So Angela and I spent a whole afternoon emailing back and forth about these toppings. We may or may not have been at work at the time.

We had four types of pizzas.

1. Plain tomato sauce and mixed cheese
2. Roasted vegetable and mozzarella
3. Chipotle chicken and pineapple with colby jack and cheddar
4. White pizza with onions, tomatoes, olives, topped with arugula and drizzled with balsamic vinegar (o.m.g.)

Firstly, you roll the dough out or spread it with your hands. If you overwork it at this point, the dough might start getting an attitude, like 3-year olds who just won’t move, no matter how much you try to drag them out of their chair. If this starts to happen, just leave it alone and let it sit for a few minutes to let it relax (this usually works with 3 year olds too), and then it’ll roll out nicely again.

Angela says: Heat oven to 415°F and grease a pizza pan. Stretch the pizza out by hand, fitting it to the pan. [me: for some extra oomph, we sprinkled the dough with garlic powder and herbs before baking.] Bake the dough for 7 or 8 minutes or until it turns a little brown. Add toppings and bake for another 8 to 10 minutes.

All the toppings are pretty self explanatory. The roasted veggie pizza had balsamic-roasted red onions, eggplant, bell pepper, tomatoes, and mushrooms. I’ll elaborate on my two favorite pizzas in detail.

Chipotle chicken and pineapple pizza with colby jack and cheddar

1. Chicken: Overnight, marinate chicken in a mixture of pureed chipotle-in-adobo, cajun seasoning, and ranch dressing. Grill and cut into chunks.
2. Sauce: Into normal marinara sauce, mix in a bit of pureed chipotle-in-adobo, as much spice as you enjoy
3. Top pre-baked pizza dough with chipotle sauce, chicken, little bits of pineapple, and cheese. Something tangy would work best here – the bag I had was a mixture of colby jack and cheddar. Pepper jack would work great too.

White pizza with onions, tomatoes, olives, topped with arugula and drizzled with balsamic vinegar
Pictures are in Lightbox – click the first on the left to start the slideshow.

1. Prebake a pizza crust.
2. Spread on top of the pizza dough: very thinly sliced red or white onion, thinly sliced tomatoes, chopped olives, cheese (parmesan or some Italian blend), and parsley. Bake till cheese is melty and delicious.
3. When it comes out of the oven, top the pizza with fresh arugula. Put pizza back in the oven to wilt the arugula a little.
4. Before serving, drizzle with balsamic vinegar.

I’ve wanted to know how to make homemade pizza for a very, very long time. I was too chicken to try it myself though because frankly, yeast scares me a little. I scoped out my target carefully. I narrowed it down to Mario Batali, because he just cracks me up, and Angela, because she used to bring delicious looking homemade pizza for lunches. Mario was busy when I called, so I asked Angela for help.

Now, to give you a little background, Angela and I both love to cook. In fact, we spent much of our 8:45 am Professional Responsibility class talking about food over G-chat (while sitting next to each other). But, the first time we actually got together to cook something……the Infamous Brownies happened. They were…..well, quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever baked. We won’t talk about it any more than that. It’s quite traumatic.

BUT since then, the score is in our favor. Food – 1. Angela and Taiyyaba – 3 (one for the pizza, one for the focaccia, and one for the calzones with the leftover dough – coming later!)

I told Taiyyaba that making pizza is unpredictable and all improvisation. This is especially true when you forget to bring the trusted recipe with you for Girls Only Pizza Night. I decided to wing it.

Also, I always have trouble making a really great batch of dough when it is humid outside – it gets icky and sticky. Naturally, I was worried when I noticed the weather that day.

In short, we had all the odds stacked against us as we made the dough.

I went with some colleagues today on a tour of the Raleigh Women’s Correctional Facility. It was one of the most “mixed feelings” experiences I’d ever had.

I walked in there having decided two things: first, that I’d smile at every inmate I made eye contact with; second, that I’d say “Wa alaikum assalam” to any of the Muslim inmates who called out to greet me (if there were any). I also was a bit apprehensive because…well….it’s a prison.

I had done some research for work about women’s correctional facilities, but I still wasn’t really sure what to expect. TV skews your perceptions of things – and indeed, the first thing the Deputy Warden, the two caseworkers, and the officer who walked us around said was – “This is nothing like what you see on TV.”

My mom and I were driving home from somewhere and realized that we were both really hungry. Mama started telling me about this spicy, saucy, ranch shrimp wrap she had in Mexico. So, of course, we had to recreate it when we got home!

We made a chipotle ranch sauce for the crispy shrimp and made a sweet relish to balance the smoky-spiciness. I really recommend the arugula instead of normal lettuce because the pepperiness goes well with the spice!

Frozen popcorn shrimp
Chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
Ranch dressing
One bell pepper, red or yellow
One mango
Fresh cilantro
Tortilla wraps

1. Bake the shrimp according to package directions.
2. Puree the chipotle and adobo till smooth. Mix with any amount of ranch dressing until it is as spicy as you want. We mixed about 2 1/2 tablespoons with half a bottle of ranch dressing.
3. Dice the bellpepper finely, and do the same with the mango. Really, you could use any sweet fruit here – pineapple, peach, even jicama. Add some finely chopped cilantro, and add cracked black pepper and a hint of salt.
4. Toss the shrimp with the sauce and mix to coat.
5. Put down some arugula on a warm tortilla. Top with the creamy, spicy shrimp, and then with the yellow pepper and mango relish. Wrap up and eat!

Best read in coordination with: “So, where are you from?” and “Law School Society and the “I’m Muslim” dilemma”
(Glossary at the end for those unfamiliar with the Arabic words).

As a law student-going-on-lawyer, I’ve realized that so much of being a perceived as a good attorney rides on your appearance. Well-tailored suits are an absolute must for both men and women. A lawyer does not look like a lawyer unless he or she is, as we say in Pakistan, “suited booted.” Business casual is rare, especially in government jobs, and even then is expected to be respectable enough to receive a client or colleague.

In some way, I win here. I recently read an article about male judges’ reflections on what female lawyers wear in the court room, and the “old boys” (and “old girls”) lawyers I’ve met through the Susie Sharp Inn of Court seem to echo the same sentiment – “You’re in court, not at a party. I don’t need to see that much leg or that much cleavage.”

Sweet – no problem on either front for me. Indeed, I agree with the sentiment itself, too. Showing that much skin is not only disrespectful to the court and the institution of the law, but also to yourself. It gets you stared at for the wrong reasons (yes, it does, even if you don’t ask for it, it does. Eyes wander, that’s what they’re meant to do – look) and diminishes you in the credibility and respect you deserve. Fine, Lady Lawyers, I’ll give you an okay on below the knee skirts and short sleeve shirts (maybe even sleeveless if it’s tactful), but no cleavage, please. Not acceptable.

But in other ways, I lose. Buying my definition of halal suits is not an easy task. Choices are limited to (at most) mid-calf skirts (more usually knee length or shorter). Jackets come up to right at or above the waist, and combined with a fitted pant or skirt, the butt is completely bare and distinguishable. Not okay for me. Blouses and shirts are either spandexy (too tight) or low cut or too short (again, see the butt problem). You can get suit jackets that are longer (mid thigh or knee), but they’re expensive and hard to come by (and often cut for an older fashion sense).

Alhamdulillah, I’m lucky that when I find one of these longer, well cut suits, my mom or dad will get me multiples stitched in different colors from Pakistan. That helps very immensely, so I’ve got a whole set of well cut, well covered suits. I shake it up with a pretty colored shirt and hijab (and apparently people notice), so there is an element of fun to it – but moreso once I’m comfortable with who I’m with and where I am. I stick to blues, grays, whites for first days and big meetings.

Here’s where the real issue is for me: my headcover.

I’ve worn hijab for 11 years now, Alhamdulillah. In that time, I’ve gone from tentative uncertainty to gradual comfort to unabashed self-confidence.

I believe that wearing hijab is good for me on many levels: it fulfills a religious requirement and provides spiritual and moral benefit, it allows me to express a carefully tailored Islamic identity, it makes me a walking (and hopefully, counter-stereotypical) symbol of Islam and gives me the opportunity to teach others the truth about my faith, and it earns me the respect of my Muslim and non-Muslim friends and colleagues.

I’m very proud of my hijab and my choice to wear it, and Alhamdulillah, I’ve never doubted my decision.

But in the past year, I’ve come to be uncomfortable and nervous in situations that would never have affected me before law school. It’s always been nerve wracking to be a muhajjibah when you’re going to a small Southern town, where the stereotypes in your head are activated and you find yourself thinking, “That man looks like he might shoot me if I make one wrong move.” But as long as you smile, stay polite, things usually turn out okay in those situations. (Note that sometimes, part of the art of wearing hijab also means gracefully ignoring prejudicial comments from the peanut gallery).

Wearing hijab as a law student, soon to be lawyer is nervewracking on a different level. For the first time ever, when I attended my first professional/social event, I found myself nervous when I walked into the hall full of attorneys and judges – butterflies-in-my-stomach, a stomach-twinging kind of nervous.

I couldn’t help thinking, “What will they think of me?” For some of them, especially the older men “old boys” types, maybe this would be their first encounter with a Muslimah, a brown and hijab-ed one at that. Would they doubt my abilities as a lawyer? Would they think I’m a little “too diverse” for their tastes? Would they let me fit in to their profession?

I hate feeling like that. I hate that, when I walked into my first job interview with Justice Timmons-Goodson at the NC Supreme Court, I thought “what if I won’t belong here?”

I had left those feelings behind on the first day of high school, when I started wearing hijab and emerging from my middle school chrysalis. What were those emotions doing back here, in my throat and stomach, when I was about to meet a state Supreme Court Justice?

I was nervous, shaky, and agitated – but thankfully (and this is a testament to her greatness), the Justice took me into her office, spoke to me kindly and with an obviously real interest in my opinions, and finally gave me the job. I still look to her, a beautiful African American woman (the first on the NC SC) who worked hard and proudly stands for what she believes in, as an example of who I want to be. Her clerks were also like her – Saad, a Muslim clerk of Pakistani origin whose intelligence blew me away from the start, and Jenny, a mother of four whose absolute skill in excelling in both work and family life inspired me and let me dream of having a life like that, too. And of course, there was the unforgettable Ms. Elaine – an open minded, loving woman with great hair who has deep and hilarious conversations with you no matter who you are.

I was ashamed of how nervous I was – not because I did not have confidence in my skills, but because of what I thought others would see when they saw my hijab.

Imagine my annoyance, then, when the same feelings sprang back up when I walked in for an interview with the NC Attorney General’s office for my current summer internship. Justice Timmons-Goodson had come with high praise from some of my most respected advisors, and I had a feeling that, being a minority herself, she would not be as weirded out by a muhajjibah. But I felt twice as apprehensive while waiting for my two interviewers at the AG’s office. I’d never seen these women before and had only spoken to them on the phone. They’d been attentive, engaging, and friendly on the phone – but what if they’d just been expecting a normal brown girl, not a muhajjibah?

They didn’t flinch when they both walked into the lobby, where I stood anxiously looking at pictures of former NC Attorneys General. They were everything kind, polite, engaging, and fair (and have continued to be so as I’ve started working here). I was simultaneously at ease, and exasperated and embarassed for my suspicions. Hadn’t I done just to them just what I was afraid they’d do to me?

Stereotyping is contagious.

Still, I can’t help feeling the nerves.

I still feel that when I speak in class or express an opinion (especially one having to do with war, national security, or civil rights), I’m often speaking as a symbol of Islam (this is part of what kept me relatively quiet in my National Security Law class, and if it was not for the absolute kindness and open mindedness of Professor Scott Silliman, I would never have opened my mouth. My classmates are the people I will be working with for the rest of my life, so I didn’t want to be branded as ‘That crazy liberal Muslim girl from law school.’).

I still feel that, to some degree, I will be judged by what I wear on a different level than a woman who wears a revealing shirt or skirt – because my kind of clothing marks me as distinctly different and possibly foreign (and to some, dangerous), instead of just a little too liberal in fashion sense. Maybe I’m just imagining the looks from the “old boys,” the lawyers who’ve been working for longer than I’ve been alive. Maybe not.

But really, in the end, most of them will not treat me differently, at least not in the public interest law field that I’m working towards. I’ve still got the unabashed confidence for 99% of the time. In the end, overwhelmingly, I feel respected, not rejected.

And the most important thing is that I know what I am doing is right for me (both wearing hijab and being a lawyer), and it makes me happy to do it.

But it’ll always be in the back of…or, I guess, on top of…my head.

The last day of my internship at the NC Supreme Court, Jenny took me aside and told me how proud she was of me for wearing a scarf. She told me that there would always be people who would treat me differently because I wore a scarf, but that I wouldn’t want to work for those kinds of lawyers and law firms anyway.

Thanks, Jenny. You’re right.

Glossary:
Hijab: the Muslim woman’s (Muslimah) religiously mandated style of dress and behavior that is meant to embody and encourage modesty, spirituality, and ethical goodness. The term “hijab” means more than just a particular item of clothing, but it is commonly used to refer to the scarf that covers the head and neck. A Muslimah who wears hijab is called a muhajjibah.

Halal: (an extremely simplified definition) what is allowed by Islamic law.

Alhamdulillah: “Praise be to God.” Used to express thanks.

Best read in coordination with: “The Professional Hijab”

What does that question really mean?

It can mean a lot of things. “What’s your hometown?” or “Where’d you go to high school?” or “Sweet tea or ‘iced tea with sugar?’”

But coming from some people, it certainly feels like “Oh, you’re brown. What kind?”

There’s a duality to that question that is inescapably strange – at once both uncomfortable and amusing. The duality is something you have to experience to understand, to hear in the tone of voice and the manner of speaking (forced polite interest, instead of rabid eagerness), the look in the eyes (polite but subtly wandering from your hijab back to your eyes). There’s just….something else there, something behind the query.

Am I being racist? Or just paranoid? A little of both, I think. I definitely give a straight answer to brown people more often than I do to white people, because my first instinct is to assume that the latter don’t really want to know what American city I’m from. And I’ve noticed that the older or younger the questioner is, the more likely I am to give a straight answer – it’s middle aged questioners that really bother me (again, only those with the duality in their voice).

But really, I think there is something to it. Some people mean more than just “Where are you from?”

For those “duality” questioners, especially those with a not-so-masked desire to really know what kind of brown I am, the interrogation usually goes like this:

“Oh, well where are you from?”

“Raleigh. Actually, I’m in the borders of Cary, but my street address is in Raleigh. It’s weird.”

“Oh, well were you born in Raleigh?” (now I KNOW what they’re doing).

(laugh) “No.”

“Oh.” (knowing smile) “Well, where were you born?”

(smile) “New York. While my father was getting his PhD from Cornell.”

Spare me the theatrics. I took Drama in 8th grade. I know what you’re doing.

It’s really hilarious when the conversation takes this turn.

“Well, your English is great.”

“Thanks. I’m in law school. They teach us pretty well there.”

Sometimes the convo ends this way:

“No, I mean where are you from?”

“You mean, what’s my heritage?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, my parents are from Pakistan.”

“Oh. Is that next to Palestine?” (seriously. not making this up).

Let it be known – I have no problem at all telling people my ethnicity or cultural background. I always have been, always will be, proud of who I am and where I come from. I wear it on my sleeve….and my skin. (and head, too, but more on that later). But if you really want to know, just ask me straight up. Don’t beat around the bush; it’s patronizing. Stop pretending to be interested in my street address, and just ask me what my heritage is. I’ll tell you, and I’ll be nice about it. I promise.

I finally got around to baking a cake in the pan that my Mom-in-law and Maryam got for me. It is a heritage bundt cake pan from Williams-Sonoma. Without exaggeration, it may turn out to be my favorite default cake pan. The cake…was….gorgeous. I did a lemon cake mix with strawberries in it. They all sunk to the bottom, which turned out to be the top, so there was this beautiful tie-die layer of strawberries as a top crust! I was afraid that it would stick because of all the curves, but it did not stick at all.

Thanks, Mom and Maryam!

(Everyone knows what a Bundt cake is, right?)

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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I got a slow cooker when I got married, but in one year’s time, I only used it once – disastrously. I tried it once when I was home all day to see how it cooked. I attempted to make rice pudding, but I had put in too much rice and too much milk and it overflowed. I had to dump it out into a big pot halfway through.

But somehow, I gathered up the courage to try it again – and in the past month, I’ve used it six times. Hence, I make this proclamation in front of the whole world – I love my slow cooker (and no, Ameir doesn’t consider it cheating, because he gets food out of the deal). I love the taste and texture of the food it produces. I love not having to cook when I get home after long days. I love the smell of deliciousness that greets me when I get home. *dreamy sigh*

I’m highly inspired by Stephanie of A Year of Crockpotting, who used her slow cooker every day for a year. As I make stuff, I’ll link to things that are inspired by her recipes.

This meatball stew was inspired by Stephanie’s adaptation of Simply Recipes‘ Albondigas recipe (meatball soup).

I made some meatballs, seared, and froze them for future use. I used the same basic recipe as I use for spaghetti and meatballs, but I added pureed chipotle-in-adobo to the mix. Just because I had some. I wanted to do frozen meatballs because I thought they’d cook much quicker than root vegetables, so I thought adding them to the slow cooker still frozen would give me more time. It came out to 12 meatballs, so I put half of them in here and saved half for something else later.

Basic slow cooker safety and operation:
– Do not put cold food in a hot cooker.
– Do not put hot food in a cold cooker (put it on warm while you’re preparing).
– High cooking is usually 3 -4 hours. Low cooking is usually 6-9 hours.
– Put vegetables in the first layer, meat on the second (veggies take longer to cook).
– The slow cooker doesn’t lose moisture, so when it’s done cooking, you’ll have either the same amount of liquid you put in, or even more b/c of condensation.

Click for the recipe! Read the rest of this entry »

At the end of the year International Law Journal banquet, the Editorial Staff treated us all to a dinner at Southern Rail Restaurant in Carboro. It was, to say the least, pretty phenomenal. There was a simple salad with a roasted garlic vinaigrette. Dessert was a coffee pot-au-creme with vanilla bean and nutmeg whipped cream. But dinner…oh…dinner was amazing. It was a linguini in a spicy tomato cream sauce with artichoke hearts and tomatoes, topped with a perfectly cooked salmon that had some kind of sweet crust to it. I don’t now how they did it, but it was just perfect.

To mirror that, I revamped my usual shrimp, spinach, tomato sauce pasta to try to capture the spicy-sweet aspect of Southern Rail’s salmon pasta. I didn’t know how to sweeten the shrimp, so I just caramelized the onions and garlic. Delicious!

Recipe after the link Read the rest of this entry »