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.

pistachio cake with honey-vanilla frosting

My uncle celebrated his birthday this past Tuesday, but he was on call for most of the week and so we didn't have a chance to get together as a family until this afternoon. I had asked him prior if he wanted a cake, to which he gave me an enthusiastic response of affirmation, and so I sat down to come up with [read: started scrolling through Tastespotting for] interesting cake recipes.

I was just tired of the standard vanilla and lemon, or chocolate and raspberry, or angel food cake with berries combo.

And then I happened upon this recipe: pistachio cake with honey-vanilla frosting. So unique, so exotic, so daring! I fell in love with the concept at first sight, and knew this was going to be my next project.

the mask is courtesy of mustafa's returned from a week-long caribbean cruise.

Pistachio Cake with Honey-Vanilla Frosting
Adapted from cate's world kitchen

For the cake, you'll need:

• 1 cup shelled pistachios (plus 1/3 cup for decorating)
• 3 cups all purpose flour, sifted twice
• 1 tbsp baking powder
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 3/4 tsp salt
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
• 1/2 cup vegetable shortening
• 1 3/4 cups sugar
• 1 tbsp vanilla
• 1 large egg
• 3 large egg whites, at room temperature
• 1 1/2 cups ice cold water
• 1/4 tsp cream of tartar

For the honey-vanilla buttercream, you'll need:

• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups whole milk
• 1/3 cup heavy cream
• 1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, soft but cool, cut into small pieces
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/4 cup honey

To prepare the cake:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, and line, grease, and flour 3 9-inch or 8-inch round cake pans.

Pulse the pistachios in a food processor until they are coarsely chopped. Transfer about 2 tablespoons of the coarse pistachios to a large bowl. Continue to process the rest of the pistachios until they are almost powdery- but not superfine. Stir the pistachio powder into the reserved coarse pistachios. Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt, together over the large bowl containing the pistachios. Stir to combine.

Beat the butter and shortening on medium speed with the paddle attachment until creamy, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the sugar and vanilla and beat until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the bowl, add the whole egg, and beat until just combined. Turn the mixture to low.

In a measuring cup, make 1 1/2 cups ice water. Add the flour mixture to the mixer in three parts, alternating with the ice water, beginning and ending with the flour mixture. For each addition, turn the mixer to low to add ingredients, then up to medium speed for a few seconds until incorporated. Scrape down the bowl, then mix on low speed for a few more seconds.

In a medium bowl, whisk the egg whites and cream of tartar until soft peaks form (This is easy to do by hamd and gives your arm a workout!). Do not overbeat. Gently fold the egg whites into the batter.

Divide the batter among the prepared pans and smooth the tops. Bake for about 30 minutes (9 inch layers) or 35 minutes (8 inch layers), rotating the pans halfway through the baking time, until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Transfer the pans to a wire rack and let cool for 20 minutes. Turn the cakes out onto the rack, remove the parchment and let cool completely.


To prepare the frosting:
Whisk the sugar and flour together in a medium heavy-bottom saucepan. Add milk and cream and cook over medium heat whisking occasionally, until the mixture comes to a boil and has thickened, about 10 to 15 minutes.

Transfer the mixture to the bowl of a standing mixer with paddle attachment. Beat on high speed until cool (at least 7 or 8 minutes) then add the butter a few pieces at a time and mix until thoroughly incorporated. Increase the speed to medium-high and beat until frosting is light, fluffy, and smooth.

Add the vanilla and honey and continue mixing until combined. If the frosting is too soft, put the bowl in the refrigerator to chill slightly, then beat again until it is proper consistency. If the frosting is too firm, set the bow over a pot of simmering water and beat with a wooden spoon until it is the proper consistency.


To assemble the cake:
Place one cake layer on a serving platter. Trim the top to create a flat surface, and evenly spread about 1 1/4 cups frosting on top. Add the next layer, trim and frost it, then add the third layer. Spread the sides and top of the cake with the remaining frosting. Garnish the cake with chopped pistachios and refrigerate it for 15 minutes to it firm up before serving.

It is fine to keep this cake at room temperature for a few days. If you decide to keep it in the fridge, let it come to room temperature before serving.

I am in love with this cake. It's so unexpected, in it's own way, and was a big hit with my uncle! Smiling faces, contented looks, eyes closed in enjoyment of the first bite; this is what I live for.

Plus, it was lovely to be able to bake with my mom again; she was a big help with frosting the cake while I stood by in creeper-paparazzi fashion snapping photos.


And now, I'm left with images of Middle Eastern streets and Rumi poetry swimming in my mind.

In other news, seeing as how it's Saturday, I think this may be my last post before I leave [on Monday]. I will write when I can [the quality of the WiFi in Valencia will only be apparent once I'm actually there], and will have the DSLR with me to document all of my gastronomic and sight-seeing endeavors. Saying "I'm pretty friggin stoked" would be a little bit of an understatement, but for now, I'll leave you with pistachio cake crumbs.

thanks, mum.

My place is placeless, a trace of the traceless. 

Neither body or soul.

I belong to the beloved, 

have seen the two worlds as one,

and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner, only that

breath breathing human being.
-Rumi

coconut burfi

Sitting with my laptop outside in 60 degree weather? In the middle of February? What sorcery is this?!

...I'll take it.

I've been basking in the glory that is the sun for the past few days. A welcome change after frigidly cold January weather. Reading Bécquer for lit courses, being distracted by birds whilst in philosophy, drinking iced coffees in between classes without feeling like an idiot for ordering an iced coffee in the middle of winter; it's all so poetic. Or perhaps I've been reading too much post-romantic Spanish literature.

In any case, the main point is that I love this weather. I love being able to enjoy my ten-minute walk to work without my hands numbing over to the point where I can't even tell if they're still attached to my wrists. I love being able to sit outside during my one-hour break between classes instead of wishing ill upon every person who opens the door to Starbucks and lets the draft in. I love not having to borrow friends' sweatshirts [and failing to return them in a timely fashion...sorry, Matt] because of being absurdly under-dressed for the chill.

I am extremely cold-sensitive, in case you were wondering.

Luckily, Cville has been blessed with gorgeous weather this week. And how better to enjoy the weather than by doing something charitable?

Tomorrow evening, the MSA is hosting a Pakistani Cultural Bazaar to raise money to help rebuild the lives of the flood victims. I knew I wanted to help out as best as I could, so I offered to make something of the food variety. [Will also potentially be providing my services as a henna tattoo artist if need be, but that has yet to be solidified.] Anyway, at first I wasn't quite sure what to make. Cookies? Brownies? Cake balls? Oreo truffles? ...nah.

This is a cultural event, after all. A time to appreciate, what for most people are, foreign customs and values, to think of those who are severely under-assisted and need our help and support, and be unified by shared compassion and humanity. I wanted to make something that showcases the FOB within me, that will bring a little bit of Pakistan to everyone who attends. And that can only mean one thing:

Mithai. Specifically, coconut burfi.

Burfi is one of my favorite Pakistani desserts. Plain burfi is basically condensed milk cooked over medium heat with sugar until it solidifies into a dough. The dough is poured into a pan and left to set, then cut into small pieces and devoured. Burfi comes in a variety of flavors, and can be prepared with fruit [usually mango or coconut], spices like cardamom, or nut flours [almonds or pistachios]. I will never in my life be able to replicate the burfi my uncles buy for me from the mithai shops in Karachi, which is probably be a good thing because I can eat that burfi by the pound, but nevertheless, I can attempt.

Mom made these for the Eid party we threw back in the fall, and since then I've been pestering her for the recipe. She graciously [read: finally] obliged my request, and showed me how to make them when I went home last weekend. The recipe is, to my surprise, extremely easy, and extremely quick. Cook time is about 15 minutes total. Cool time is a bit longer, about 2 hours, but if you're like me, you'll just stick the pan in the fridge once it's cooled for like half an hour and eat it after 15 minutes of refrigeration.

 Coconut Burfi 

You'll need:

• 1 tsp butter
• 2 cups whole-milk ricotta cheese [never use skim or fat-free dairy when baking, unless specified; it throws off the texture]
• 1 heaping cup of granulated sugar
• 1 pound unsweetened coconut [note: This is not coconut flour, nor is is shredded coconut. It's as if you ran unsweetened shredded coconut through a food processor and pulverized it into a powdery crumbs. Can be purchased in any international super market.]
• 2 drops kewra [can substitute with 2-3 drops coconut essence]
• food coloring, as desired

Line a 9x13-inch pan with aluminum foil and set aside. In a medium, shallow pan over medium heat, melt butter. Add in ricotta and sugar, and stir until melted. Add in kewra and food coloring. Reduce heat to very low and add in coconut. Stir until coconut absorbs all the liquid, 10-15 minutes. Be sure to stir frequently to prevent coconut from burning. The coconut mixture should be firming up. Once all the liquid has been absorbed and coconut has had time to cook some, pour the dough out onto lined baking sheet. Press dough evenly across the pan and flatten out with the back of a spatula [or your palm]. Leave burfi out to cool and set, at least 45 minutes. Cut burfi into small diamonds and serve.

Burfi will stay good for 3-5 days in an airtight container. If refrigerated, will stay good for up to a week.

I suppose it's not necessary to color your burfi, but I think it gives it a unique touch. For this batch, I went with about 5 drops of green food coloring. Also, the reason I ended up using 3 pans was because I used a total of 24 oz of coconut rather than 16 [and adjusted the ratios accordingly].

What I love about this recipe is that it's not overly sweet, and the coconut is not overpowering. It's a relatively light dessert, as far as mithai goes [which is pretty much on the opposite spectrum of "light"], and very palatable for people who aren't huge coconut fanatics. I am, though, which means that I am one happy camper with this recipe.

Here's to hoping that tomorrow's Bazaar is a success!

kheer

I love South Asian and Middle Eastern desserts. Like, LOVE. I can't even express.

Imagine the most amazing dessert you've ever eaten in your life, multiply it by a thousand, and that's almost how delicious Pakistani and Indian desserts are. Almost.

I, personally, am no expert in making such desserts. They're super time-consuming, often very easy to destroy, and very difficult to find authentic recipes outside the realm of family. But earlier this week, on Eid, I decided I had to try one. Not being home, I don't really have access to good recipes, and I don't trust Indian cookbooks for reliable dessert recipes, so I spent the week pestering my mom, via email, to jot down her amazing kheer recipe for me. Which she did, and which I was extremely excited to try.

Now, kheer is a very traditional Pak-Indian dessert made by boiling rice or broken wheat with milk and sugar, and flavored with an array of possibilities [cardamom, saffron, pistachios, almonds, to name a few]. Sounds simple, yes?

Not so.

This is a very delicate recipe, and one that requires your constant attention. For over an hour.
Believe me when I say that I pulled up a chair, plopped down next to the stove with my laptop and PSP, and kept myself entertained for 75 minutes while stirring the kheer. But it was well-worth the effort, because it turned out almost as well as mom's.

Kheer

You'll need:

• 1/2 cup basmati rice
• 1/2 gallon whole milk
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 3 pods of cardamom, cracked, or a generous pinch of ground cardamom
• 1 drop of kewra or rose water [the two are not the same, and both cannot be used]
• 1/4 cup raisins, if desired
• ground almonds and pistachios, to garnish, if desired

Soak rice in warm water for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, In a large pot, heat the milk on medium-high heat until warm. Drain the water, and puree the rice with about 1/4 cup of the milk in a blender. Add the pureed rice to the warm milk and increase heat as to allow the milk to come to a boil, stirring constantly to prevent rice from forming clumps. Continue stirring until milk boils, and immediately reduce heat so milk does not overflow. Allow milk to simmer for an hour, stirring every 5 minutes. Once milk has begun to thicken, add sugar. Continue stirring on and off for 5 minutes. Taste for sweetness and add more sugar if desired. Toss in cardamom and kewra or rose water, and stir until blended. Toss in raisins, if desired, and stir. Turn off heat.

To serve, use a ladle to pour kheer into bowls. Sprinkle ground almonds and pistachios on top, if desired. Kheer can be eaten either hot or cold, and keeps well in the fridge for up to 5 days.

So in my kheer, I used essence of kewra instead of rose water, though both can be found in any international market. Kewra is an extremely fragrant species of shrub with flowers that is widespread in southern Asia and is used as a perfume, aromatic oil, or fragrant distillation. Essence of kewra is also very common in many South Asian desserts. Just one drop gives the dessert an explosion of flavor. I can't imagine kheer without it, though, so it's a must-have for me. I can't describe the fragrance at all; it's unlike anything I've ever smelled, but believe me when I say that it's irreplaceable.

Luckily, the international market here in Cville sells it, as well as rose water, so now my spice cabinet is fully equipped to suit all of my Fobby needs. In fact, it may be time for a bit more kheer soon...

In other news, Thanksgiving is less than a week away and I cannot WAIT. I've got my menu totally planned out, and it's going to be epic. Mustafa, Murtaza, and Ali will be joining us, as always, so it has to impress. Not to mention Yusra will be helping me out in the kitchen, so it's going to be a ton of fun.

Mom's probably praying that our house won't burn to the ground. I'm still deciding whether or not this is a legitimate fear.

gulab jamun

Today was Matt's 20th birthday. Of course, I had to do something. Normally I bake some type of dessert bar for my friends on their birthday, but Matt isn't just any old friend. Aside from being one of my bests, Matt is pretty much an honorary desi. And one of his most favorite desserts in the world happens to be one that I've grown up with: gulab jamun.

Now, I don't really know how to describe gulab jamun well, but it's basically balls of dough (charmingly called "waffle balls"), deep fried, and soaked in sugar. Honestly, you can't go wrong.

Though, I like to pride myself on having one of the best gulab jamun recipes out there. And believe me, I've had a lot of gulab jamun in my time.

Before I type the recipe up for you guys, let me be clear. As traditional and old as this dessert is (it was introduced to the Indian subcontinent by the Arabs during the Moghul Empire), my ingredients are rather...unconventional, for lack of a better word. Gulab jamun is normally made from milk solids (usually khoya) mixed with flour. Mine? Well, here's the recipe. Mom and I have been trying to perfect it for years, and I think we've finally gotten it right.

Gulab Jamun

You'll need:

• 3/4 cups plus 2 tablespoons pancake mix (I use Bisquick or Hungry Jack)
• 1 cup dry milk powder
• 1/3 cup canned table cream
• 2 cups sugar
• 1 1/2 cups water
• 1/2 tsp cardamom (or 2 pods, cracked)
• drop of kewra or rosewater, if available

Prepare 2 saucepans, one large, one small, each over medium heat. In the large saucepan, combine sugar, water, and cardamom  (and kewra or rosewater, if using) to make a simple sugar. Bring mixture to a boil, then lower temperature and let simmer gently. In the smaller saucepan, fill it about halfway with canola oil. Keep heat on medium.

Meanwhile, prepare the dough. Thoroughly mix pancake mix and milk powder with a fork until well blended. Pour cream slowly, while stirring dough, until dough starts to combine. Use your hands and knead mixture until it comes together as one uniform lump of dough. Break off small pieces of dough and roll into balls, as smooth as possible (they should be about 1-inch in diameter). You should get 15-18 balls.

Gently lower 4 or 5 balls into the oil, and let fry until  they turn a deep brown. Make sure they don't burn; if they start browning too quickly, they are not cooking thoroughly enough and you need to lower the temperature of the oil. Once browned, use a slotted spoon to transfer the balls into the simple syrup. Let soak syrup for at least 10 minutes, if not for half an hour to an hour.

Gulab jamun keep well at room temperature or fridge in an airtight container for up to two weeks.

So delicious. I do like them a lot with the pancake mix; I think it's because they turn out lighter than they would if I were to use flour.

Plus, pancakes are delicious.

And these things are called "waffle balls" anyway, and that's basically the same thing, right? Right.

After Matt's had cooled down, I sprinkled them with a bit of shredded coconut and ground almonds, just for some texture (and feigned professionalism). Unfortunately, I forgot to pick up some decent containers from Kroger when I went grocery shopping yesterday, which was the entire reason I went to Kroger in the first place, so I had to resort to Tupperware to "gift-wrap" them.

Still, I'd say a treat from the homeland beats cupcakes any day.

(yes, I still hate cupcakes.)