki tiki, chicken tikkas and khikar kay channay (chickpeas eaten cold made without any oil) – through all the hustle and bustle of a noisy busy narrow street flanked with every kind of Pakistani street food, I found myself eventually into one of the many small old established musical instrument stores which support Lahore’s red light district dancing girl’s musicians – beautiful sitars, tables, pianos, violins, guitars – what an unexpected area to find these, here I was purchasing a violin for my daughter within 10 minutes, from a man whose from 3 generation’s of ustads (teacher’s of music and dance).

Siri Piay

My food night had only just begun, now 9pm I was driven through Mall road, which is back to back with beautiful colleges and universities, National College of Arts, Punjab University, Aichinson, Government College – Lahore is a seat of learning and well established educational institutions – whisked passed the edges of Anarkali bazaar I found myself around the Gaddafi Stadium which is surrounded by an array of food places, each proudly displaying not just all that Lahore has to offer, but the whole of Pakistan. This is a real celebration of every provincial cuisine of the country. Each and every eatry is heaving with people, the air is filled with aromatic smoke that can only be described as the essence of Pakistani food. I eat at Dera, (which means an important destination, within a village)- this is a slightly commercial place but it still keeps to the authencity of the cuisine. With traditional outdoor seating of charpai’s (jute woven beds) and low jute chairs, the manager knows of my arrival and treats us to a the best of Lahori and Pakistani cuisine – the ever famous Sarson ka Saag, Makai ki roti, Sajji, Angori Chicken, Mutton chops, Malai tikkas and soft seasme seed naans. With live table music and the chattering of happy Lahoris, whose greatest pleasure is eating and enjoying each other’s company – you can see a real passion for food and it’s enjoyment. I am treated by getting a personal tour of the open air kitchen chat about the secrets of restaurant cooking with the head chef and take lots of pictures – finally we are told our meal is complimentary – the hospitability is surreal, I always marvel at it when I come home to Pakistan, I did always take it for granted when I lived here. And it is now 11pm – and I know the night is still young….

Barbecue Tikkas

By now I am stuffed, and my cousin’s friend joins us – he is the epitome of Lahori-ness. You name what you think is the best place for a dish and he will tell you that you have it all wrong and take you straight to the one place you’d never knew existed. This man is a  Lahori, flesh and blood a man of the land. He lives and breathes food. He takes us to the most obscure and hidden away places for what seemed like a race through Lahore – and I was told I had only scratched the surface. Taken away to Qwalmandi, a real back of beyond area with make shift road-side restaurants for the everyday man – I was taken to a place that serves a Kashmiri-style stew made of beef, called Hareesa – it’s slow cooked  with wheat and lentil, finished with ghee, spinach, small beef kebabs and eaten with what to me were the best naans I have ever had – made in a wood fire tandoor – the owner who is the son of the founder of the restaurants, a humble happy man, himself makes the finished dish alone. With pride he explains how Hareesa included 30 different masalas and takes up to 6 hours of slow cooking.

Hareesa being flaméd

It is now 1am, I am now struggling to keep my eyes open let alone force another morsel of food down my throat. Yet I am strangely exhilarated by this food adventure and a face of Lahore that I had never seen before,  in the company of proud Lahori’s – something kept me going. Our last visit for the night was at a place called PC Barbecue – yet again a road-side unassuming place, with plastic garden furniture placed on the pavements, all choc-a-block with customers. Here the owner greets us knowing our friend, treats us to the most increible Malai Fish tikkas I have ever eaten – I force fed these as I would never forgive myself from expeirencing the cotton soft flesh, the simple elegant flavour and surprinigly very mild spice. With my last bite, I knew it was time to call it a night – falling deep into a food coma on the way back to my cousin’s home, I think I was ready for my bed….

Malai Fish at PC Barbecue

The next day I woke up feeling even more full than the night before but determined to do a few more food experiences before spending quality time with family I did a whilwind visit to Mohammadi Nihari, boasting the best nihari in Lahore, a quick taste of a Lahore speciality of Murgh Choolay at Shahi Murgh Choolay and finally ending with a Lahore version of Falooda, a arrowroot noodle topped with sugar syrup and sweet cooked thickened milk called Khoya, It was now evident I had out done my capacity for consumption. The night ended with a takeaway of authentic Lahori Tawa fish and Lahori fish, which fried in a chick pea batter, much like an English fish and chips but of the spice and chickpea flavour! And finally, I couldnt leave Lahore with some crunchy hot Jalebi’s …

Cucco’s Den, Lahore

What did I take with me from Lahore on this trip? I realise that I have only just begun my exploration of this fantastically exciting culinary city, I knew it left me wanting more, the need to return in a hurry, to spend much more time, speak to many more people, learn a lot more and I feel that even then the secrets of the city of such beauty and flavour would not remain explored in it’s entirety in my lifetime – and that excites and challanges me – to do my best to return before long and leave no stone unturned. The question is, would I still go back to my childhood city wars between Lahore and Karachi, might is be possible that I may see Lahore with such new sights and be swayed to change my opinion of the best city in Pakistan? This remains to be seen, Lahore has architectural beauty and endless food inspiration but Karachi has my beloved sea shore and the aroma of the dusty desert earth I know so well. May I say that I now take no sides, I just know Pakistan is a country waiting to be discovered, explored and experienced, even by a Paksitani, born and raised as myself. my eyes are now open, my senses tantilzed and my body and mind ready for the adventure.

Me in the prayer area in the Badshahi Mosque

A Pakistani Christmas is such a different thing – with a large local Christian population and the concepts of Christmas firmly entrenched in our culture from the Colonial times, it is not a wonder that we in Pakistan celebrate this festive day with much excitement yet in such different ways – menus, traditions and styles. The fact that the 25th of December also marks the birthday of the founder of Pakistan, Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the public holiday is definitely welcome, not only for our Christain population (which would be given a day off regardless), but also for us to enjoy this wonderful time of year.

I remember well, always being excited with the prospects of buying my rather fake plastic Christmas tree from Bohri bazaar, my green and red tinsel and my very basic bobbles which would be enough excitement of a 10 year old – but I don’t think I every grew out of it. Christmas wouldn’t mean presents like it does here so much as it would mean a day at home with my parents, a wonderful lavish meal of turkey and the trimmings with pudding in all it’s glory at the Sindh Club but more so it would mean my grandmother’s rich aromatic lamb roast at dinner. My lovely Nani, always the first to find a reason to cook a leg of lamb would always make this Kashmiri style pot roast, which incorporates the haunting, rich and regal flavours of Kashmir with some personal Pakistani and Punjabi twists. The 25th of December would be a day not only to relax with my family but to rejoice a man who had given us this free nation of Pakistan as well as celebrate the birth of Christ, in our own way – with thankfulness, togetherness and family.

Serves: 7-10 people buffet style, as a main

Prep and cooking time: 30 minutes prep and 1 ½ – 2 hours cooking

Main ingredients:
1-2 kilo leg of lamb, skinned
1 ½ tsp garlic paste
1 ½ tsp ginger paste
salt to taste
150 g natural yoghurt
juice of one lemon
2 tbsp vegetable oil

Dry ingredients and onions:
2 tbsp desiccated coconut
2 tbsp ground almonds
1 tbsp raisins
1 tsp poppy seeds
1-2 red onions

Whole Garam Masala and spices:
1 cinnamon quill
10-12 cloves
10 green cardamoms
1 large black cardamom
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 ½ tsp coriander seeds
1 tsp peppercorn
1 small piece of mace
1 tsp aniseed
1-2 dried red chillis
A handful of rose petals

3-4 cups of water

Method: 

1. Place all the dry ingredients in a blender and make into a paste and all the garam masalas into a powder in a grinder.
2. Rub the lemon juice all over the leg of lamb. Next mix the yoghurt with all the spice mixtures above and slit the leg of lamb all over.
3. Cover the lamb with marinate and keep for 1-2 hours to overnight, covered.
4. Heat oil in a large oven proof pan and seal the lamb on all sides. Add the later and cook on medium heat on the stove for up to 1 ½ hours.
5. Once ready, dry out juices in the pan, let the leg of lamb rest for 15-20 minutes before carving and serving with reserve juices. Enjoy with sheermal, naan or rice and a crisp spicy cucumber salad and raita.