When necessity is the mother of invention…
One where we’re trying to survive anxiety, a looming world war and the quiet fatigue that settles in between
Hello, hello readers! I’m back after an unplanned hiatus of over 3 months. Well, life happened in all its tumultuous glory, so I had to take a step back and hold on until the storm passed. Well, did it, you ask? No, but it’s not as scary anymore.
Meanwhile, seasons have changed, and so has the global world order. The air is thick with uncertainty. If there were pockets of violence before, now we see world leaders openly declaring war against each other.
It’s rather difficult to focus on our tiny lives and the mundane troubles that come with them. Or should we bend our heads and do just that?
Amid these chaotic thoughts running through my head, I recently came across a newsletter edition by my favourite food writer, Yasmin Khan, titled ‘How do I write about food when the world is burning?’ On first glance, it sounds rather depressing. To give you some context, Khan has been working on refugee rights and conflict issues for the past 20 years. Her food writing has always been (and continues to be) aimed at celebrating the culture and cuisines of the otherwise “terror nations”.
Unlike the fast-paced influencer era, where e-commerce thrives on people’s insecurities, real writing falls behind due to its depth, sensitivity and inaccessibility. That last word might seem misleading. How can something be inaccessible at a time when whatever you need is available on your fingertips (or on ChatGPT)?
It’s inaccessible because we have ceased to look for it, and now it’s at the bottom of the pile. We have simply fallen prey to the ‘brainrot’ and are now mindlessly consuming content, sometimes without even registering what we’re seeing or listening to.
Going back to what Khan said in her newsletter… She admitted it felt difficult to promote her latest book in the current context, but it is a project she has worked relentlessly on for the past few years.
“While I’m not naive enough to think that food writing can bring about world peace, I do believe that sharing food, learning about and celebrating the history and heritage of a cuisine, and sitting down with others to break bread fosters connection, understanding, and even joy,” she says.
You might think that’s what struck me, but it’s actually the following line: “And in a world of perma-crisis, cultivating joy can be a form of resistance.”
And once again, Khan sowed the seeds of hope in me. I began to feel the constant itch to just open my laptop and type… just anything outside of work. Without scrambling my head to meet the one-month deadline I set for myself, ideas began to pop out of nowhere. And here I am. If I were to describe this feeling, it’d be something like… You can take the words out of a writer, but not the writer inside of you.
Although it wasn’t as easy as that corny line. I had to find something substantial enough to write about. Call it my annoying perfectionist trait, but good writing grips you down. Even a piece of non-fiction needs a narrative behind it, because believe it or not, it all starts as a story.
That is exactly around the time when I was plagued by a sense of extreme fatigue at work one day.
It was a usual Tuesday morning, and I was at the office and had just gulped down a cup of the wildest caffeine concoction: a mocha mixed with a double espresso. I got back to my desk and resumed the daily tasks when it hit me like a delayed hangover. I felt extremely knackered all of a sudden, mildly sick and even a bit dizzy. I had a hard time looking at the screen and concentrating. My brain ached with every thought that I had to squeeze out, to form a master plan about how I’m going to survive the rest of the day and get back home in one piece.
I kept at it until lunch and then chose to get some fresh air. Every step I took felt like it was with great effort, and I finally ended up at one of my usual lunch spots to get a hot rice and chicken curry meal.
One thing my mother always says is that, “You’re good as long as you still have an appetite”. The minute you lose it (not due to being full, of course), rethink your health. So I knew I was pretty much okay since I finished every last grain in my bowl. In fact, I felt like I needed nourishment. I needed rest. I needed to be put in my bed and sleep for days.
I somehow managed to live through the day and caught my train back home without collapsing. An extra two hours of sleep that night did me good, and I was back at the office the next day. Despite the lingering exhaustion which continued to weigh me down in some ways, I was able to function alright.
However, at the end of my work day, I got back to my place with an intense bout of homesickness. I suddenly started craving the familiar comfort of spices. I wanted a flavour explosion to awaken my senses, and I was willing to lend the last bit of energy to make that happen.
I texted my best friend: “I have rice and chicken. What’s a one-pot meal I can cook in under an hour? I'm too tired to wash any more dishes than that.”
“Cooker biriyani”, came the reply.
A 5-minute deep dive got me the ideal recipe (plus it listed most of the stuff in my pantry). All measurements below are for a single serving.
First step, get the ingredients ready to go in the cooker. Start by marinating the chicken (I took about 400 gms of fillet) with chilli powder, coriander powder, turmeric, pepper, garam masala and some salt (a splash of lime or some yoghurt if you have any). Ideally, you should let this rest for about 30 minutes— but if you’re like me and prone to spontaneous decisions in the kitchen, however long it takes to prep the rest of the ingredients will do just fine. Don’t forget to rinse your rice (I’ve taken one cup here) and soak it to soften as well.
2. Slice your onions (a large one), yes, yes, this is the difficult part, but trust me, it’s worth it (you’ll know very soon). Chop up a medium-sized tomato.
3. Make a rough paste of garlic (8-10 cloves), ginger and green chillies (based on your spice level).
4. In the cooker, add 1 tablespoon each of ghee (or butter) and oil. Add in 3 cloves, a medium-sized cinnamon stick and about 3 cardamoms (I’d say this last one is optional, because I hate it in my biriyani)
5. Saute it for a minute before adding in your sliced onion. This is a very satisfying step, and all the remorse you felt earlier while cutting it up will miraculously vanish— also thanks to the incredible fragrance which fills the kitchen.
6. After your onion turns golden brown, in goes your ginger-garlic-green chilly paste. Cook that for a minute and add in your chopped tomato.
7. Give it two minutes before adding in your marinated chicken. Turn up the heat at this point from medium to high and saute this for about 3-5 minutes.
8. Next up, add in your rice and mix everything together.
9. Pour in hot water in a 1:1 ratio — 1 cup of water for 1 cup of rice. Use your ladle to level everything out, ensuring all the rice is fully submerged. Close the lid and put on the weight and wait till you hear one whistle.
10. Let the steam release naturally— this might take about 20 minutes.
The time had come to finally see the result. I had never felt this excited about cooking in ages. The anticipation was real. I knew it wouldn’t end up too bad, but how good will it be?
First impression: Looks like a biriyani.
Taste test: Bang on! Mom, I did it. I made a biriyani (the lazy version).
A taste of that gave me a little bit of my life back. Everything came together to form the melody of flavours I so badly craved. It felt like being home.
Two decisions I made then: a) don’t mix mocha with double espresso, and b) try the biriyani next time with fatty, bony pieces for the full experience. Thus ends the story of how a cooker biriyani brought me back to life (and thank you, Yasmin Khan, for sparking the joy of food yet again).
Food for thought:
I think this edition packs enough already— to think (and to cook!). But I’ve been trying to understand my mind and body better and to rest when it gets too much. This can seem impossible at times, especially when the world around you makes you think you’re not doing enough, but that’s when I remember…
“Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is relax.”
So rest easy folks, and hopefully, I’ll see you all real soon!
Cooker biriyani is the finest example of the saying, modern problems require modern solutions. It should be a classical jugad way to make traditional biriyani. But it s fun to see the traditional dishes evolving in many ways there.