This dish is a true labor of love and brings back a flood of memories. Mom slaved over it for days and fed close to 40 people at each of our family celebrations back in Mumbai. Biryanis date back to the 1600’s when Mughal emperors entertained and feasted on it.This signature dish cannot be thrown together in a rush. It demands love; patience; attention to detail and a bit of planning ahead. But when you take your first morsel of saffron-kissed rice and melt-in-your-mouth Indian-spiced lamb be prepared for a symphony of flavor to explode in your mouth. Open a bottle of your best wine: this lamb feast is fit for a king and calls for nothing less than a celebration!

Portland Press Herald’s (brilliant) Food Writer Meredith Goad captured the back story on this special family recipe in her new column: Signature Recipes. Meredith watched me make this dish from scratch and then we feasted on it together (just so she would know what the hype was all about!)  I also would like to thank John Patriquin, PPH photographer who was so engaged during the demonstration and took stunning pictures. Peggy Grodinsky, PPH Food Editor for her diligence in making sure the recipe was clear and concise so readers could enjoy making it without sweatin’ it! Thank you to the design team for the gorgeous pagination on the article too! I got the last few copies at our local grocery store for posterity, the day it came out! Check out Meredith Goad’s Signature Recipe: Mom’s Lamb Biryani

MOM’S LAMB BIRYANI

Makes 8 to 10 hearty portions
PART 1: MARINATE THE LAMB
Ingredients:
2 cups thick Greek yogurt, beaten with a spoon
2 tablespoons turmeric
2 tablespoons garam masala
2 tablespoons ground cumin
2 tablespoons ground coriander
1 tablespoon chili powder
2 tablespoons garlic paste (available in tubes in the produce section of large grocery stores, or in Indian groceries)
2 tablespoons freshly ground ginger or ginger paste (available in tubes in the produce section of large grocery stores, or in Indian groceries)
2 teaspoons salt
Juice of 2 limes
4-5 pound leg of lamb cut into 2-inch pieces

Instructions:
Mix the yogurt, spices and lime juice together in a large glass bowl. Add the lamb pieces and coat with the marinade. Cover with plastic, refrigerate and let the meat marinate for at least 1 hour or overnight.
PART 2: MAKE THE GRAVY
Ingredients:
6 tablespoons ghee or salted butter
4 yellow onions, sliced lengthwise
2 large potatoes, peeled and cut into 6 pieces each
2 yellow onions, chopped ( yes, another 2 yellow onions)
4 large tomatoes, chopped
2 cups chopped cilantro

Instructions:
Remove the marinated lamb from the refrigerator and let it reach room temperature, about 2 hours.
Add 2 tablespoons of the ghee to a medium-sized skillet. When the ghee is warm, add the white onions and sauté for about 8 minutes on medium-high heat until they start turning brown; set aside. (You should have about 2 cups.)
Add 2 more tablespoons ghee to the now empty skillet and pan-sear the potatoes on one side on medium high heat about 5 minutes, until they are crispy brown. Turn the potatoes over, cover the pan and let the potatoes steam another 5 minutes; set aside.
In a 3-quart oven-proof pot or Dutch oven, sauté the yellow onions in the remaining 2 tablespoons ghee for 5 minutes on medium-high heat. Add the tomatoes and fry for another 5 minutes. Add the marinated lamb and cook until it changes color, about 10 minutes. Add 3 cups hot water, the cilantro and the reserved lamb bone. Cover the pot and simmer on low on the stove top until the lamb is tender, approximately 11/2 hours. Resist the urge to peek!
After 11/2 hours, add the reserved pan-seared potatoes and 1 cup of the reserved caramelized onions to the pot to thicken the gravy.
Re-cover the pot and simmer for another 25 minutes.
PART 3: MAKE THE RICE
Ingredients:
3 cups basmati rice
3 tablespoons salt
4 (1-inch) cinnamon sticks
15 whole cloves
4 black or 10 green cardamom pods
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
4 Turkish bay leaves
Red 40, Yellow 5 or Yellow 6 food coloring, a few drops each
1/4 cup milk
Large pinch of saffron

Instructions:
While the lamb is simmering, soak the rice in 3 cups of water for 25 minutes. Run your fingers through the grains to help remove the starch; do this gently so the grains don’t break. Strain through a fine-meshed sieve.
Fill a large pot with 15 cups water and the salt. Add the cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, cumin and bay leaves.
Bring the spiced water to a roiling boil. Gently add the basmati rice. Boil the rice until it is three-quarters of the way cooked. Keep an eye on it and check a couple of grains after 5 minutes to make sure it is parboiled and not overcooked. The grains of rice should feel a bit starchy or gritty in the middle, as if they could crack in your hand. The rice will finish cooking in the oven with the lamb.
Drain the rice, leaving in the whole spices. Pour the drained rice into the pot with the lamb. Add the food coloring.
Warm the milk, add the saffron and stir gently. Let steep for a couple of minutes at the most.
PART 4: ASSEMBLE THE BIRYANI
Garnish with:
2 hard-boiled eggs, halved
Handful of toasted cashews
Chopped cilantroChopped mint

Instructions:
Pre-heat the oven to 335 degrees F.
Sprinkle 1/2 cup of the remaining caramelized onions over the pot with the lamb and rice. Save the remaining caramelized onions for garnish.
Pour the warm milk mixture onto the lamb and rice in circles. Do not stir. Close the lid and bake the lamb for 35 minutes.
Arrange the lamb biryani on a large platter. Garnish with the last ½ cup of caramelized onions, the eggs, cashews and a sprinkle each of cilantro and mint.
To serve, dig a flat serving spoon into the rice, being sure to go to the bottom so you get meat, rice and potatoes in every portion.

THANK YOU to my dear friend Ted Axelrod ( Ted Axelrod Photography) for this gorgeous image.

Picture above: Chicken Tandoori Skewers

Life is gentle in Maine. Maine has slowed me down. I’ve gotten used to it. I hate to admit it but I have come to enjoy the legato tempo of Maine life. But there are days when my heart pines for the chaos and bustle of the sardine-packed city of Mumbai – my original hometown. It doesn’t take much to take me back home. An occasional sniff of basmati rice as it steams on my stove is all it takes. In one of my food fantasies I wish I were devouring at least a half dozen spicy Indian street foods: Piping hot samosas bursting with green peas and cumin-scented mashed potatoes; coriander dusted lamb-sheek kabobs dripping with cayenne-spiked lime juice on slightly charred flatbread or a crisp lentil Indian crepe Masala Dosas with at least three coconut chutneys for dunking. But then I realize that those days are gone. I can no longer just take a walk down the rickshaw-lined streets of Mumbai and scarf down street foods to my heart’s content. The beautiful state of Maine is now my hometown. But the East Indian-city slicker has not checked out of Mumbai. So here I go again cooking up yet another batch of Indian treats right in my Maine kitchen. The nutty aroma of Basmati rice fills the Maine spring air. It’s almost ready for a warm lentil stew to coat those perfect grains. I lean against my warm stove with a cup of steaming chestnut-colored chai laced with spicy ginger chunks ,cardamom, clove and Malabar peppercorns.  Wake up Cherie……you have arrived at your destination…..Mumbai IS now in Maine!

Pictured below: Lamb Meatballs with Chutney

Pictured below: Sev Puri Chaat

Chick PeaFlour deep fried crackers with Turmeric-cumin infused Mashed potatoes, whole chick peas and spicy cilantro mint chutney with a dollop of ever- so slightly sweetened whole yogurt. Garnished with Chaat Masala and Spicy Sev. I used to enjoy this sweet-savory snack after school on the 2 mile walk home. I still love foods that crunch (ask my husband – it drives him nuts) layered with flavors of sweet, sour and spicy! Were these ever addictive and took me right back to my favorite street vendor on Hill Road, Bandra, Mumbai.

Thank you Ted Axelrod Photography for the beautiful photography.

If you’ve ever had the pleasure of brewing a strong cup of chai the entire process is as therapeutic as drinking the exotic beverage!

My morning ritual begins with the hottest water in an oversized mug. (Bigger is always better.) I adore watching those black tea leaves get christened with the scalding water slowly staining my porcelain cup with its mahogany goodness. Embracing the mug in both hands, I take long deep breaths as the blend of crushed spices disperse among the black tea leaves and permeate one another. As the heat warms my hands and the steam hits my face I can almost picture a Mumbai chai-wallah (a street vendor who makes chai for a living) pouring the strong brew from one glass to another like a silting Himalayan waterfall. I get lost in the aromatic fog. The whiffs of chai give my sleepy face a cardamom facial while the chai cools down. On quiet mornings when I’m not hurrying out the door, making a cup of chai also brings back memories of my childhood in the city of Mumbai.

Although chai has gained tremendous popularity in the West there is some confusion as to what chai is and how to refer to this spicy beverage.

Chai is traditionally a hot beverage made with Assam or Nilgiri black tea leaves heavily infused with a variety of spices: cinnamon, cardamom, clove, star-anise, fennel, peppercorns, and ginger brewed in a blend of hot water and milk with added sweetener to one’s taste and preference. In Hindi, chai means “tea.” So if you ask for a cup of chai-tea, you are literally asking for a cup of tea-tea. You might get a confused look from your chai-wallah.

In the southern part of India, masala chai is ubiquitous. “Masala” in Hindi means spices. So if you ask for a masala chai expect a potent version of chai: black tea brewed and blended with a powdered version of the spices. Masala chai is primarily made with whole milk, no water, in an attempt to mellow and balance out the robust spicy flavors.

Recently, in a bout of nostalgia, on a frigid day in January, I made an entire crockpot of chai. I threw in a box of black tea bags into some hot water and left the heavy mulling ball bursting with cardamom pods, nutmeg, peppercorns, chunks of raw ginger, crushed cinnamon sticks and bits of clove. The ball sat there happily steeping in the dark brew for three days enhancing it with its Ayurvedic goodness. Just one good chug and it made my heart gallop like a Morgan Horse! Even I had to admit it needed a generous splash of cream.

Back in Mumbai, chai was an intrinsic part of our daily lives, no matter how hot it got! One of my fondest memories as a young girl was surprising my dad with a perfect cup of tea as he got home from work. Barely old enough to stand by a stove, I would open the stainless steel can filled with Nilgiri tea leaves and dig right in to get an oversized heap. Gently, I’d add in the raw milk that was hand delivered promptly at 5a.m. Occasionally, a little bit of heavy cream would slide in…ah, creamy perfection! I knew dad loved that extra treat. I watched impatiently as it came to a boil. I would then throw in the tiniest stick of cinnamon, a couple of cardamom pods, cloves, peppercorns, and if I felt adventurous a big knob of ginger.

I could always time my father and knew exactly what time he would walk in the door with his newspaper in hand. He was punctual to a fault and routine was his middle name. I didn’t need to ask him how his day went because with a cup of chai in his hand I knew life was good! His shoulders would relax as he took in his first whiff of his evening chai after a long day at work. I could sense the tension of his day melt away as he took his first slurp. It was always too hot to sip. Dad chose to slurp it instead.

I can’t even talk about chai without reminiscing about our evening family-tea time back in Mumbai. Marie and Parle-G biscuits were a staple to go along with our tea. If we were out of our stash, I was charged with 5 rupees in hand to walk to the convenience store at the end of our street and pick up biscuits to go along with our chai. Now, I can’t walk past the ethnic aisle at our local grocery store without picking up at least a couple of packs of those golden-wrapped Marie biscuits. I’ve gotten my daughter hooked on them, too. She won’t ask for them every day, but on days when she needs some special mommy time she knows to come up to me and ask for chai and biscuits. She even dunks the biscuits into her chai the way I did. We sit quietly at the kitchen table and share a pack. Sometimes she over dunks and a few chunks fall in and she scoops them out. She might not know how to make chai from scratch or realize how trendy it has become these days, but she does know that with mommy by her side, chai and her favorite biscuits in hand, life is good! And so the chai drinking family tradition continues.

All photos: Ted Axelrod Photography, of course!

Photo above: Ted Axelrod Photography, of course!

When I was about 7, I always knew school was coming to an end when my mother would start talking about making Chorizo over the summer. Just the thought of it made my heart skip a beat and my mouth water. There was nothing better than taking all my stuff up three flights to our apartment building terrace and camping out in the shade of a make-shift tent with my mom, sister and scores of black crows quietly perched in the branches of an old Tamarind Tree. My primary job was to shoo those black monsters away from that prized pickled meat. It was never an easy task. Just as soon as I would let my guard down, one of them would sneak over and try to peck at the sausage links, helplessly dangling off the rope.

It was always a fun week. Mom, Karen and I huddled under the collapsing cotton blankets to fight off the hot sun. Karen was terrible at her job as she always got lost in a book. My mom always counted on me. As hard as I tried for my mom, I always ended up slacking off on my shooing duties while taking fast and furious naps. This is why we always went up in groups of three. One watched, the other snoozed, while the third might have gone downstairs to get a cup of chai or a quick bathroom break. The combination of a hot blazing Indian sun beating down on a wavering tent and the sweet smell of lemon grass contrasting the pungent spicy chorizos always put me out.

The week always flew by us and sadly we would need to break down the tent. Mom would take the sausages off the rope and gently wrap them in newspaper and parchment for the year. I could hardly wait for the end of the week to taste our batch of chorizo that we worked so hard on and literally sweated over on that hot terrace. Mom would buy an extra batch of pearl onions and make us this dish with a hot bowl of basmati rice or fresh crusty Portuguese bread called “Pao” for dunking in the gravy. Now I enjoy eating this pungent sausage with a runny egg on top for breakfast. Yes, breakfast! What a way to start my day.

I know in my heart that my mother’s delicious recipes will linger on forever through me, and my seven year-old daughter, Sophia. I was on a mission this past year to make a batch of Goa sausages. But with the long Maine winter at hand, I knew I would have to wait it out until the summer. I got tired of waiting and after much research I gave in: I ordered a batch online.

Sophia’s eyes sparkle when we talk about India. Ever since she was a little girl she would ask me what it was like growing up in India. At bed time, instead of story time, Sophia would say, “Mamma, please tell me what your life was like when you were a little girl in India?” Who needed story time when she could hear true stories about her mommy’s life in India? The land of Mowgli as she would refer to it.

Looking back, I was seven and on a culinary adventure and didn’t even know it. Making Goan chorizo was more than just stuffing pickled sausage meat in casing once a year. It was a culinary tradition that connected my mother to her mother and grandmother and now her daughters. Even though my great-grandmother and grandmother were long gone, every summer my mom was able to bring together four generations of family in spirit and memory with the making of one never-ending link of sun-dried pork sausages. This summer I plan on making it five generations. Sophia is excited to make her first batch of Chorizo and take over the “shooing” duty! Instead of crows she’ll have to worry about the seagulls. We are in Maine after all!