Edited by Tarana Husain Khan, Claire Chambers and Siobhan Lambert-Hurley, Forgotten Foods: Memories and Recipes from Muslim South Asia is a delectable anthology of essays where the authors write about food – the food they remember enjoying as children, the food of their community, the food that reminds them of home. And, yes, it’s important to document these stories because the food that’s written about here is very much part of the authors’ unique, individual identities, inseparable from the memories of who they are, the places they’ve been.
‘While heritage foods still abound in the streets and kitchens of South Asia, it may just be a matter of time before many of these historic dishes and culinary traditions, especially of Muslim provenance, pass into oblivion. In Forgotten Foods, historians, literary scholars, plant scientists, heritage practitioners, writers and chefs come together to document precious stories and memories, histories and recipes in a valiant endeavour to stem this lamentable tide,’ says the publisher’s note. ‘The culinary diversity showcased in the book not only comes as a delightful surprise, it also proves just how profoundly Muslim kitchens have reshaped alimentary practices, enriching South Asian food and making it what it is today,’ it adds.
The book is organized in four parts; the first deals with the authors’ memories
of food, the second with the way regional cuisines have helped shaped the
identities of local inhabitants (and how those identities may be in danger of
fading away), the third with how local, regional food is still managing to
survive and perhaps even see a revival of sorts, and the fourth – and last –
about specific regional dishes that are truly remarkable, which deserve
nationwide acclaim. ‘In selecting articles and themes [for this book], we
placed particular emphasis on food stories and histories from Muslim South
Asia. It was intentional, a response to the devastating assault on food
cultures connected to Muslim communities in contemporary India,’ the
editors say in the preface to the book. ‘We were attentive to how what had come
to be labelled as ‘Indian’ food had been constructed in line with idealized
patterns of Hindu consumption throughout the 20th century and
beyond. This was despite the fact that the arrival of Islam in India from the
17th century onwards had radically reshaped cooking and eating in
India,’ they add. And so, the editors have chosen to focus on food from those
regions in India that have a significant Muslim heritage – places like Delhi, Lucknow, Bhopal, Hyderabad and some others. There are also stories of food from beyond
Indian borders – Pakistan, Sri Lanka – which add a slightly exotic touch and
just make the book that much more interesting.
We all have memories that we associate with food – the quick breakfast that Mum used to rustle up before we rushed off to school, the aromas wafting from dozens of ‘tiffin boxes’ in the classroom during lunch break, communal lunches at the office canteen with its food elevated by means of shared camaraderie, and elaborate family dinners with platters of heavy, fancy fare reserved for special occasions. And the ‘Memories’ section of Forgotten Foods, steeped in nostalgia and redolent of the culinary sights and smells of the days gone by, is every bit as enjoyable as you might expect. There is, for example, Muneeza Shamsie who grew up in post-partition Karachi who writes about her father’s love for cooking (everything from paya and nihari to aloo-puri and pâté de foie gras) and feeding friends and family, and Moneeza Hashmi who writes about her father, the famous poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, who she tells us was fond of eating spinach and whose breakfast always consisted of a fried egg, toast and tea.
Rana Safvi shares his memories of family lunches and dinners that were had while sitting in an open aangan (no ACs in those days) and the roghini roti and aloo ki qatli his mother used to make for breakfast, while Bina Shah writes about Nabi Bux, her family’s khansama in Hyderabad (not the one in Telangana but the one in the Sindh province of Pakistan), who was from Lucknow and whose specialties included almond soup, lamb chop, steak and kidney pie and baked fish with tartar sauce. A simple, unassuming man who came to work on a bicycle, Bux was nevertheless a man of formidable talent and, on occasion, even cooked for King Hussein of Jordan and for Pakistani presidents Ayub Khan and Yahya Khan. Taran Khan writes of her memories of the food in Aligarh – qeema, khageena and shami kebabs that were made at home, the lassi and parathas that were had at roadside dhabas. She tells us that ‘outside food’ was frowned upon back in the day and eating home-cooked rotis and kebabs inside cinema halls – rather than overpriced popcorn that’s common these days – was the norm back then. Rizvina Morseth de Alwis writes about Sri Lankan Malay food – the watalappan (a creamy, steamed custard made with eggs, jaggery and coconut milk) her grandmother used to make, babath (a tripe curry that isn’t universally loved) and the Malaysian/Indonesian cuisine to which Sri Lankan Malay food traces its roots. And Farah Yameen writes about the culinary traditions of Bakr Eid – a qurbani, followed by the preparation of kebabs, raan and qorma, and the sharing of food with those who may be less fortunate.
In the next section, authors write about food in the context of identities that may be in a state of flux, and the ways in which food helps strengthen and reaffirm those identities. Jayanta Sengupta writes about the much-vaunted Calcutta biryani, which he says represents a chequered history of conflict, assimilation and adaption in Bengal, which over the last few centuries has seen the gradual introduction of Indo-Persian cuisine and recipes from Central Asia. He charts the journey of Bengali cuisine – from the predominantly fish-and-rice staples of pre-Islamic Bengal to the chicken- and beef-centric dishes of the Mughal period, and the influence of Nawab Wajid Ali Shah who came to Calcutta from Lucknow in around 1856 and left an indelible mark on the foodscape of the region. One of the more unique – even surprisingly unfamiliar – pieces in the book is Fida Hussain’s essay on the food of Ladakhi Muslims. She writes about Leh, which was once part of the old Silk Route and hence witness to the many, many caravans that passed through from and to China, Tibet, mainland India and Central Asian countries. With people from different cultures came their food and while Leh’s own staple diet comprised roasted barley in various avatars, the region gradually – and inevitably – saw the introduction of rice, flour, vegetable oils and Kashmiri-inspired meat dishes. No less interesting is Sikander Malik’s essay on Bhopali Muslim food and the food that found favour with the Nawabs of Bhopal; shami kebabs made with minced queema, aloo-ghosht, methi ki bhaaji, Bhopali pasanda, rezala, jahazi stew and the Bhopali tradition of not eating meat on Fridays and choosing kadhi and vegetable pakora instead.
Another interesting write-up comes from Mobeen Hussain, who talks about food myths and Unani remedies – in the form of specific foods – that were once recommended for glowing skin and robust health, some of which are still in vogue today. Tarana Husain Khan writes about the connection between Rampuri and Bhopali cuisines, their preference for the yakhni pulao over the spicier biryani, and the Afghan influence over Bhopali food. Chingiz Khan writes about the little-known food of Manipur’s Pangal community, Ashok Malhotra tells us about the all-natural, predominantly vegetarian diet of the Hunza people of Gilgit (once part of India but now in Pakistan), which protects them from most modern-day ‘lifestyle diseases’ that most city folks suffer from, Aliya Nazki writes about Kashmiri food and what is or isn’t authentic Kashmiri cuisine, Sheikh Intekhab Alam writes about preserving the culinary traditions of Odiya Muslims and Sadaf Hussain presents an ode to street food vendors – everything from samosa-jalebi and Indo-Chinese noodles to makkhan-malai, ghugni and chaat.
The above must have at least whetted your appetite and if so, you’ll be happy to know that this is just a sampler, a few choice pickings from a smörgåsbord that also includes many other excellent pieces of writing, wonderfully evocative of some truly delectable cuisines and stories of how food travels the world over and, in the end, becomes an integral part of who – and what – people are. The editors have made a judicious selection and the authors who’ve been given a place in this anthology clearly know – and seem to be quite passionate about – the food they write about. All essays conclude with a recipe, so there’s a very wide range of things you can try making at home if you’re so inclined. Gourmands will absolutely love Forgotten Foods and even those who have just a passing interest in culinary culture and traditions might find it unputdownable.
Forgotten Foods is available on Amazon
We all have memories that we associate with food – the quick breakfast that Mum used to rustle up before we rushed off to school, the aromas wafting from dozens of ‘tiffin boxes’ in the classroom during lunch break, communal lunches at the office canteen with its food elevated by means of shared camaraderie, and elaborate family dinners with platters of heavy, fancy fare reserved for special occasions. And the ‘Memories’ section of Forgotten Foods, steeped in nostalgia and redolent of the culinary sights and smells of the days gone by, is every bit as enjoyable as you might expect. There is, for example, Muneeza Shamsie who grew up in post-partition Karachi who writes about her father’s love for cooking (everything from paya and nihari to aloo-puri and pâté de foie gras) and feeding friends and family, and Moneeza Hashmi who writes about her father, the famous poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, who she tells us was fond of eating spinach and whose breakfast always consisted of a fried egg, toast and tea.
Rana Safvi shares his memories of family lunches and dinners that were had while sitting in an open aangan (no ACs in those days) and the roghini roti and aloo ki qatli his mother used to make for breakfast, while Bina Shah writes about Nabi Bux, her family’s khansama in Hyderabad (not the one in Telangana but the one in the Sindh province of Pakistan), who was from Lucknow and whose specialties included almond soup, lamb chop, steak and kidney pie and baked fish with tartar sauce. A simple, unassuming man who came to work on a bicycle, Bux was nevertheless a man of formidable talent and, on occasion, even cooked for King Hussein of Jordan and for Pakistani presidents Ayub Khan and Yahya Khan. Taran Khan writes of her memories of the food in Aligarh – qeema, khageena and shami kebabs that were made at home, the lassi and parathas that were had at roadside dhabas. She tells us that ‘outside food’ was frowned upon back in the day and eating home-cooked rotis and kebabs inside cinema halls – rather than overpriced popcorn that’s common these days – was the norm back then. Rizvina Morseth de Alwis writes about Sri Lankan Malay food – the watalappan (a creamy, steamed custard made with eggs, jaggery and coconut milk) her grandmother used to make, babath (a tripe curry that isn’t universally loved) and the Malaysian/Indonesian cuisine to which Sri Lankan Malay food traces its roots. And Farah Yameen writes about the culinary traditions of Bakr Eid – a qurbani, followed by the preparation of kebabs, raan and qorma, and the sharing of food with those who may be less fortunate.
In the next section, authors write about food in the context of identities that may be in a state of flux, and the ways in which food helps strengthen and reaffirm those identities. Jayanta Sengupta writes about the much-vaunted Calcutta biryani, which he says represents a chequered history of conflict, assimilation and adaption in Bengal, which over the last few centuries has seen the gradual introduction of Indo-Persian cuisine and recipes from Central Asia. He charts the journey of Bengali cuisine – from the predominantly fish-and-rice staples of pre-Islamic Bengal to the chicken- and beef-centric dishes of the Mughal period, and the influence of Nawab Wajid Ali Shah who came to Calcutta from Lucknow in around 1856 and left an indelible mark on the foodscape of the region. One of the more unique – even surprisingly unfamiliar – pieces in the book is Fida Hussain’s essay on the food of Ladakhi Muslims. She writes about Leh, which was once part of the old Silk Route and hence witness to the many, many caravans that passed through from and to China, Tibet, mainland India and Central Asian countries. With people from different cultures came their food and while Leh’s own staple diet comprised roasted barley in various avatars, the region gradually – and inevitably – saw the introduction of rice, flour, vegetable oils and Kashmiri-inspired meat dishes. No less interesting is Sikander Malik’s essay on Bhopali Muslim food and the food that found favour with the Nawabs of Bhopal; shami kebabs made with minced queema, aloo-ghosht, methi ki bhaaji, Bhopali pasanda, rezala, jahazi stew and the Bhopali tradition of not eating meat on Fridays and choosing kadhi and vegetable pakora instead.
Another interesting write-up comes from Mobeen Hussain, who talks about food myths and Unani remedies – in the form of specific foods – that were once recommended for glowing skin and robust health, some of which are still in vogue today. Tarana Husain Khan writes about the connection between Rampuri and Bhopali cuisines, their preference for the yakhni pulao over the spicier biryani, and the Afghan influence over Bhopali food. Chingiz Khan writes about the little-known food of Manipur’s Pangal community, Ashok Malhotra tells us about the all-natural, predominantly vegetarian diet of the Hunza people of Gilgit (once part of India but now in Pakistan), which protects them from most modern-day ‘lifestyle diseases’ that most city folks suffer from, Aliya Nazki writes about Kashmiri food and what is or isn’t authentic Kashmiri cuisine, Sheikh Intekhab Alam writes about preserving the culinary traditions of Odiya Muslims and Sadaf Hussain presents an ode to street food vendors – everything from samosa-jalebi and Indo-Chinese noodles to makkhan-malai, ghugni and chaat.
The above must have at least whetted your appetite and if so, you’ll be happy to know that this is just a sampler, a few choice pickings from a smörgåsbord that also includes many other excellent pieces of writing, wonderfully evocative of some truly delectable cuisines and stories of how food travels the world over and, in the end, becomes an integral part of who – and what – people are. The editors have made a judicious selection and the authors who’ve been given a place in this anthology clearly know – and seem to be quite passionate about – the food they write about. All essays conclude with a recipe, so there’s a very wide range of things you can try making at home if you’re so inclined. Gourmands will absolutely love Forgotten Foods and even those who have just a passing interest in culinary culture and traditions might find it unputdownable.
Forgotten Foods is available on Amazon
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