I occasionally treat myself to the uniquely Indian post-prandial confection that comes wrapped in green leaves, the paan.
I respect the pungent betel leaf and its infinite variety, from the ordinary Calcutta sada to the amazingly illegal palangtod paan, said to so perversely excite an otherwise genteel couple that they could put their beds at risk. When I lived in Mumbai, I would have a paan twice or thrice a week, but now that I live in Bangkok, it is a rare treat at some restaurant and never quite as good as the original. Let me add here that once a paan enters my mouth, its fate is sealed. It does not escape. I am not the spitting kind.
But nothing in my long relationship with this species of foliage prepared me for what chef Ishtiyaque Qureshi does with the paan leaf. The paan, to me, has always nature in the raw, filled with lovely things but unaffected by them. But one evening, at the Ishtiyaque’s table, I encountered a kebab wrapped in a paan leaf.
My eyes nearly turned into paan leaves themselves at the sight — but shock heaped on surprise, another dish plopped next to it. A jackfruit kebab. The jackfruit, for me, has always been something found in a large rubber plantation in Kerala, such as my childhood home. They are large chaps, jackfruits, sweet and sticky within, though when cooked they become chewy and a little meaty, losing their sugars entirely. My little mind could not assimilate the thought of a jackfruit becoming a kebab, but Ishtiyaque Q, it seems, had done it.
Ishtiyaque comes from distinguished culinary stock, and I don’t mean the bouillon kind. His father, the famed Imtiaz Qureshi, is credited with having brought the dum phukt style of Avadhi cooking — slow-cooking for hours, with dough over the pot’s mouth to seal in the flavors and the steam — into the light of day. The fact that Imtiaz had never been to school was even inelegantly trumpeted on its menu by the Maurya Sheraton hotel in New Delhi as proof of his authenticity. Today, his sons Irfan and Ashfaque carry on the proud family tradition, but I was drawn to the maverick, Ishtiyaque. Not wanting to be collared by a hotel chain, he chose the road less travelled, consulting with hotels, setting up restaurants for them, and inventing new dishes no one would have dared imagine.
One of these was an experimental dessert with almond-like soft white pods floating in milk. It was only after I had finished the entire dish and pronounced it spectacular that he revealed what it was — garlic, cooked to submission in hot milk
Listen, I said to Ishtiyaque, I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me how a person can make a kebab wrapped in paan leaves, or with a jackfruit, and I — I —
He waited patiently. Then he said, “And what will you do?”
“Why,” I said, finding a thought, “I’ll tell everyone I know how to do it.” It didn’t sound like much of a proposal even to me but then, if you come from Lucknow, it’s de rigeuer to be courteous. So he told me the two recipes. And here they are, in full and final.
Paan Malai Kabab
Ingredients
Paan (betel) leaves 12
12 cloves
200 gms mushrooms, finely chopped
40 gms cheese, grated
40 gms Fresh cream
2 green chillies, deseeded and chopped
1 tbsp coriander leaves, chopped fine
1/s tsp garam masala
12 pods garlic, finely chopped
Salt to taste
Cooking oil
METHOD
1. Remove the stems from the paan (betel) leaves and blanch them in hot but not boiling water for a moment. Transfer them immediately to a bowl of ice cold water
2. Sauté the chopped garlic in a little oil. As soon as they turn transparent, add the finely chopped mushrooms and continue sauteeing for three or so minutes over low to medium heat. Add the salt, chopped green chillies and garam masala. Remove the saucepan from the heat and transfer the contents to a small bowl.
3. After it has cooled somewhat, add the grated cheese and the cream.
4. Place generous helpings of this mixture in each paan leaf. Fold in the three ends of the paan and pin them together with a clove.
5. Shallow fry these packages briefly in a frying pan over a low fire, making sure the leaves do not get burnt. Remove them while the leaves still retain their green.
A word about the jackfruit kebabs, which come next. The first time I ate these, my wife was vegetarian, but didn’t see the twinkle in Ishtiyaque’s eyes as he served this dish up. “Erm,” she said diplomatically. “I’m staying away from meat for a while.” He pushed the plate towards her saying, yes, this should be fine for her then. She took a bite and pushed the plate away, “This is mutton,” she said, grimacing. And that’s how we learned that jackfruit cooked into a biryani or kebab looks, tastes and feels like genuine mutton.
Subz Barra Kabab
Ingredients
1 kg jackfruit
1 tsp turmeric powder
15 gms yoghurt, hung overnight in a muslin pouch
5 gms black cummin
2 tbsp malt vinegar
Half tsp fresh pepper
1/2 tsp garam masala
1/2 tsp red chilly powder
A pinch of nutmeg powder
25 gms ginger and 50 gms garlic, ground to a paste
Salt to taste
Cooking oil
METHOD
1. Remove the skin and the hard centre of the jackfruit, and cut each flower into cubes about 2 inches long. Boil these, after add salt and a little turmeric, till they are tender.
2. Ad the chilly powder, salt and malt vinegar to the ginger-garlic paste, and marinate the tender jackfruit in this mixture for about an hour. Now add the remaining ingredients.
3. Skewer the jackfruit pieces, and cook them in a tandoor or charcoal grill. If you have neither of these, then use an oven pre-heated to 275 degrees C for 10 minutes. Cook till the pieces are a light brown.
4. Sprinkle with some chat masala and serve with some mint chutney.
Adab arz. Eat with pleasure.