tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79979834960608654932024-03-18T09:14:51.624+00:00come · con · ellaMehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.comBlogger442125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-89748339294471704212022-01-05T21:23:00.018+00:002022-01-07T16:36:16.150+00:00goodbye twenty-twenty oneottolenghi in islingtonand just like that the year ended, more a whimper than a bang. not that it matters. new year is an artificial construct which almost never lives up to the expectations of it. it offers no neat endings or clear beginnings. it is really just another day, arriving with certainty, unbidden and uninvited. the pandemic on the other hand is a keeper of its own time, and is Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-5878183876217038332021-01-01T16:24:00.009+00:002021-01-06T15:26:15.362+00:00goodbye twenty-twentyit is time that 2020 is put to bed. i say this knowing full well that its happenings have consequence for years to come. 2021 will bring more of the same. history rhymes and the stories of pandemics past tell us that this will be the worst of the season. when i shared my fears with omair a few days ago, he reminded me of the old proverb that the darkest hour is before dawn. here is what i Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-47943083501235520982020-05-03T18:14:00.005+01:002020-05-03T18:31:48.671+01:00the limits of uncle ben's rice, vittles 2.9stir fried brown rice with smoked tofui wrote a short essay for vittles, a food newsletter for these novel corona times. it is about uncle ben's. when i shared it with family, baba wrote back telling me that he had never been able to develop a taste for it. i must admit that i had assumed as much. he is very particular about his rice and prefers for it to perfectly steamed so that each grain is Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-83578617907838974322019-06-01T23:12:00.000+01:002019-06-01T23:20:58.838+01:00algiers | words and visuals
roman ruins at tipasa, algeria
a saturday in early march found us at the algerian consulate in london. finding it took some effort since it is located near a business park and there is little by way of markings for direction. it was a metaphor for the application process itself because the links on the visa section do not direct one to the required information and often refused to work. when Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-68347804137101326552019-01-01T19:26:00.001+00:002019-12-29T18:43:12.499+00:00goodbye twenty-eighteen
brunch at home on the first of january
i often found myself wishing that twenty eighteen would hurry itself up and end, despite knowing that a new year does not mean a neat and definitive resolution of the one past. how is it, that an even numbered year can have so odd a character? (see shake to remember if you need a reminder about the absurdity and the seriousness). the political Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-22042985083953026082018-03-24T23:55:00.003+00:002018-03-24T23:58:19.959+00:00a rose is a rose is a rose, the aleph review
god gave us memory so that we might have roses in december
j.m.barrie
we made gulkand for the first time in the house in bani gala. the trio of rose bushes in our little but flourishing garden were alive with blooms and thorns. the petals had been used to perfume homemade strawberry jam and steeped in boiling water with fresh lemongrass or green tea as a tisane. our cat zubeida has a Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-75131676260862262192018-01-08T19:57:00.002+00:002019-12-29T18:43:51.216+00:00goodbye twenty-seventeen
christmas lights on regent street, london
december arrives with certainty, irrespective of the tempo of the year. it cares not whether there are loose ends or unfinished business. i have come to love the closing days of the year. the turn of the seasons is a time to gather thought. it is to hold the past, present and future in hand (momentarily).
i was never one for winter. even on days Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-18328694764182513582017-10-06T23:37:00.000+01:002017-10-13T15:15:13.504+01:00on crumble in times of grief and loss
strawberry crumble
i hold the word loss in my mouth. it feels full and heavy. when babcia died on the last day of july, i realised that loss had crossed a boundary. until then, it had described the process of losing her. afterwards, it took to grief.
the truth is i lost babcia slowly.
over the last few years, dementia affected her memory and eventually cancer and age stole herMehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-13341103390708564402017-07-14T15:57:00.000+01:002017-07-14T15:57:48.300+01:00edible seville, cordoba and malaga
pestino; pastry fried in olive oil and drizzled with honey and sesame seeds.
we arrived in malaga on a balmy and breezy april morning. our spanish sojourn took us to seville, cordoba and malaga mostly in search of a moorish past. the roads connecting each of these cities were curvaceous, the carriageways separated by oleanders. the landscape is one of low rolling hills populated in turn by Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-56275322203193535032017-05-14T17:29:00.000+01:002017-05-14T17:29:40.485+01:00edible islamabad and lahore
samosa chaat, mashallah chaat house
islamabad is no longer the sleepy metropolis of my girlhood. its boundaries have stretched into new sectors, swallowing land between the garrison town of rawalpindi and outwards towards the hill station of murree. i feel the change palpably on each annual visit. there is a new network of roads and a shiny new mass transit system that commands its own lane. Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-67066191592323202252017-02-05T17:59:00.000+00:002017-02-06T21:40:06.351+00:00bread, butter, books | an essay for papercuts
plump pierogi fried in goose fat, krakow
my essay on 'bread, butter, books' was published in volume 17 of papercuts magazine with the theme 'appetite'. it is about first tastes and travel and about how real and imagined foods coincide in experience. papercuts is a biannual literary magazine established by desi writers' lounge. desi writers' lounge provides a platform for aspiring Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-61445920616174271532016-12-30T18:42:00.000+00:002019-12-29T18:44:53.420+00:00goodbye twenty-sixteen
clock tower park, caledonian road
the closing days of the year have you been revealing and concealing in equal measure. there has been glorious sunshine that has coloured london rose gold at sunset. and then there has been fog so thick it has consumed everything in its wake or made apparitions of architecture and moving figures alike. the weather echoes my sentiments on the year.
2016 Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-12914199661108796192016-09-27T19:14:00.001+01:002016-09-27T19:16:16.109+01:00a manifesto for preserving + a recipe for raspberry chambord jam
raspberry and bayleaf
it is not enough for jam to just be sweet. a good jam is one where the fruit tastes more of itself, making it a true expression of the word preserve for jam is really the essence of a season in a jar. this is true even in this time of plenty when one can get strawberries in winter and oranges in summer. there is nothing quite like the taste of strawberries in high Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-9218670930085973502016-04-06T19:03:00.001+01:002016-04-06T19:21:33.151+01:00on white + a recipe for pasta with labne, spinach and almonds
conchiglie with labne, spinach and almonds
white is known for the absence of hues
that are visible to the naked eye. this explains why some argue that it is not
a colour at all. a (my sister-in-law) disagrees. she is an artist. she says
that white is like light. it contains the full spectrum of colours that are
sometimes visible, like when a rainbow appears in the sky.
as an artistMehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-68593084973791492342016-03-07T19:58:00.001+00:002016-03-09T12:34:19.900+00:00gaajar halva; a cardamom laced carrot pudding
gaajar halva with a squiggle of milk pak cream
winter is the season
of indulgence. it calls for the richness of butter and cream; of dark meats and
root vegetables.
in england, my adopted home, winter is the time to eat
roast meats with potatoes to sponge the juices. soft cheeses high on fat are
eaten with sharp chutneys made from apples, quince and beetroots. desserts
feature steamed Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-31565761448001593122015-08-26T08:34:00.002+01:002015-10-01T16:13:16.551+01:00the original plum torte and more
marion burros' original plum torte
autumn has begun to show face. she is plums the colour of dark bruises and apples like rosy cheeks. she has come to replace peaches with sun gold flesh, nectarines, glossy strawberries and blackberries. there was so much sweetness and warmth in the soft fruits this year, nurtured by a strong summer sun and plenty of heat. i have polished punnets of Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-74376472323127665162015-07-15T22:37:00.000+01:002015-07-20T12:23:50.025+01:00choti eid + a recipe for channa chaat (chickpea chaat)
ilona's channa chaat
ramazan (the month of fasting) concludes this weekend. around the world, muslims will celebrate the festival of eid. in pakistan, the country of my birth and early adulthood, a committee of old men with compromised eyesight will be tasked with sighting the crescent moon that heralds the celebration. the politics of the sighting of the moon are such that celebrations willMehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-366994288668831352015-05-21T15:11:00.005+01:002015-05-21T15:11:35.860+01:00aloo bukharay ki chutney
aloo bukharay ki chutney
there is a colony of jars in my kitchen. they come in assorted sizes with gingham patterned screw tops, clip tops and embossed glass surfaces. they are home to all manner of pickles and preserves, both sweet and savoury. i have been preserving in earnest since that first jar of diana henry’s fig and pomegranate molasses jam. there has been marmalade in tones of amberMehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-7187389862073850962015-02-20T18:56:00.000+00:002015-02-20T18:58:07.131+00:00bergamot marmalade
bergamot marmalade
marmalade is the beloved preserve of my favourite childhood storybook character. i am of course talking about paddington bear. it is also my father’s favourite. as a child i preferred sweet jam. the pale emerald mitchell’s rose’s lime marmalade was marginally bitter. i loved its citrus fragrance but did not care for it on toast. two years ago mama sent me a jar of her Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-29176858230811193922014-11-27T10:22:00.000+00:002014-11-27T10:27:28.177+00:00spiced pumpkin pecan butter
spiced pumpkin pecan butter
i recently became part of the editorial team of foodand_; an on-line food journal that provides a community for talented individuals, creatives and cooks to collaborate and share their skills and stories with a wider audience. with thanksgiving round the corner, it seemed appropriate for the editorial team to work together on a series of recipes and features. we Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-57213741271660519762014-10-11T12:11:00.000+01:002014-10-11T12:11:30.269+01:00naan khatai, pakistani biscuits with a melting texture
naan khatai
i always remember our house being well stocked with biscuits. there were the regular and perfectly shaped ones from cardboard boxes that included peek freans peanut pik with slightly soft peanuts; cumin laced click and the plain jane marie. lu brand biscuits were crisper and more interesting – the scalloped shape of prince chocolate sandwiches was a kin to laser cut paper doilies.Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-71188647699508610672014-10-03T17:21:00.003+01:002014-10-03T17:21:50.928+01:00pakistani spiced apple chutney + o's boarding school tales
m's pakistani spiced apple chutney
before i met o, much of what i knew about boarding school was from books that i inherited from mama’s childhood collection. there was roald dahl’s ‘boy’ with its rambunctious descriptions of boarding school. it spoke of a world inhabited by strict headmasters, stern matrons and care packages from home brimming with nostalgia and longing. enid blyton’s ‘Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-71126768922754137832014-08-21T08:00:00.000+01:002014-08-21T08:00:04.096+01:00edible genoa
tortelli with octopus ragu
we drove to genoa stopping en route in pisa to see the leaning tower. the expanse of grass that surrounds it was heaving with people trying to position their hands at an angle that would make it appear as if they were leaning against it. few stopped to admire its angled stance. after having looked at it, we returned to our journey. the landscape lining the Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-14823855312141322272014-08-17T20:55:00.002+01:002014-08-17T20:55:43.499+01:00edible florence
ricotta and lemon tortelli at ristorante del fagioli
on our first evening in florence the sun set over ponte vecchio colouring the sky flamingo pink. the duomo was bathed in strawberry blonde and the river arno changed colour to ink blue. florence is much more compact than rome. but like rome it is marked by history and grandeur. piazzas with fountains, churches and old buildings punctuate Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997983496060865493.post-68366100392291435632014-08-12T17:02:00.000+01:002014-08-12T17:03:47.071+01:00edible rome
aperol spritz at ai tre scalini
rome displays the passage of history through her architecture, a wealth of art and culture. her timelessness is expressed as her being the eternal city. her streets and alleyways lead onto piazzas and fountains or fortified walls and monuments that hold the secrets of her past. it is these secrets that whisper to people all over the world, drawing tourists in Mehrunnisa Yusufhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16999746775608407822noreply@blogger.com0