Thanksgiving: It’s Not Just for Americans Anymore

My family embraced the Thanksgiving holiday when we moved to the US from Pakistan in the 1970s. It was another excuse to have a dinner party, even if the food was a bit strange. Over the years we came to love the Thanksgiving turkey and gravy, and stuffing and mashed potatoes. Maybe with an extra dash or two of pepper to add spice.

When my mother and some of my siblings moved back to Pakistan in the 1990s, they continued celebrating the American holiday.

“Happy Turkey Day, Foosie,” my mother said over the phone one year. She was calling from Pakistan. “We’re getting ready to have our Thanksgiving dinner.”

“You’re having Thanksgiving dinner in Islamabad?” That seemed so wrong. “With a turkey? Do they even have turkeys there?”

“Not exactly,” my mother responded. “But we managed to find one. And Mimo made stuffing and mashed potatoes too!” She exclaimed with a little too much excitement. I love Thanksgiving as much as the next sister, but in Pakistan?

Nevertheless, I take great joy in planning and cooking the Thanksgiving dinner every year. Here in the US, where it seems more appropriate. We invite friends and family every year, which sometimes might include a South Asian or two.

A few years ago, I was planning the Thanksgiving menu. “I’m going to make an herb roasted turkey with gravy, sausage stuffing, mashed potatoes, and brussels sprouts in a horseradish cream sauce,” I explained to Jenny.

“We’ll start with pomegranate champagne cocktails, parmesan and caramelized onion scones, rosemary spiced roasted pecans, and thyme dip with toasts,” I continued.

“You shouldn’t do everything yourself,” Jenny suggested.” People like to bring things.”

So when my one of my friends, a Bengali, asked if he could bring something, I said, “Sure. How about cranberry sauce?”

“What is that?” he asked.

“Or dessert,” I said, not sure how to explain cranberry sauce to a Bengali.

“Okay, I’ll bring a chocolate cake.”

“He’s bringing a chocolate cake,” I said to Jenny with mild disappointment. “Who has chocolate cake for Thanksgiving? That’s not a Thanksgiving dessert.”

When another of my friends, also from the Indian subcontinent, asked what she could bring, I suggested the cranberry sauce again. “How about cranberry sauce?” I asked.

“How do you make that?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” I replied. “I would go to a gourmet grocer and just buy some. Make it easy on yourself.”

When she arrived, carrying an enormous bowl, I asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s the cranberry sauce. You asked me to bring it,” she replied.

“The entire bowl is filled with cranberry sauce?” I asked.

“You said there would be thirteen of us.”

I don’t think she understood the concept of cranberry sauce as a condiment. And then I noticed it was pink. “Why is the cranberry sauce pink?”

“What do you mean? It has cranberries in it. I made it myself.”

“Did you make it from a recipe?” I asked, slightly confused.

“Of course. It’s Susan Stamberg’s recipe. I got it from NPR and I quadrupled it since there are thirteen of us.”

Susan Stamberg's Cranberry Relish

The cranberry sauce was the largest dish on the table, bigger than the Turkey platter. We placed it in the center of the table since there was no room for it on the buffet. I’m not a fan of the cranberry sauce, especially when it is pink and fluffy, so I didn’t try it, but everyone else seemed to enjoy it. And there was enough leftover to send home with every guest. And then some.

This year my cousin Sonia is joining us for Thanksgiving. She grew up in the UK. “Right,” she said in her Queen’s English. “So what do people do on the Thanksgiving holiday?”

I don’t think I’ll ask her to bring the cranberry sauce.

Surina Khan Cook: Bruschetta

Day old crusty bread is good for a lot of things. Today I’m making bruschetta. A few years ago, Jenny and I went to a dinner party where the host served a delicious bruschetta. It seemed to be made with swiss cheese and carmelized onions.

“How did you make this?” I asked our host.

“It’s bruschetta,” he responded.

“Yes, I see that. It’s delicious. Did you caramelize the onions?” I asked. “And what about the bread, did you toast it first, or all together with the cheese and onions?”

“Oh, it’s just a simple bruschetta,” he said evasively, not telling me anything I needed to know about the ingredients or baking process.

“I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell me how he made the bruschetta,” I complained to Jenny on the way home. “I’m going to make my own bruschetta,” I declared.

Since then I’ve sampled many varieties of bruschetta. My favorite is from the Farmer’s Market in Gualala, a small town on the Mendocino/Sonoma coast. I’ve recreated a version of it since first tasting it about three years ago. The ingredients and the measurements are not exact, which makes it all the more appealing, to taste and to make. You can mix just about anything together, as long as it is fresh, and it will taste good. So if you’re out of rosemary, don’t make a special trip to the market. It will taste just as good with parsley and thyme. And any cheese will work well, though I do like a little blue cheese mixed in with whatever cheeses happen to be lingering in the fridge.

This will become bruschetta.

Day old bread (a french baguette or an Italian loaf works well)
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 large onions
1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
a variety of grated or crumbled cheeses (cheddar, blue, parmesan, asiago or just about anything you have in the fridge will do)
olive tapendade

slice the onions and caramelize on medium or medium low heat in the olive oil (careful not to burn or crisp any of the onion)

when the onions turn a rich brown, take off heat and let cool

carmelized onions

preheat oven to 375 degrees

combine chopped rosemary, thyme, parsley, garlic, cheeses (grated or crumbled), and olive tapenade in a bowl and mix together

mix everything together in a bowl

add onions after they have cooled

place a piece of parchment paper on a cookie sheet

slice the bread (1/4 inch slices), and place on cookie sheet

top each slice with cheese mixture and bake in preheated 375 degree oven until cheese is melted and browned

ready to go in the oven

Serve warm or at room temperature with a chilled sparkling shiraz or any other refreshing beverage.

garnish with rosemary or other herbs and enjoy.

Surina Khan Cook: Bolognese

I’m making Bolognese tonight. The heat wave in SoCal has almost broken. Yesterday’s dental trauma in the form of a root canal is healing, thanks to the good Doctor’s advice.

“Take vicoden as needed,” Dr, Chin told me as I was getting up from the procedure. The vicoden helps the pain and makes me crave comfort food.

“What should I get from the farmer’s market?” Jenny asks me on most Friday’s. I am usually stuck at my desk with the phone to my ear while she is free to go to the market.

I tell her not to buy too much since I am traveling all next week. “Don’t buy too much, since I will be gone most of next week for work,” I remind her. “I’m craving Bolognese,” I add.

And so begins the grocery list for the Bolognese ingredients:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
a teaspoon (or more to taste) of crushed red pepper
1 head of garlic, peeled and chopped
1 lb mild italian sausage, in bulk
1-2 cups red wine
1 1/2 cup heavy cream
oregano
bay leaves
8 oz can of fire roasted tomatoes
8 oz pasta (garlic and herb fettuccine from Trader Joes)
1 bunch of fresh parsley, chopped as a garnish
fresh Parmesan cheese, grated as a garnish
crusty french bread

Bolognese ingredients from the market.

In fact, it being Friday, we may as well purchase several bottles of red wine. I suggest a combination of old vine zins, riojos, cabernets, syrahs and a few bottles of prosecco since it’s still warm out and it’s nice to start the evening with a chilled fizzy beverage.

I start the bolognese by prepping the ingredients, which also might involve pouring myself a glass of prosecco and sipping slowly.

prep the ingredients by chopping onions, garlic, parsley. also some grated cheese, oregano, bay leaves and tomatoes.

And then:

on medium high heat, sauté the onions (with a sprinkle of crushed red pepper) in a tablespoon or two of olive oil until they are slightly browned

sauté the onions with some crushed red peppers.

add chopped garlic, sauté for 1 minute

add mild Italian bulk pork sausage (remove from casing), saute until browned, breaking into pieces

add 1 1/2 – 2 cups of red wine and cook on medium high until wine reduces

I added a cup and a half of red zinfandel.

add 1 1/2 cup of heavy cream, bring to boil

add 8 oz can of fire roasted tomatoes

add 1-2 tablespoons of dried oregano

add 2 bay leaves

with the tomatoes, oregano and bay leaves.

simmer on medium or medium low for at least 2 hours and as much as 4 hours.

Spoon off extra grease as needed.

Pour another glass of prosecco and sip slowly. Proceed to back deck and enjoy the evening air. Snack on some olive tapenade, enhanced with fresh chopped thyme, parsley and crushed garlic. Served with warm toasted bread brushed with olive oil and fresh ground black pepper.

When the prosecco bottle is empty, open a bottle of red wine as you continue to simmer the Bolognese. When feeling slightly tipsy, return inside. Continue to spoon off extra grease. Taste Bolognese sauce. Is it turning a rich maroon color? Good. Top it off with the remaining half cup of wine for a richer flavor. Add salt and black pepper to taste. Go back out to deck and continue sipping wine, until you’re ready to cook the pasta.

boil pasta and drain
add pasta to Bolognese sauce
let pasta and sauce co-mingle for a few minutes
warm the crusty bread in oven on 375 degrees

It should start looking like this.

Garnish with parsley and grated parmesan. Serve with another bottle of red wine. Enjoy.

I’ll post a picture of the plated Bolognese with fresh parsley and parmesan garnish as soon as it’s ready. Right now I’m sipping prosecco on the back deck with Rosie and Jenny.

the photo came out slightly blurry, but here it is. party of two, your table is ready.

Masala Madness

When I was helping Ami take care of Aba in London, I asked her to teach me how to cook Pakistani food.

She showed me a basic recipe for chicken masala. “You have to make sure to bhoono the spices,” she instructed. This technique, done on high heat with constant stirring, cooks the spices and prevents them from tasting raw.

“When the oil separates from the water, you know you’ve bhoonoed it enough.”

I used this technique over the years for all kinds of dishes. Chicken masala, vegetable masala, ande (egg) ka masala. And then an aunt told me about Shan Masala. “Have you tired Shan Masala?” she asked.

“No, what is that?”

Shan Masala is “premium quality” pre-mixed spices for a variety of South Asian dishes. Everything from Dal to Chappli Kababs and Biryani. I found Shan Masalas at my local Indian grocery store. First I tried the Chappli Kababs. They were delicious. Every Shan Masala I tried, tasted authentic. Never mind the high sodium content.

The instructions, however, can be confusing.

“How many grams in a pound?” I asked Jenny. The Chappli Kabab recipe called for 500-600 grams of minced beef.

I like Dal with my Chappli Kababs so I got out the Shan Dal Curry box. “Let’s make Dal, Doll,” I said to Jenny. I carefully measured a cup of lentils or 175 grams plus three tablespoons.

The recipe instructed me to add six glasses of water to the lentils. “Six glasses? What do they mean six glasses?” I blurted. “What size glasses? Tall glasses, or small glasses?”

Before that I was instructed to fry some onions “for few minutes.” That’s straight forward enough, but how many minutes equals “few minutes?” Three to five? Or more like ten? And a few minutes until what? Until they turn golden brown? Or just translucent? On high heat or medium high? Fortunately, I had my mother’s cooking training to fall back on. I decided one glass is the equivalent to one cup and cook for “few minutes,” means until they are golden brown. Which takes close to ten minutes.

I still don’t know how many grams are in a pound.

Cherry Picking

I was opening a kitchen drawer looking for a clean cloth when a cockroach the size of a baby hummingbird scurried across the inside. “Ugh! there’s a cockroach!” I screamed.

Jenny came running into the kitchen. “Over there! Over there!” I yelled pointing at the drawer.

Jenny swatted at it. “Did you get it?”

“I don’t think so. It got away.”

“Ewwwe,” I said in disgust. “We need to remodel the kitchen. I can’t cook in this place.”

Jenny in the old kitchen.

We had purchased the house in Long Beach a few months earlier. For the most part it was in good shape, but the kitchen was a dump. The cabinets seemed to be made of plywood and the drawers required a lot of maneuvering to open and close. When we pulled up the interior of a lower cabinet to install the new stove when we moved in, we found rat droppings. I almost threw up.

“No sense in waiting,” I declared, even though we had already taken on a big debt with the purchase of the house. “I’m calling the bank to see if we can get a loan.”

With the loan secured, I called our contractor, Earl Weaver. Earl is a gentle older man, originally from Pennsylvania. His suspenders look like tape measures.

Earl arrived the next day to survey the kitchen. “We want to take down the wall between the dining room and the kitchen,” I explained. I decided I could design the place myself. Not that I am trained as an architect or a designer, except in my fantasy life, but I sketched out a rough design on a piece of paper anyway, and Earl, his assistant, Alvaro, and I made decisions along the way.

My attempt at sketching out a design for the new kitchen. Super-imposed on the temporary wall while the remodel is in progress.

“What kind of cabinets will you want?” Earl asked.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Maybe Maple?”

“I recommend Cherry wood,” Earl said.

“I love Cherry wood,” I said. “But we might not be able to afford it. I’m trying to stay within our budget.”

“How about if I bring over some wood samples?” Earl asked.

The next day Earl brought five samples of wood, some stained lighter than others. “Which one is the Maple?” I asked, eying a lighter stain.

“Oh, these are all Cherry,” Earl responded.

“I thought you were bringing over samples of different kinds of wood.” I said.

“No, these are all Cherry, with different stains so you can see the variety.”

“But we might not be able to afford Cherry,” I reminded him.

“I recommend you go with the Cherry wood,” Earl said. It seemed easier to agree with him on this rather then keep pressing for Maple.

“Ok, then.”

The new kitchen, almost finished. Earl was right about the Cherry wood.

When it came time to install the windows, Earl gave me a card of a woman he uses to purchase windows. “But this is a housecleaning service,” I said reading the card.

“That’s her other business,” Earl clarified. “The window business is on the other side.”

“Well that’s handy. We need a housecleaning service.”

I called Adriana the next day. “Our contractor, Earl Weaver, gave me your card. We’re going to be purchasing windows from you, but I notice you also have a house cleaning business and we need a housecleaner.”

“Oh, yes, Earl Weaver. He’s my pastor,” Adriana said on the other end of the phone.

“No,” I corrected her, thinking she must have had someone else in mind. “Earl Weaver is a contractor.”

“No, you see. Earl is like me. During the day he has one job, and at night and on weekends, he is a pastor.”

Not that I am religious, but for some reason, knowing my contractor is also a pastor, gives me great comfort.

Pass the cherry wood, please, Pastor Earl.

Wake and Bake

I needed to make some money. “I’m going to have a bake sale,” I declared to my mother. I felt I had the experience, having practiced baking quite a lot on my Betty Crocker Easy Bake Mini Oven which I got when I was about six. By the age of seven I had moved on to making a range of microwave recipes and had even used the real oven for the occasional cakes, cookies and brownies.

I went about planning my menu. An assortment of desserts. A chocolate cake. A no bake cheesecake. Brownies. Chocolate chip cookies. And a graham cracker chocolate specialty I had recently discovered.

I woke up early on a Saturday morning and went about my baking, preparing everything carefully. I cooled each batch of cookies on a rack. I carefully frosted the chocolate cake. I sliced all the dessert items in single serving pieces and made placards detailing their individual sale price. “Slice of chocolate cake: 75 cents,” or “Cheesecake Slice: 85 cents.” The cookies and brownies were each 25 cents. According to my business plan, if I sold all the items I would make approximately $20.

By 10 am, around the time my brothers and sisters began to open their eyes and contemplate getting out of bed, I had all my wares carefully displayed on the kitchen table, each one with its sale price. And a bigger sign with the words “Bake Sale.”

I pulled up a chair and awaited my customers.

“What’s all this?” Mimo said as she came into the kitchen, picking up a brownie and popping it into her mouth.

“I’m having a bake sale,” I said. “That will be 25 cents.”

“I’m not paying for that,” she said, as she picked up a cookie and took a bite.

“But I’m having a bake sale,” I said again. “These are for sale. I made them.”

“Did you buy all the ingredients?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “We already had all the ingredients in the house.”

“Then you can’t sell them,” she said. “All of this belongs to all of us. You can’t charge us for ingredients that belong to all of us,” she said, now sampling a slice of cheesecake.

“But I baked them,” I said, starting to sound a little desperate and possibly whiny. “They’re mine. I can sell them.”

“No you can’t,” she said picking up the entire chocolate cake and walking away. “But good job,” she said as she turned around looking back. “It all tastes great. You may have a future as a baker.”

No-Fly Watch List: Part 4

The ticket agent seemed confused. Her eyebrows were getting increasingly furrowed as she peered closer and closer to the computer screen. She had already handed me back my license but I knew she would need it again, so I kept it handy rather than putting it back in my wallet.

“I think you’re going to need this again,” I said gently, handing her my license.

“Oh, you’ve been through this before,” she said. “No wonder you were holding on to your license, you knew I would need it back.” She looked around for one of her colleagues to help her.

“I think you need the form that’s in there,” I said, pointing to a white binder.

And out came the blue ball point pen and the No-Fly Watch List Clearance paperwork. I saw her spelling my name Kahn, so I said, “You’re going to want to correct that. It’s K-h-a-n.” I really can’t help but wonder why they fill these forms out with pen and paper. That seems so 1995. How could it possibly be more efficient than filling out a form on a computer and sending it directly to the Department of Homeland Security to store in a centralized database?

Considering my travel schedule this month, my paperwork alone must be taking up precious binder space since the forms need to stay on file for 30 days. Think of all that paper. Not only does it seem inefficient, but costly, and not very environmentally friendly. I wonder if the Department of Homeland Security has a suggestion box?

Earlier today I tried to print out my boarding pass from the San Francisco office. Judy’s assistant, Gregg, helped me since I was having trouble printing from my laptop. “I need your date of birth and middle name,” he said.

They seem to have changed their interface since Tuesday, when I traveled to San Francisco. I was able to print my boarding pass from home for that flight. Today the website seemed to know I was on the No-Fly Watch List. It displayed a lengthy message about needing additional information and made some mention of the No-Fly Watch List. It asked for my middle name which confused me. I mean, I know my middle name but my license only has my middle initial and my passport has my full middle name, Afzal.

So we entered Afzal. We entered my date of birth. And pressed “Next,” and waited anxiously. And then the familiar error message with the red X popped up. Rats.

“Let’s try again!” I said cheerfully. ‘This time we’ll just add my middle initial.” No luck. Apparently you need to add more than two letters for a middle name, it won’t accept a middle initial but it has to match your government issued identification. So what happens if your government issued identification only has a middle initial? I’ll get back to you on that. In the meantime, I’m going to start carrying my passport around in the event that it helps to use my full middle name.

“How’d you get on the No-Fly Watch List anyway?” Gregg asked. “Have you ever carried a bomb on board?” Very funny.

I knew the drill.  I left the office a little early so I’d have enough time to stand in line at the ticket counter. Once the ticket agent completed her paperwork and got her supervisor to sign off on it, she handed me my boarding pass and informed me that the flight was delayed an hour. “There’s been a Ground Delay Program in effect today,” she said. This sounded like a Program of the Department of Homeland Security so I asked, “What’s a Ground Delay Program?”

“That’s when flights are delayed in taking off and delayed in landing. It’s been happening all day,” she said with a smile. Come on, really? They call that a Program?

I got through security in a jiffy. For one thing they have these fancy Pro-Vision scanners at SFO so they don’t need to pat you down. I also try not to get in line behind men. They slow me down. They’re always carrying this and that in their pockets. Loose change, paper clips, maybe a money clip. So they have to empty all their pockets. And they usually don’t consolidate everything in one pocket. The loose change might be in the front right pocket, so that gets emptied first. Then they might remember that the money clip is in their back left pocket. Then they go through and cause the scanner to beep, so they back up and realize they have some paper clips in their front left pocket. And those have to come out and go through the x-ray machine in a special bin since the rest of their stuff is already on its way through.

Men also tend to wear belts and this takes an extra minute or two to unbuckle, slide through all the belt loops, and place in a bin. I know I shouldn’t single out men for being slow. I know plenty of butch lesbians who wear belts, but I’ve noticed that more and more of them are carrying man purses so they don’t tend to have to search through all their pockets for this, that and the other thing. More men should consider man purses.

The upside to getting to the airport early and getting through the ticket counter and security line with all my traveler time-saving tips is that I have plenty of time to write this blog and enjoy a snack. Plus Jenny just texted me from the grocery store. She needs my recipe for bolognese. She’s kind enough to cook dinner and keep the household running while I hang around airports.

The flight is delayed another hour. Seems that Ground Delay Program is really successful. Forget the snack, I see a bar. I think I’ll have a Scotch. 

 
Passing the time at SFO.

PS: in case you’re interested in the Bolognese recipe, here’s what I just sent Jenny. File under Surina Khan Cook.

Bolognese

Saute 1 & 1/2 to 2 cups onions in a little olive oil with a pinch of crushed red pepper until lightly browned on medium high heat.

Add 1 lb mild Italian bulk pork sausage and 8 cloves of chopped garlic Saute until pork is browned.

Add 1 to 1 and 1/2  cups red wine. Let it boil a bit.

Add 1 cup heavy cream, 1 8 oz can tomatoes (I like fire-roasted), 1 tablespoon dried oregano, 2 bay leaves, and fresh ground black pepper.

Simmer. Get a glass of wine, go outside, sit on deck, relax. Repeat with several glasses of wine until bolognese is done (this can take up to 2 hours or more, the longer it simmers, the better it tastes), stirring occasionally.

Boil about 8 oz of pasta (I like fettuccine). Drain pasta and mix in with sauce. Let pasta and sauce co-mingle a bit.

Garnish with chopped parsley.

Serve with warm crusty bread and more wine (I suggest an Old Vine Zinfandel).