6. russia: russian tea cakes [and a conversation]

A few months ago when I was interning with a university Spanish professor, I remember a particular conversation I had with one of my students at the camp. I'm not so sure why I still remember it, but the memory has stuck with me since then, quite vividly. We were practicing Spanish by ourselves, by which I mean I was having her repeat "how old are you?" and "I am but a little munchkin" over and over until she would, somehow, remember the phrases.

Well, I wasn't quite as successful as I would have hoped. But nevertheless, with some helpful hints in English, she was able to figure out what was going on. The conversation was going pretty smoothly...

"How old are you?"
"I'm six years old. And you?"
"I'm 19."

...until I told her how old I was. I remember her eyes going wide as saucers as she gaped at me as though I were something rather unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe.

"You're 19?!" she asked me in English, leaving the Spanish behind in favor of a language through which she could more easily chastise me.

"Err...yes." I responded. Admittedly, it came out more like a question, with an oddly placed inflection on the 'yes', but I was a bit taken aback at this point.

"Oh, but that's so old!"

At this I had to stop - "now wait a minute" - though I'm not so sure why I was getting so defensive about my age. I mean, I was 19. A little girl's astonishment at my seeming-decrepitude shouldn't have thrown me as much as it did, seeing as how she herself was only six. But the amount of horror that clouded her vision as she stared at me was unnerving, to say the least.

"But the other girls are 20 and 21! And senora is way older than we are! Besides, I'm only 13 years older than you."

"Yes, but it took you so long to get there!"


You know how people say that children are the best sources of truth? Well, I understand the sentiment. Having volunteered with kids for years and years now, I have to say, some of the most profound things I've ever heard have come from people much younger than me. Ironic, I think, since it's the adults who are supposed to be giving me valuable life lessons.

[I've realized that when a 13-year-old girl asks you why you want to be a doctor "because I don't think you'd be very happy as a doctor," you're probably not making the right life choice.]

But in a way, that little girl was right. Nineteen really isn't that old, at all. But at the same time, that's 19 years of growing up, experiencing new things, meeting new people, and becoming yourself. 19 years of traveling to Pakistan, Canada, Spain, Italy. 19 years of going to school and stressing about grades and classes. 19 years of worrying about the future, and reminiscing about the past.

And suddenly, 19 seems like the oldest thing in the world.

Russian Tea Cakes
Adapted from Allrecipes
Yields about 36 cookies

You'll need:

• 1 cup [2 sticks] butter, softened
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/3 cup confectioner's sugar
• 2 cups flour
• 1 cup finely chopped nuts [I prefer pecans, but walnuts and pistachios work just as wonderfully]
• 1/3 cup confectioner's sugar, for coating

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. In a large bowl, cream butter and vanilla until smooth, 3 minutes. Stir flour and sugar into the butter mixture until just blended. Mix in the nuts.

Roll balls of dough, about 1-inch in diameter, and place them 2 inches apart on the baking sheet. Press the tops of the cookies down very lightly with the back of a spoon to flatten a bit. Bake for 12 minutes and allow cookies to cool completely.

Once cookies are cooled, coat them in confectioner's sugar before serving.

I'm 20 now, but 19 feels so far away. In a way, it's because it is. I've only been 20 for three and a half months, but I've done so much since then that it feels much longer. Nothing hugely significant or worldly, but that's three and a half months of getting to know myself that I didn't have when I was 19.

As old as I am, though, I revel in the fact that I'm almost a year younger than most of my peers. [The beauty of starting school young.] My darling friend Kevin, for example, celebrates his 21st birthday today.

For the occasion, I shipped him a box of goodies, some of which were these little things. Russian tea cakes. They did originate in Russia, I've learned, though also go by the name of "Mexican wedding cookies" here in the States. These cookies appeared in the 18th century as a confection in tea ceremonies, but since the 20th century have been commonly eaten around Christmastime. I love them because they're rather mild in sweetness and have a wonderful melt-in-your mouth quality about them. And as the name suggests, they pair wonderfully with black tea (and a hint of cream) or coffee.

As much as that little, 6-year old girl was astonished by my age, I can't imagine being 21 already - eight and a half months of things I haven't experienced yet and the possibilities are endless. But during these next eight and a half months, I hope you, Kevin, fill yours with amazing experiences to look back on when you turn 22. Time flies, after all. Happy birthday, my dear friend.

5. canada: nanaimo bars [and a moment of solitude]

'Solitude' is a condition that I'm well-acquainted with as of late. I've been back at the apartment since last Sunday and have the place to myself. Not only that, I have more or less all of grounds to myself, save for those poor, overachieving, GPA-boost-seeking souls here for J-term.

As for me, I'm here working part-time, which is actually getting me nowhere whatsoever since I spend every waking hour that I'm home with my feet propped up on a table laid with half-read books, a carelessly discarded PS3 controller in desperate need of charging, and the Mac open to tabs of Facebook, Tastespotting, and Amazon.com for easy-access online shopping.

[Needless to say, any money I've made so far has already been spent on the first four novels in A Song of Ice & Fire, two new scarves, and about three cartons of eggs I picked up last week for breakfasts.]

In any case, "solitude" has never been a word I've found melancholy or deplorable, or one associated with the social status of an elderly cat-lady. In fact, I love being alone. It's a characteristic my mother has found baffling ever since my toddler years, when I was perfectly content to sit by the window in my crib and engage in whatever musings strike a 2-year-old without the need to cry out for mom's attention or caregiving. I'm not sure why, but I just rarely feel lonely, and very much enjoy having hours upon hours to spend doing whatever I want.

Lately, that has been books. Now, I'm not one for new year's resolutions. I mean, I make them, in my head of course, with all intention to break them as quickly as possible and save myself the later self-loathing. So, in an effort to keep up tradition, I mentally drew up a list of unachievable resolutions. The list included the usual - lose 20 pounds, will myself to sleep earlier than 3am on weeknights, do a better job of keeping in touch with family, etc. etc. But I also made one serious resolution that I do actually intend on keeping: read more.

[I figure, if I'm going to be up until 3am anyway, I could at least spend it doing something intellectually stimulating, instead of just lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, making tragically desperate wishes for TARDISes and a 4.0 gpa.]

I mean, I realize that it has only been 8 days, but having read literally about 1,000 pages of literature since the start of 2012, I think I'm doing rather well so far. In any case, it's more than I'd read for pleasure during the totality of the 365 days of 2011. Currently I'm in the middle of George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones and absolutely loving it. I work my 5-hour shifts every morning, come home by 3pm, and spend the remainder of the day alternating between novels and BBC television.

[Sherlock's back on for series 2 and I've definitely seen the first episode at least 5 times; another feat, seeing as how it was released exactly 7 days ago. Also not very surprising since this is me we're talking about.]

Today, though, has been a bit lazy. I haven't actually read at all yet, and spent the morning cooking, submitting philosophy papers to random journals, reading up on summer internships, and baking. First time baking in a little while, and so I settled on something I've always wondered about:  nanaimo bars.

Nanaimo bars are a delightful little treat from one of my favorite countries in the world, Canada. I actually did not realize prior to actually making them that they don't actually require any baking. [This was, in fact, so surprising that I felt the need to use the word "actually" thrice in the previous sentence.] Instead, they just chill out, layer by layer, in the fridge until they settle. It's a rather casual baking experience, which was even more welcome since I've tried my very best to move as little as possible today. The end result is a bit sweet for my tastes, but undeniably worth it for the ease of preparation.

Nanaimo Bars
Adapted from bakedbree
Yields 16 squares

For the crust, you'll need:

• 1/2 cup [1 stick] butter
• 1/4 cup brown sugar
• 3 tbsp cocoa powder
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• 2 cups graham cracker crumbs
• 1/2 cup walnuts, chopped
• 1 cup coconut flakes

For the middle layer, you'll need: 

• 1/4 cup [1/2 stick] butter, softened
• 2 cups powdered sugar
• 2 tbsp vanilla custard powder
• 1/4 cup heavy cream

For the chocolate layer, you'll need:

• 1/4 cup [1/2 stick] butter
• 4 oz semisweet chocolate

To prepare the crust:

Line an 8x8-inch square pan with aluminum foil, but do not grease. In a medium, heat-proof bowl, melt butter, brown sugar, and cocoa over a double-broiler [or microwave]. While the mixture is hot, whisk constantly while slowly pouring in the beaten egg. Be vigilant about whisking as to avoid scrambling the egg. Switch to a wooden spoon, add in graham cracker crumbs, walnuts, and coconut, and mix until the mixture comes together in a sort-of dough. Dump the dough onto the base of the pan and press it evenly along the base. Stick the pan in the fridge for 45-60 minutes.

To prepare the middle layer: 

Cream the butter, powdered sugar, and custard powder in a bowl. Slowly pour in the heavy cream and beat on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Pour filling onto the chilled crust and spread evenly with a spatula Stick the pan back into the fridge for another 45-60 minutes.

To prepare the chocolate layer:

Melt the chocolate chips and butter in a heat-proof bowl until the mixture is smooth and shiny. Once the middle layer has firmed up, pour the chocolate on top and spread it evenly with a spatula. Chill the bars in the fridge for at least 60 minutes before removing from the pan and slicing. Cut into 16 squares and serve. Bars can be refrigerated for up to 5 days.

Yes, I realize that geographically, it makes no sense to move from Afghanistan to Canada, and that I hadn't actually planned on hitting Canada in my gastronomic journey around the world for quite some time, but I like spontaneity. [And many of the Asian desserts that I have on my list require fruit that is not currently in season, so I figured that jumping around from country to country keeps things interesting and prevents me from going against nature.] 

As for the bars themselves, I love the crust on these; it has everything I love about an unhealthy food item. Graham crackers, nuts, coconut, butter, and brown sugar. I mean, it really just doesn't get any better. The middle layer I'm less keen on, but it's more a fault of my personal character [I don't like the taste or texture that accompanies custard powder] than the actual bars. But sandwiched between such a delightful crust and a guaranteed-to-be-delicious ganache layer, I couldn't stop myself from nibbling on the bars as I sliced them up. 

A fine dessert, over all.

As I said before, I have no problem with solitude. I rarely feel lonely and am perfectly content being able to sit like a log on my sofa in PJs for the entirety of the day with nothing but my books, my BBC Sherlock, and my David Tennant to keep me company. But when one has the house to herself, one also runs into the problem of having all of one's dessert to herself. This may not seem like a bad thing to those not in the house who may actually want to partake in said dessert, but for the one all alone in the house, it is a bad news bears situation. Consequently, I've layered the bars up in some tupperware, stuck them in the freezer, and plan on taking them home with me when I head back next weekend to share with the family.

Of course, that's not to say that I've kept a couple in the fridge for some dessert after tonight's dinner, but no one has to know about that.

4. afghanistan: shir berenj [and turning twenty]

Time never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes fleeting, sometimes unending, never enough, and so many names. Seconds, minutes, hours. Days, weeks, months. Years. Decades. Centuries. Millennium. Clocks, wristwatches, pocket watches, timers. Calendars, planners, schedules. Deadlines.

Wibbly-wobbly, really.

It's been, what, two weeks since my last post? A while, comparatively speaking. A lot can happen in two weeks. Attending a concert [Mat Kearney], writing a few papers [political theory and Spanish], reading a few books [class assignments], finishing another season of television [Torchwood], a trip out of town to attend another concert [Fleet Foxes in DC], starting a new job [tutoring], volunteering [soup kitchen], screaming with joy when a favorite screenwriter gets nominated for an Emmy [Steve Moffat for Sherlock, obviously], turning twenty.

Twenty years old. It's a strange feeling. I mean, I started school early so I'm the last among friends and peers to turn twenty. Many of them are already twenty-one, if not much older as is [taking a course with grad students makes one feel rather little, particularly when one is invited to go out for drinks with course professor and said students]. But still. One-fifth of a century. Two decades. Twenty years. 1,040 weeks. 7,280 days. 175,316 hours.10,518,975 minutes. 10,483,200 minutes. 631,138,519 seconds.

A lot can happen in twenty years.

But this isn't the time to reminisce about it.

I am, though, fortunate. Extremely so. For knowing the people that I've met, having the friends that I do, and a family that is always there. I sometimes forget it, but I'm always reminded. Particularly when I'm confronted with three different birthday cakes in the span of two days, an all-expenses paid dinner [parents are indispensable when you're in college], some meaningful gifts, and a load of well-wishes.

Cake from mother? Check. Cake from friends? Check. Life-size cardboard cut-out of the Tenth Doctor? Check.

You know, I'm pretty damn happy.

Birthday weekend started out like all great weekends should: a phenomenal dinner cooked by Mr. Sparta [I still dream about those mascarpone-stuffed dates...] and spectacular birthday carrot cake by Mrs. Sparta [orange-zested cream cheese frosting is such a revelation!]. I spent the beginning of the weekend in DC with Chelsea's family, Matt, Rudhdi, and Liz for a Fleet Foxes concert, and Chelsea's family graciously offered to prepare a birthday meal beforehand. The dinner was absolutely amazing, the concert was incredible, and there was tons of hilarious conversation on top of it all.

What did I say before about being blessed to have the friends that I do?

Came home Saturday afternoon, during which Farnoosh refused to let me open the fridge, as she and Tommy spent Friday afternoon baking a birthday cake for me. So I was forced to keep to the couch, having all fridge-items brought to me by Noosh, until going out for a delicious Thai dinner with Zack and Jerm in tow. Once we got home, Tommy came over and I finally got to see the dessert: an absolutely gorgeous chai cake with honey-ginger cream cheese frosting. It was beautifully constructed and tasted phenomenal in its complexity and similarity to a chai tea latte. And thus day two of the birthday weekend ended, yet again, in tummies full of sugar.

As for today, the 'rents drove in for the afternoon [as they always do] to take us out for a lunch of kebabs [as they always do]. I love the familiarity, especially since it means that mom has prepared a rich, dark chocolate torte to celebrate [as she always does]. They stayed for a while, we caught up since I hadn't seen them in over a month, enjoyed some of the cake from yesterday, and then cut into another one. And now, lying on the couch with a knit blanket, best friend by my side, flicking through channels on the new television [present courtesy of my father], and plates of cakes just eaten skewed across the coffee table, I can safely say that I am in a good place.

Twenty years old, and in a good place. A surreal feeling, but one that I think I will enjoy getting used to.


As for this dessert [because God knows that after three cakes I really just need another pound of sugar to throw me into a coma], I cooked it up earlier today before my parents arrived, and after a breakfast of leftover chai cake with milk. In the style of Middle Eastern puddings, which I love dearly, shir berenj is a Persian rice pudding. This one I've made in honor of Afghanistan, with a quite a bit of help from Noosh as well.

Shir Berenj
Adapted from Turmeric and Saffron, alongside some of Noosh's expertise.

You'll need:

• 1 cup basmati rice, rinsed and soaked in 2 cups water
• 1 cup water
• 5 cups milk [whole milk preferred, though 2% will do as well]
• cinnamon, to garnish
• honey, if desired
• fruit preserves, if desired

Rinse and soak the rice in cool water for at least two hours (preferably overnight). Then, rinse water and pour the rice into a deep, nonstick pot. Add the water and heat over medium flame until the water comes to a boil. Reduce heat to a gentle simmer, and stir occasionally until the rice absorbs all of the water, 10-15 minutes. Slowly pour in the milk and continue stirring over low flame until the rice has soaked up the milk, 30-40 minutes. Be sure to stir occasionally as to prevent the milk from burning.

Once pudding has cooked [the rice will be soft, but shouldn't break apart], remove the pan from the heat and let the pudding cool for 10-15 minutes. Pour the pudding into serving dishes and flatten the tops using a spoon. Sprinkle cinnamon over top of the pudding. Serve immediately with honey or fruit preserves to sweeten, or cover the tops with clingwrap and refrigerate until serving.

It's an easy dessert, really. Cooks for a while over stovetop, similar to seviyan, and the end result is a thick and creamy custard. Milk-based puddings are, for the most part, all made in this way: slow-cooked over a low flame for the milk to thicken to sweet, melt-in-your-mouth goodness. In other words, delicious.


You know, turning twenty has made me think about how quickly time goes by, and how much can happen in just a few years [if not two weeks]. But perhaps it's time to stop thinking about time. Time means that these cakes won't last forever. And that means that I'll have to stuff my face now and savor each moment.

3. arab peninsula: basbousa

Yeesh, I've been feeling like crap lately. Tired beyond belief, totally zapped of energy, headaches, utter lack of motivation, etc. etc. etc.

I think it's a case of the I-can't-believe-it's-already-been-three-weeks-of-term-my-God-what-have-I-learned.

[The answer being, much less than what one should know a third of the way into a semester of classes.]

This weekend was [ideally] going to be one of mental and physical rejuvenation [i.e. catching up on sleep], but unfortunately did not pan out that way [i.e. watching Torchwood all night has been cutting into my sleep time].

Nevertheless, today was relaxing in the sense that I did absolutely nothing productive, save visit the Farmer's Market, attempt to take a nap [read: end up reading cookbooks for about an hour and a half (shutup, I enjoy it)], and do a bit of baking and video-game playing with my darling housemate and my darling sous-baker.

So today, I bring you a continuation of my "Around the World in 50 Sweets", a visit to the Arabian Peninsula with this phenomenal cake, basbousa. This dish actually appears in variations all across the Eastern Mediterranean as well as the Peninsula, probably because it's so gosh-darn amazing. It's one of my all-time favorite foreign desserts, and I'm so thrilled to be able to share a rather authentic version of it with you all.

Stereotypical camel statue situated alongside an Arab dessert? OH YES.

Basbousa
Adapted from my khala

For the cake, you'll need:

• 1 cup semolina flour [also called sooji]
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup yogurt
• 1/2 cup dry milk powder
• 1 cup dessicated coconut, unsweetened
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 pinch ground cardamom
• 1/2 cup canola oil
• 1 egg, lightly beaten

For the sugar syrup, you'll need:

• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1/3 cup water
• 1 drop rose water

Line and grease an 8x8-inch pan. Pour all cake ingredients in a bowl and mix with a wooden spoon until blended. Pour cake batter in the prepared pan. Let sit for an hour, and then bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 30 minutes.

In a medium-sized saucepan, heat sugar and water to boiling. Whisk in rose water and blend. Remove pan from the heat and let the syrup cool for 5-10 minutes. Using a fork or toothpick, poke holes over the top of the baked cake. Pour the syrup over top of the cake. Let the cake cool completely before removing from the pan. Slice into diamonds and serve.

I had mom mail me this recipe after getting a hold of it from my aunt. She lived in the UAE for quite some time before moving to Canada a few years ago, and her cook's husband was a rather established chef at the time [I do believe he actually worked in a palace, if I recall correctly]. Consequently, she prepared some pretty amazing dishes for my family while she worked for them, and taught this one of basbousa to my aunt. I'm ecstatic to have it in my hands, now.

Basbousa can be made without coconut, and technically [I think], the traditional version is just semolina flour and sugar. Nevertheless, my favorite version is chock-full of delicious coconut, made absolutely irresistible with the sugar syrup. The end result is a sticky, dense cake, almost difficult to eat too much of, but even more difficult to make yourself stop. One bite is enough to transport you to sandy deserts, colorful bazaars with yells of haggling and bearded shop vendors, shisha and kebabs, scorching suns and cool evenings.

It is, in a sense, ethereal.

Tomorrow will be spent brunching with apartment-mates, attending orientation for a new part-time job, writing Spanish papers, and meeting old friends for Thai food.

I suppose this 'feeling like crap business' can't last forever.

2. india: gulab jamun

I've always been fascinated with India. It's an enormous country and Pakistan's neighbor, so it's a wonder I haven't been before [taking into consideration the political and religious context of the two countries, it's not really surprising, but from a purely geographical standpoint, somewhat so]. When one thinks of India, one typically thinks spices, the Taj Mahal, bright festivals and Bollywood, large families and sweltering heat, monsoons and mangoes, and a multitude of incredible food.

Having never been, I have the same idea in my mind. And I'm sure even when I am to visit, it'll be pretty accurate. But I also know there's more to a country so large than just what you'd glean from a superficial trip. Richness in people, history, culture, all unique throughout the vast expanse of the peninsula, makes for one rather diverse place. One that I don't think any outsider will ever really come to understand. One that I don't think many Indians themselves ever really come to understand.



Still, I do know that Indian food is my favorite type of cuisine in all the world. Of course, the amount of food from India that I haven't eaten is enormous, since so much Indian cuisine is itself regional, but I'd never, ever, pass up a good masala dosa or samosa or palak paneer or tandoori chicken.

But even more so than the meats and veggies, the mithai. Luckily for me, although I'll never find masala dosa in Karachi, India and Pakistan share a lot of the same dessert. Mango lassis, kulfi, jalebi, laddu, to name a few. Sugar syrups, sticky fingers, cold ice creams, the familiar tastes of pistachio, mango, almond, saffron, and rose water. These are the tastes I grew up with, visiting Pakistan in my youth with nothing but Heidi under my arm and a sweet tooth large enough to take down empires.

[You'd think that two countries with such impeccable taste in food would be able to set aside their differences over a some malai kofta, a towering plate of naan, a steaming bowl of chicken chettinadu, and cold glass of lassi. Nevertheless, I'm optimistic about the future.]

And yet, to this day, nothing quite beats gulab jamun.


I have literally never met a soul on earth who does not love gulab jamun. And if I have, the sole reason is that they've never tried it. But I mean, let's be real: you can't really go wrong with little balls of dough [carbohyadrates!], deep fried in hot oil [fats!], and left to soak in cardamom-infused sugar syrup [more carbohydrates!]. You just can't.

These gorgeous photos come from Matt, who had the incredible opportunity to spend 10 weeks in India this past summer. Safe to say, he's now more fluent in Hindi/Urdu than myself.

Mom and I have been working on this recipe for, literally, years now, and eventually, we've perfected it. Unfortunately for you all, though, it's not one that I'm going to be sharing - it's kind of like our little secret. You know, like that apple spice cake your grandmother learned from her grandmother and consequently taught your mother, and it's so absolutely amazing that when you make it for friends and they ask you for the recipe, you shake your head in mock-sadness and tell them it's not for sharing? Same situation here. So, my apologies, but this one's not for sharing!

I actually prepared these to take to Jesse's goodbye party this past weekend. She'll be heading off to Tunisia for the academic year, and is absolutely in love with these things, so obviously the natural course of action was to make her some as a little goodbye present. Luckily, she loved them, and so did everyone else, and so it was quite the success.

In retrospect, it was only natural that my second journey around the world would bring me to this beautiful country. One day, I hope to visit it myself. If not to experience the richness of its people, culture, and history, then at least for its mithai shops.

I think that's pretty good motivation in and of itself.

[one year ends and a journey begins] seviyan

“Great restaurants are, of course, nothing but mouth-brothels. There is no point in going to them if one intends to keep one’s belt buckled.”
- Frederic Raphael

If you've ever read this thing before, you'll know that I have an obsession with food. A rather obvious obsession with food. That's why I started this thing, really: to publicize my gastronomic antics in an outlet much preferable to texting friends miles away about a phenomenal slice of cake eaten at such-and-such restaurant, or sending camera-phone photos to my mother every time I bake something new and enthralling.

Granted, I still do occasionally resort to the texting method aforementioned, to friends who'd appreciate those antics without raising an eyebrow too high in question, if I've eaten something particularly delicious. It's just a love that should be shared, I think.

Anyway, that was 1 year ago. Exactly 365 days. 365 days since I first signed onto blogger and made this silly old thing. But it's grown to be more than just a silly old thing.

Still silly, of course, but more meaningful to me than I originally thought it'd be. Perhaps in my subconscious mind, it's a vain attempt at self-preservation. Perhaps it's a method of escaping from the trivialties of the day-to-day to a place where I don't feel obligated to do anything, really, and can stop thinking about the stresses of university. Perhaps it's because it's become way to learn, not only about baking and photography, but about life and about myself.


Or perhaps I just really, really, really like food.

No matter the reason, I'm happy to be here. I thought I'd keep this up for a few weeks, a few months at most, but it's become bigger than that. It's become a source of comfort, something I know will always be here for me to come to when I want to stop thinking. Something to remember things by, from vibrant photographs of blackberry flaugnarde to the lingering taste of apple pie on the tongue. Something that makes me appreciate Farmer's Market tomatoes and coffee dates with friends, espresso and lemon pound cake on the table.

I'm just...happy to be here, honestly. Not much more to say than that.

Aside from thank you, to you wonderful people. You wonderful people who read this silly old thing. And put up with my antics. And hopefully walk away with something afterward. A way to pass time in a dull lecture, a growling stomach, a new recipe, or maybe even a new perspective on something as ordinarily beautiful as food.

But enough of the sap. Cheese is for eating, after all. [shutup Sabeen]


Not only is today the 1-year anniversary of this blog, but it also happens to be Eid. So, obviously, as if I weren't already going to bake something in celebration, I knew it had to be something special. And so I decided to take a drive home for a bit, spend some time with mom, reminisce about Eids past [back when I could actually be home to celebrate], and cook some seviyan.

I really just love this stuff. Could eat it by the pot. Easily. I won't even notice how much of it I've eaten until there's none left, and then all I feel regrettable about is the fact that there was hardly enough for me. I've been downing this stuff since I was born, basically, and it's one of my all-time favorite sweet treats. Still, it's something mom only makes on special occasions, so when I was home this weekend for an early Eid celebration, I knew I wanted her to finally teach me the trade.

Granted, a lot of the weekend was spent cursing Irene for a loss of electricity, but therein lies the beauty of gas stoves.

Interestingly, mom says that a Pakistani woman is only considered of marriageable material if she can cook a good pot of seviyan. Wondering if I should be proud of myself for successfully accomplishing this supposed feat, or terrified of being married off in the near future.

Seviyan
Adapted from mom's recipe book

You'll need:

• half a gallon of whole milk
• 1 cup crushed vermicelli noodles
• 1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
• a pinch of ground cardamom
• 1 drop of kevra, if available [alternatively, 1 drop of rosewater works as well]
• chopped pistachios or almonds to garnish

In a large saucepan over medium flame, heat milk until just boiling. Lower the temperature to a gentle simmer. Stir in the crushed vermicelli noodles and stir. Keep stirring at a simmer for 40-50 minutes, until milk has thickened some. No need to stir continuously, but return frequently [every 5-10 minutes] as to make sure milk isn't boiling or burning. Be vigilant about scraping the sides and bottom of the pan.

After milk has thickened a bit, add in sweetened condensed milk and combine. Finally, add in kevra [or rosewater] and ground cardamom. Stir for another 5-10 minutes, to allow the sugar in the condensed milk to thicken the pudding further. Remove the pan from the heat and let rest for 5 minutes. Spoon pudding into serving dishes and top with ground nuts of choice. Be sure to do so before the skin forms on top of the pudding [which, by the way, is the best part]. Let pudding cool to room temperature, at least, before serving. Pudding tastes best after a few hours in the fridge, and will stay good, covered, for up to 5 days.

And now, this recipe leads me to my big blog project for the year [Two years? Three years? Deadlines have yet to been set, saying how it's unlikely they're to be met. But I digress].

So, I like to bake. Obviously. But more than that, I like trying new things. It's why I joined the Daring Bakers back in January; it gave me an excuse to bake things that I normally wouldn't have a reason to.

And now that this is the end of one year, and the beginning of another, I thought, "what better way to keep myself entertained during my third/fourth/post-grad year of college than to impose some sort of unreachable culinary goal that will inevitably leave me wondering why I've decided to undertake the challenge in the first place?"

Thus, I dub today the commencement of my blog project, Around the World in 50 Sweets. What am I going to do, you might ask? And did I really need to select such a corny title? Well, I am going to take a culinary tour around the world, starting in South Asia and the Middle East, traveling east through Asia and the Pacific Islands, Down Under, across the sea to South America, up north through Central America and the Caribbean to the good old' US of A, a short trip up to Canada, a boat ride across the Atlantic to Africa, a scenic backpacking trip through Europe, and finally through the Chunnel to the glorious United Kingdom. Fifty desserts to give myself and you all a taste of our world, one both enormously large and strikingly small, full of fantastic people with fantastic recipes to match. All with nothing but a whisk, mixing bowl, and a bag of sugar by side.

[Okay, so I'll have some flour and almond extract from time to time, but the above sounded more poetic. And yes, the title is staying.]

Is this crazy? Probably. Is this going to but an enormous dent in my bank account? Most certainly. Am I actually going to finish this by the end of my third year, as was my original vision? Hugely unlikely. Am I going to end up regretting this?

...well, that goes without saying. Mostly for my thighs. But at least the journey will be fun.


And so, I bring to you today journey number one, the place where my story begins, all told through a bowl of seviyan: Pakistan. Jasmine trees, Great Illustrated Classics, henna tattoos, calls to prayer, grandmothers and grandfathers, noisy rikshas, dusty streets, afternoon ceiling fans and hot summer nights. A homage to my parents. Childhood familiarity. My beginning.


A good place to start, I think.