I’ve always wanted to master the simple chicken-and-rice dish that almost every food culture has. Murgh pilau, Dajjaj wa ruz, Arroz con Pollo, etc. So, after years of watching my mom do it, plus a lot of self-reassuring and instructional phone calls from my mom, i finally decided to attempt it.

Success! This was the most yummy one pot meal I’ve ever made. For the chicken, I used skinless chicken drumstick pieces. For the vegetables, I used eggplant, peas, and carrots. I guess this one was more Arab style then desi style because I put vegetables in it and toasted nuts on top. With some raisins and shredded carrots, it could be an Afghani murgh pilau. The possiblities are endless!

My first experience with the famous Chicken 65 was when a bunch of my Hyderabadi friends mentioned it as their favorite dish. I, a strict Punjabi, had never heard of the thing. They raved about how good it was, but I never bothered to investigate further.

Then, last week, I went to visit some family in New Jersey. My aunt served this delicious looking red chicken, sprinkled with curry leaves. I thought it was normal tandoori chicken (which I love), so I was excited. But when I took a bite…..the love affair began.

This stuff is awesome. It’s an amazing balance of sour, sweet, savory, and downright spicy. My mom and I challenged ourselves to recreate it at home, and she found this recipe by the Vah Chef (this guy is pretty fun to watch; i’ll have to investigate further). Why’s it called Chicken 65? Vah Chef tells you.

I’ve just written out his recipe, plus a few changes that we made. I’m giving the recipe as we made it, but I think next time we’ll make it a bit saucier (i.e. double all the sauce ingredients except maybe the curry leaves). I suggest you watch his video for the technique alongside this recipe (not that it’s that complicated, but he’s really excited about it).

Recipe after the jump.
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The rich, fertile soil of Pakistan and the thunderous rains that nourish it make for delicious tropical fruits. Many of these fruits are luxuries for people relatively well-off, but no matter what the fruit, it’s eaten with appreciation and with its own particular ritual.

It’s impossible to try to remember them all, but I’ll try to remember some of the most famous ones. Sweet, soft leechi pervade your senses with a light perfume as you peel off the knobbly red, paper thin skin. The fruits are translucent white, reminiscent of little rounds of mother-of-pearl wrapped wrapped around a hard central stone.

Little blue-black jaamun grow wild in huge groups on trees, which young boys climb up to spend the day eating jaamun and throwing the seeds down on passing schoolfellows (usually girls they have crushes on). Jaamun are dipped in salt, they stain blue-black anything they touch, and they’re good for diabetes, somehow. My mom really loves these.

Fresh citrus fruits – like malta and limboon – are squeezed to make fresh juice or lemon/limeade (called squash). My dad really loves my grandmother’s fresh orange juice in the winter.

Melons of every kind are also abundant, but a kind of white honeydew is the most popular. Tarbooz (or kharbooza, depends on the variety) come with a funny story. A friend of my dad complained about the lack of adventure with American melons. “Amreeki tarboozon ka bhi kya maza? (What’s the fun in American melons?)” he said, “Every one you buy is sweet. In Pakistan, you bring four melons home, and the whole family sits together to determine which one is the sweetest and most perfumed. ‘Cut me a slice!’ we all cry, and everyone in turn gets a bite of each melon. ‘No, no, that one is horrible, bilkul pheeka hai (it’s completly bland!)’ ‘That one is okay, put it aside there.’ ‘Oh! this one is perfect! Shehad jaisay metha hai! (It is as sweet as honey!)”

But there is no argument about which fruit brings Pakistanis the most pleasure and pride – Aam!. Colored with sunset hues of gold, yellow, and reddish-orange, mangos are called “The King of Fruit.”

If the Inuit have tens of words for snow, well, Pakistanis have a different word for each variety of mango that appears throughout the summer. There’s Duseri, a little fibrous fruit with thin skin that you eat by squeezing till the flesh inside is pureed, then cut a slit in the top and drink down the juicy pulp. Chaunsa, a huge mango with firm flesh that you can cut into cubes and serve with ice cream or custard (i mean huge. gets to be a pound heavy or more, even). Langra, or “crippled man” an ovalur fruit with a tiny curved bottom “leg.” Sindhri, Alphonso, and so many more!

The obsession is pervasive across the whole culture. We’ll buy anything that comes in mango flavor or scent: candy, ice cream, drinks. Upon learning, by some horrible accident, that a Pakistani (like my cousin Sameer) doesn’t like mangos, everyone around him will try to convince him that he must not have ever had a properly ripe mango, or that he should try a particular variety, desperately trying to convince him that he must be mistaken.

And there is certainly a ritual with eating mangoes. They are best eaten cold and one after another, with your sleeves rolled up, and with a big group of laughing friends and family, pulp and juice smeared over everyones faces.

Usually, a paiti (wooden crate) of mangoes is dumped into a big bowl of ice water and set in the center of the room. Children (and often old uncles) are stripped down to their undershirts or bare chests so that the yellow juice won’t irreparably stain their clothing. Younger infants are handed the huge center pit so they can teethe on the soft flesh and smooth pit beneath. With a good set of mangoes, you really don’t even need to eat a meal beforehand!

And oh, what a horror to befall an American traveller, should one be unlucky enough to get some sort of stomach bug, because the fiber in mangos isn’t the best thing for one when you’ve got the runs…..and then one has to sit there, meloncholy, while everyone else digs in (no, I’m not bitter, why would you say that?)

My favorite mango eating memory was in Kashmir, where my parents and I went to visit an old college friend of my dad’s. We had a light lunch, and then went for a walk on the banks of the Jhelum and Neelam rivers as they intersected in the valley. The mountain ice had made the rivers freezing cold, so we left a crate of mangoes in the flowing water, lodged between rocks, while we walked around. An hour later, we had an ice cold mango picnic, surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of the summer Himalayan mountains.

So strong is our obsession, that even the rule of law cannot remove us from our beloved fruit.

I remember once leaving Islamabad to come back home. We went from Islamabad to London to Raleigh, and I noticed one Pakistani family following us the whole way. When we got to Customs at RDU Airport, I noticed that the father was carrying a large shopping bag. It was tied at the top, but the unmistakable bulge of several round fruits were visible from the outside. The small room smelled resolutely of mangoes. The man and his family come to the customs desk, and the Officer eyed him suspiciously.

“Sir, are you carrying any food?” he asked.

“No.”

“Uh. Mangos.”

Needless to say, they were confiscated. But at least he tried!

These little shrimp make a perfect appetizer (like these, except a different kind of Asian). I marinated them for a few hours and then grilled them - and yes, they really are that red! I served them on top of bellpepper slices because usually tandoori meats are served with grilled bellpepper and onion.

To marinate: Marinate peeled, deveined shrimp in a mixture of yogurt and a few teaspoons (or more, to taste) of a tandoori or tikka masala spice mix. (I have to say that, as much as I try to be original, I am completely unembarrassed by using a tandoori spice mix. I use the mix by Shan Masala.) Put it in the fridge for a few hours if you’re marinating ahead of time and take them out about 30 min before ready to serve, to let them come to room temperature before being cooked.

To cook: Grill or saute the shrimp a couple of minutes per side. Squirt with lemon juice. Serve atop slices of green bell pepper with a dollop of cucumber-mint yogurt.

To serve as a meal: Add a little extra yogurt to the marinade (and more spice mix if you want too). Saute onions, garlic, and green bellpepper until soft (and tomatoes, if you want). Add the shrimp in a single layer and cook for 1 or 2 minutes. Turn them over. Add some cream and mix well to smooth out the sauce. Cook until cream is reduced to desired thickness. Serve over rice or couscous (or, add more cream and serve it over pasta!)

I. Love. This. Dessert. I love it. I asked my mom to show me how to make it this weekend – and here it is! This is a Pakistani version of bread pudding made with sandwich bread instead of chunks of a more airy loaf. There are two keys to this dish: golden brown, crispy toast that soak up the sweet saffron-cardamom cream. The toasts are then served in a little pool of saffron cream, sprinkled with bright green pistachios.

Shahi Tukray literally translated, means “Royal pieces.” Shahi comes from the Persian word Shah, king. When it’s used to describe something – food, a monument, some land – it designates that this is something of the Mughal era (or at least something hoping to be associated as such!) As it relates to food, Shahi foods are rich, made with a lot of sugar, cream, meat, and butter to evoke the wealth of the kings. Examples: Shahi Haleem, a rich meat and lentil stew; Shahi Nehari, another rich and luscious meat stew, Shahi Pilau, a sweet-savory rice dish where rice is cooked in broth, then mixed with shredded carrots and plump raisins – sometimes a quarter to a half of it is removed and sweetened with sugar before being mixed back into the savory rice.

Shahi Tukray are no exception to the norm of richness. I crispen the toasts under the broiler, but the old way was to fry each one in butter on both sides. There’s a lot of cream, butter, and zaafran (saffron – which isn’t as rare in Pakistan as it is here, because it’s farmed in Kashmir, but it’s not cheap, either). You can use more or less milk, depending on how much saffron cream you want with each serving. I like quite a bit, so I usually use more milk or cream than other people. Toast, in urdu, is called “Double Roti” – Double Bread. Thus, this dish is also known, colloquially, as “Double ka Meetha” – Toast dessert.

Side note – Do you know why saffron is so expensive? Because saffron threads are actually the dried stigma of a very specific kind of crocus flower which is native to Southeast Asia. The stigmas have to be handpicked out, and each flower produces only three. If I was doing that, I’d make it the most expensive spice in the world too.

Click for the recipe and lots more pretty pictures!
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On a summer day in Pakistan, things move at a leisurely pace. Offices are closed from noon to four o’clock and everything has to get done early in the morning or late at night. Lunch is a few chapattis with a spicy saalan, followed by a long nap. It’s just too hot to do anything else.

This beautiful ruby red syrup, named “the nurturer of the soul,” is made from roses and kewra, a Pandanus flower extract. Rooh Afza is the star of many summer treats. It provides a beautiful pink contrast when drizzled over top of Kulfi, a creamy-white cardamom ice cream, or mixed in with the faloodah (vermicelli noodles), or tukhmalanga (basil seeds) that top the kulfi. I can imagine someone more creative and less lazy than me using this syrup in various ways at a Valentine’s Day party or something equally as cute. (Speaking of cute, look at the Rooh Afza bottlecap to the left. Aww.)

Especially during the loadshedding hours, where power is cut off in sectors of the cities to save the system from overload, everyone sits around with woven reed pankhiyaan, or “little fans” (or, as my Farat Phuppo calls them, “hand AC’s”) drinking something cold. My favorite of these cooling summer drinks is ice-cold water sweetened with Rooh Afza.

Summer Rooh Afza

I love the taste of this syrup, so I prefer a higher proportion of syrup to water than other people may. This drink is very dependent on personal taste, and this is how I like it.

1 tbs. Rooh Afza
1 cup cold water
Ice

Pour the Rooh Afza into a shaker or pyrex glass measuring cup. Pour the cold water on top of it and stir/whisk/mix very well until the syrup is completely dissolved in the water. Fill a glass with ice and pour the Rooh Afza water on top. (Some people also add fresh lemon juice.) Enjoy!

And, as befits a culture influenced by Persians, Arabs, and Mughals, an eminent poet also wrote a poem about Rooh Afza.

‘If you look at its colour, it enchants your heart. If you taste it, you find its flavour enlivening. In fragrance it excels other flowers. In efficacy it is quite an elixir. Its refreshing and invigorating effect is beyond reckoning. A sharbat like Rooh Afza has never been produced, nor ever shall be.’ — Sa’il Dehlavi

Ramadan Rooh Afza

There’s another version of Rooh Afza that is a particular treat in Ramadan. Instead of water, the syrup is mixed with cold milk and served with spicy samosas and pakoras at Iftar, after the day’s fast. It’s probably not smart to eat spicy food after you’ve had nothing in your stomach all day, but try telling a Pakistani to eat bland food. We’ve been known to carry around bottles of Tabasco in our purses. So, the sweetness and softness of the milk gives both quick energy and a bit of cushion against the savory-spicy food. I use the same proportion of milk to Rooh Afza as with the Summer Rooh Afza.

More information about Rooh Afza

Rooh Afza comes in a bottle and can be found at South Asian grocery stores. Experiment with it as an accent to desserts, drinks, or anything you can think of, and let me know how it turns out!

On the history and cultural effects of Rooh Afza, from Hamdard Laboratories
RoohAfza.com, featuring I *heart* Rooh Afza tshirts and mugs
100th Anniversary of Rooh Afza (created in 1907 by Hakeem Abdul Majeed)

What kind of kabaabs drop out of school? Dum Kabaabs! (my husband, ladies and gentleman).

These little nuggets of yummy are called “dum kabaab.” I can’t really translate “dum” into one word, but it’s what you do to tea after you put the teabag in (let it steep) or what you do to rice after the water boils and you turn the heat low to let it finish (let it simmer/cook slowly?). At any rate, you sear meatballs in a pan, then top them with softened onions, tomatoes, and cilantro. (Like we did with bhindi, remember?) Also, these freeze really well with or without the onion-tomato mixture.

My mom makes these *perfectly* – all the kabaabs are the same shape and size, and everything is seasoned beautifully. Mine came out oddly shaped (some of them were triangular, I don’t know how that happened) and a little less seasoned than I’d like, but still good. I actually seasoned these lightly since I was making them for guests and I didn’t want them to be overwhelming – so add more spices for a stronger flavor.

Recipe here: (more…)

Bhindi - Okra with tomatoes and onions

This is one of my favorite Desi dishes to make and eat. It’s all about freshness. Fresh okra is fried and then sautéed with fresh onions and tomatoes and sprinkled with bright green cilantro at the end. The tomatoes and onions make the dish slightly sweet and frying the okra keeps the whole thing from becoming slimy and gooey. My usual shortcut of frozen, pureed onions and tomatoes will not work – the fresh onion/tomato mixture is what gives the whole thing the spicy, tangy flavor that makes this dish so delicious.

It’s really not that difficult and completely worth the effort – try it!

Click link below for recipe
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Chicken with Chickpeas (and Potatoes, for fun)

Seasoned chicken cooked with chickpeas and potatoes. Delish. My mom cooks it with whole chicken pieces, which I think tastes better, but I didn’t have any so I shortcutted it with boneless chicken breast.

Click below for the recipe
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I’m afraid of cooking Desi food. There, I’ve said it.

It seems so easy when Mama does it – Just throws stuff into a pot and it turns out amazing every time, MashAllah. I’ll stand by and “help” as she says “stir this” or “add a little of this.” If I try to ask how many teaspoons of zeera to add, she looks at me lovingly and just pours a bit into her hand and says “this much.” Cool, but not entirely helpful.

Part of it is that I feel like my food can’t be as good as Mama’s. She’s especially known for her paper-thin parathas, crispy on the outside and filled on the inside with several soft layers of yumminess. But some of my favorite times have been learning the “tricks of the trade” from her as she teaches me what spices, stocks, meats, and vegetables make the perfect masala for the perfect saalan.

mmm….aaalooo

So this is my first experience as cooking desi food by myself, entirely – Usually it’s the recipe-based or improvising Amreeky/Italian style dinners I can think of or eating what Mama graciously makes for us, me being still a student-wife, or something that I’ve stirred while Mama’s taken the lead.

*Note* As I start blogging about cooking – one important thing. “Curry” is not a general term for Pakistani dishes. I’ve always called them “saalan” for generic dishes, “korma” for meat stew type dishes and “bhujiya” for vegetable mixes. Curry is actually a specific dish made with pakoras (little fried gram flour patties) in a turmeric-yellow yogurt sauce. I’ll use “curry” to translate for convenience and because I can’t think of any other word….but I really hate everything being called a “curry.”

A second note for cooking desi food. The base of most desi foods is softened [and then often pureed onions.] So before you make anything, you chop onions, soften them, and then put everything else in. Mama does a smart thing and keeps boxes of pureed onions in the freezer so that she can just take out spoonfulls of it to cook dinner quickly. So when I say “onions” – i mean this frozen mixture – but you can just do the whole drill.

Recipe after the link

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